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Chapter Text

All children grow up. 

We all come to realise one day that we cannot stay young and carefree forever - that we must eventually learn to not only live, but to survive. One day we are rolling about in the grass, the next we are marching off to school; we blink and we are being thrust at a new marriage prospect.

And yet it is not until our parents are no longer there to guide us that we realise we have been tricked into growing up. We mourn the ease of our youth and berate ourselves for not sensing the trap we’ve walked into. 

I’d known about this trap since I was very young - though there was a brief time, when I’d flown to an island in the sky with a boy who had promised to never grow up…

To give myself credit, I’d tried to fight it with every fibre of my being. I stayed in the nursery with all my brothers for an extra two years after returning to Bloomsbury, telling them stories and helping them adjust to their new lives. Tootles, Nibs, Slightly, Curly, and the twins all took a fair bit of time to get used to their new routines as schoolboys, but they all did in fact grow up - despite having previously sworn otherwise. 

Michael had a great deal of trouble understanding that our parents were indeed our parents, and for almost a year he had insisted that I was still his mother - a declaration that must have torn Mother apart, though she never did show it. John made the change much easier, always was one for practicality and logic just like Father, and it was almost no time at all before he’d forgotten our little adventure. 

Though I fought to keep myself from growing up too quickly, it seemed that devoting all my attention to my younger brothers gave Time the chance to sneak up behind me while I was looking the other way. I blinked, and suddenly I was a woman. 

I blinked again, and I was a wife.

I blinked once more… and I was an orphan.

Was this living? Was this the awfully big adventure I was promised?

I was not too sure anymore.

-------------London / Early January, 1930----------

I held my breath as my husband slammed the door behind him.

The sound of him stumbling down the stairs was almost drowned out by my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I remained where I was, perfectly still, as he moved roughly through the house and donned his winter garments. I didn’t move until I heard him fumble with the front door handle, swing it open and shut, and finally manage to lock the door with his key. 

All was quiet and still.

With the house now empty, I took a shaky breath - too loud as it broke the silence around me. I lifted my head from the pillow beneath me and looked around the bedroom, cataloguing the damage - torn curtains, another hole in the wall, bed askew and small flecks of blood dotting the chilled wooden floor.

Blood… I remembered suddenly, reaching a numb hand to touch my lower lip. Sure enough, the tips of my fingers came away marked with red, a stark difference to the fingernail beds beneath, still tinged with blue. With my other hand, I carefully prodded at my throat. To my disquiet, the tenderness of the area nearly promised I’d be wearing high collars for a time. 

Wincing, I extended my legs and swung them over the side of the bed. I kept my eyes up, not looking down at what I knew must be a new series of bruises on my arms and legs. I gasped quietly as my feet finally touched the floor, the chill of the wood sending a shiver up my spine. I scrambled for my shawl, left partially torn and discarded on the bedspread. Wrapping it tightly around my shoulders did little to assuage the tremors wracking my frame, so I exchanged it for the comforter. With some effort, I rose to my feet, stumbling towards the mirror. 

Without looking at my reflection, I fumbled blindly for the fabric hanging over the edge, finally finding it and pulling it over the mirror. Hiding from what I didn’t want to see. 

What I never wanted to see. 

It had been some time since Daniel had gotten this angry, and I berated myself for letting myself slip too far. It was amazing how quickly one broken rule could cause him to snap nowadays - but at least his anger had eventually carried his feet away from me. He would be gone for a few hours at best, finding the darkest corners of London to gamble more of our money away. At least the harlots he came across would satisfy him enough to spare me later.

My aching legs protested until I collapsed unceremoniously into the waiting armchair next to the window. I kept the window closed as much as possible during the winter, in an effort to conserve as much heat as possible. Our money - Daniel’s money, rather - was more often used to fund the lives of random women working the streets, rather than our own home.

I had often debated creeping silently into his office while he was out on nights like this, scooping up whatever coins I could find and running, far away, far away. Even now, some long-forgotten ember was flaring back to life in my gut, pushing me to open the door and flee to… to…

To where? I felt that same spark of hope flickering and dying, blowing away like ashes in the wind. I forced myself to stamp out the notion before it could go too far again. Even if I could get out, I’d have nowhere to go. And he would find me.

Still, I couldn’t quite help but think through a list of options. Each one, all paths I’d examined before from every possible angle, were flung from my mind immediately without question. It was impossible. 

My traitorous mind was not so easily deterred. But once upon a time, I did the impossible . I went to the Neverland with a boy who found a way to never grow up. I fought… pirates and… mermaids and… something in the water…

What was in the water?

I furrowed my brow. There had been something in the water. Something about a clock. And a man - not a boy - afraid of something in the water. I strained to remember more than flashes of waves and the glint of iron, but no matter how hard I tried, the details of my adventure stubbornly refused to come into focus. 

What was in the water? What did I have to believe in?

And one final question startled me more than anything:

How did I even get there?

I stood, the comforter slipping from my shoulders, but the goosebumps on my flesh did not distract me. I was forgetting again. 

Memories surrounding Neverland were fickle things - the more time someone spends in Neverland, the fuzzier the details of their past life become. The longer you are away from Neverland, the less of your adventure you recall. Michael, as a young boy, hadn’t been able to fight the magic as well as John or I had. But even John had forgotten it all eventually. Somehow I could still remember, but sometimes I would reach out for a detail and instead grasp empty air. It happened more and more often now, and there was always only one way to stop it. 

I turned to the window.

When my vivid memories of Neverland started to fade and blur, I instinctively knew I needed to open the window. To look up at the star, the one thing I was certain I’d be able to locate even on my deathbed. Even if I were blind, I’d be able to point unseeingly at the sky, and say with great accuracy: “Look. There it is. My greatest adventure. Second star to the right and straight on til morning.”

Just like every other time I’d started to forget, I felt the urge deep in my gut. Some deeply-buried part of me, the part of me that housed my foolish hope and determination - it whispered, making my hands twitch toward the glass before me.

Open the window, Wendy, it coaxed me. Open the window.

And so, with trembling fingers, I carefully unlocked the latch. I opened it, tormented and relieved at the same time by the blast of frigid air on my cheeks. The torn curtains billowed, and for a moment I was back in the nursery, watching the curtains blow with wind, sparks, magic…

But there was no magic now. No sparks. The air tingled with nothing but falling snow, car exhaust and the distant glow of the street lights below.

Magic or no magic, I carefully climbed through the window to stand on the small balcony. My bare feet protested as they crunched on the light dusting of snow, but I couldn’t focus on the pain. My entire attention was locked on that star, almost mocking me as it winked from the inky black of the sky.

And suddenly, it was as though I could hear the star laughing. No, it wasn’t the star… it was the voice of a boy, an echo of a cheerful voice in the back of my mind, whooping and crowing. More sounds resurfaced, as they always tended to first - the crackling of a fire, the shouts of Lost Boys, crashing waves, the ticking of a clock, the roar of a-

Crocodile . My brain finally latched onto the image of the beast, huge and grotesque and entirely inhuman. Cold black eyes looking around in cruel anticipation of its next meal. Eyes much too aware and malicious for a normal animal to possess. How do I always forget the crocodile?

More sounds appeared. Gun and cannonfire, battle cries mixed with drinking songs, the creaking of a wooden ship in the water, the enthusiastic shushes of an enraptured audience while I… 

While I told them a story .

Oh, and what stories I used to tell. Stories about princesses and pirates - and then after my great adventure, there were countless tales about boys with fairies who…

Fairies. The echo of a small bell floated through my memories.

Tinkerbell.

And with that large piece of the puzzle regained, I had an answer to my pressing question. An answer so obvious I was bewildered how I had forgotten it, something I had never forgotten before -

I flew.

This made me uneasy. How could I have forgotten the most integral part of the journey? I had never forgotten about my flights before, but it almost didn’t matter - I could feel the sensation of cold winter wind pushing against me as I soared over the city as a girl. With my eyes closed, I allowed myself to get lost in the memory, feeling myself flying through the streets of London all those years ago, then locking into a path towards the star - flying through the air so fast I could barely see, all I knew was I needed to hold on to the boy in front of me or I wouldn’t make it… and I had to make it, I had to see Neverland in all its glory. The good and evil, Lost Boys and fairies, crocodiles and mermaids, pirates with tattoos all over and hands on backwards and missing limbs with cold blue eyes and a mocking mouth -

Captain Hook . 

This startled me again - The Captain had visited me many times in my nightmares, especially in the few years after I returned home. When I would dream of him, I would wake drenched in cold sweat, my chest heaving as my eyes darted around the room. I would stare at every individual shadow, looking for a sign that he had managed to find me again. I hadn’t dreamt of him in recent years, but even the memory of those nightmares was enough to send a shiver down my spine.

But were they always nightmares? my mind whispered again.

No, indeed. For years, my dreams of Hook had been nothing short of terrifying - but there had been one night, when I had just turned twenty, where I’d dreamt of him again. And when I’d launched upright out of sleep that night, fighting back tears, it had been from reliving the Captain’s final moments. Seeing him plummet into the crocodile’s waiting maw, and disappearing beneath the waves. 

The nightmares had lessened after that night, and many of them had not really counted as nightmares at all.

But I struggled, as always, to ignore this line of thought. Captain Hook was the villain of my story. He and Peter were sworn enemies, and so I must feel the same. Growing up had brought a new perspective on many things, and occasionally, the dreams had… morphed into something different - but I refused to let my impression of the Captain be swayed by my experiences in adulthood. I swore not to develop any sort of appreciation for those thick black curls, the cool demeanour, that infuriating head tilt, how both his warm hand and freezing hook could be rough or gentle on a whim - 

Stop. I commanded myself. He is the villain. And I shall not think of him this way.

Is he the villain? that other voice inside sneered. Is he the one who abandoned you here?

I squeezed my eyes shut as though that would silence my treacherous thoughts. Deep down, I knew that Peter had long forgotten about me. That night fifteen years ago, even as I’d heard him laugh gleefully as he’d promised to remember, I’d known that he would not. He could not. Neverland was quite small, nicely crammed with hardly any space between one adventure and another - there was no room for the ordinary Wendy-bird.

But Peter was still my one and only solace.  My memories of him were always the last to fade, my own little spark of bright hope in the back of my mind. But lately, it had felt like the bright green eyes and glowing face were gone from my everyday thoughts, replaced instead by his elusive shadow I could never catch. Peter was like a fleeting thought - here as the most important thing in the universe one moment, gone the next. And no matter how many times I had stood wishing at the window, he had never answered my call. I knew I hadn’t imagined Peter, but he had now become nothing real I could count on. Only a memory I could try to hold onto.

You wanted to be able to count on someone else.

Stop. I warned myself again, but I found my thoughts drifting nonetheless. Green eyes became crystal blue, youth became maturity, a grin became a smirk hidden behind a perfect moustache and beard. I’d wanted to join his crew that day, I’d ached to say Yes! Let me stay! Let me be Red-Handed Jill! And his voice -

‘Wendy… Darling… ’ He had purred in my ear. 

We had seen the Captain die - he had been swallowed by the Crocodile, which meant even entertaining this line of thought was foolishness. But if anyone could escape such a death, I knew it would be the Captain. Was it wrong to have grown up? Was it wrong to want to see him again? To hope against all odds that he’d survived? 

What would Neverland be, after all, without Captain Hook? 

Peter forgot, as children often do. But Hook was a man. Would he remember me? Since Neverland, my wish at the window had always been for Peter to return. But now I felt it shift to something else - something more. 

All I wanted was to matter to someone in Neverland as much as they all mattered to me. 

No matter who it was. 

“Do you remember me, Captain?” I murmured to the sky. If I had opened my eyes, I may have seen the Second Star to the Right wink a little brighter for a few moments. “I remember you. I don’t want to forget.”

A small gust of wind gently blew my hair to the side. I opened my eyes, looking at the now-normal star. I stood in the same position for a while longer, until I had remembered all I could and my skin was numb. Whatever I was waiting for - it did not come. 

I let my eyes drift down for another moment, peering down at the deserted street below.

How much more? that foolish voice pleaded with me a final time. How much more can you endure here?

I didn’t know how to answer myself. So, with a sigh, I blinked tears away and turned back towards the window.

Just as I reached it, a velvet voice spoke from the dark corner of the balcony.

“Wendy, Darling.”

Chapter Text

I whipped around so quickly that I slipped on the ice beneath my feet, crying out as I stumbled into the wall of the building. I immediately trained my eyes on the now-silent corner on the other side of the balcony, squinting against the darkness in search of movement. I tensed against the wall, prepared to make a run for the open window. My shallow breaths puffed out from my lips into the frigid London air, my panting and rapid heartbeat now the only sounds in my ears. 

After a few moments of stillness, I tentatively took a step towards the window to my left. When there was no answer from the corner, I took two more. I eventually reached the window, and had relaxed just enough to try and step back through it, when I swore I heard fabric rustle to my right. 

I flinched away, peering at the corner again.

“Now this is curious,” the same voice murmured, and my heart constricted. I hadn’t imagined it. “If I remember rightly, you were much less timid as a little girl. Though it appears you certainly have grown up , have you not, Miss Darling?” I could practically hear his smirk cut through the air, as brutal as a slash from his hook. 

I was suddenly aware of my mouth gaping open in shock, fear… indignation. My brow furrowed as I struggled to form a coherent thought.

“ You. How -” I croaked, fumbling for words and only coming up with: “How are you here ?”

I received no response, but after a brief pause, I heard the rustle of fabric again. When the clouds in front of the moon moved slightly, I could finally see the outline of his shape. He leaned nonchalantly against the opposite wall, hand up to brace himself against the brick and hook at his waist. From what I could tell, he still wore that elaborate brocade coat. He certainly still sported the same intimidatingly large hat across his brow. His hook glinted dully, and I saw the shine reflect off a pair of the iciest blue eyes I’d ever seen in my life. My breathing only had a moment to catch in my throat before the clouds moved on, and his silhouette was lost again.

“Dear me, don’t you know?” he asked lightly, and I frowned. “How disappointing. I suppose it would be too much to hope for a mere girl to understand the workings and secrets of the Neverland,” he mocked from his little abyss.

I tilted my head, considering the invisible pirate. 

“You don’t know either,” I said with a strange bout of courage. 

The very-loud silence was all I needed to hear. 

“How very clever,” he ground out quietly through gritted teeth. “Your intuition hasn’t diminished a bit since we last spoke, Miss Darling.”

“You can’t be here,” I reasoned, sure that this was nothing but another dream. But my bravery began to wane as he stepped away from the wall. 

As he caught some decent light from the street below, I could finally see more of him. He was indeed still wearing the exact same red brocade coat I remembered from my childhood. His moustache and goatee were still pristine, his mane of curls still barely contained beneath his hat. His boots crunched across the snow and ice left on the balcony, and his hook shone brightly at his side now. 

As I backed away slowly, I made the mistake of seeking out those eyes from before - and the coldness I saw directed towards me was enough to make me stumble. One side of his mouth twitched into a dry smirk as I caught myself, and he halted when I forced my feet to still.

“How did you -” I swallowed and he raised a mocking brow. “How did you survive?”

His eyes glinted, and for a brief moment, I swore I saw a flash of red. I resisted the urge to cower, and instead kept my eyes trained stubbornly on his. 

“Stupid girl. Do you honestly think for a moment that I was unable to free myself from the belly of that beast?” he whispered. “You sailed away so quickly after the battle’s finale, you missed me cutting my way out of that crocodile with nothing but my hook and my own hand.” He began to advance quicker this time, and I hastily matched speed in my retreat - but I was running out of balcony.

“That demon will never hunt me again. It quite literally disappeared after I slaughtered it, I watched it vanish into nothing on that beach. I have not heard that wretched tick tock since, and I never shall again.”

I tensed as my back came in contact with the wall. He spoke his next words slowly, savouring every moment as he closed in on me.

“I often wonder if your precious Pan will die the same way that crocodile did,” the Captain mused. “Undignified and helpless as I finally plunge my hook into his chest. Then he will know what it’s like to die alone and unloved, for I am sorry to tell you he does not remember you. Not a day of your little adventure with him has stuck in his memory, my beauty. He does not even remember your precious… thimble.”

At the mention of the kiss, I was embarrassed to feel tears begin to burn in my eyes. I blinked them away, thankful for my hair covering my cheeks. He was very close now.

“No, no, just like the myriad of other ladybirds before you, dear Wendy. He does not remember any of them, either, I’m afraid. Do you imagine they grew up as you have, waiting for him to come back to them? If it is any consolation, I can say with certainty that none of them ended up like you - on a frozen balcony making pointless wishes on stars for their childhood to repeat itself.” 

My breathing quickened as I fought a sob back down my throat. Though my face had been hidden in shadow this whole time, I saw the moment Hook noticed my body trembling. His mouth stretched into a sinister grin as he finally stopped directly in front of me. Though I had definitely grown taller, he still towered over me with that same air of command. I struggled to find a retort to throw back on him, but anything that came to mind died on my lips.

“And I wonder, child - when you wished for the Neverland to show itself again, was this what you imagined?” Hook breathed darkly. “No one left to remember you but the pirate captain of your nightmares, and now he’s come back to haunt you again -” 

I flinched as he raised his hand to rest it on the wall beside my head. He had not done it particularly fast, but instinct provoked me to shy away from the motion and shut my eyes tightly. 

As I fought to get my breathing under control, I realised that the captain had yet to say anything else. I took a deep breath as a light breeze travelled across the balcony, breathing out slowly as the cold air swept through my hair. Once I had steeled myself, I opened my eyes and forced myself to look up and reply to the captain, but something had changed in his expression.

His eyes no longer were as icy as before. His brow had furrowed slightly, and his smirk had morphed into a light frown. The clouds moved once again, and as we were bathed in moonlight his eyes sparked for another moment. His hook slowly rose and settled under my chin, tilting my face up even more. I faltered as he turned my head back and forth slightly, watching in confusion as his calculating eyes scanned my face and neck intently.

“And… whose handiwork would this be, little bird?” he eventually asked quietly.

“What?” I breathed, hardly daring to speak at all with the sharp metal so close to my throat. 

His eyes darkened. “I am not one to repeat myself.”

My brow twitched down in confusion. But a moment later, I realised that the Captain was much closer now. The clouds had moved, bathing both of us in a clearer light.

And if I could see his face in detail, then he could evidently see mine.

I set my jaw and jerked my chin away from his hook, some of my earlier bravery returning. 

“I don’t need to explain anything to you, Captain ,” I gritted, moving to shove him away from me. He expertly swatted my hands away from his chest and took both my wrists in his hand. He raised his brows, surprised at my sudden audacity.

“I seem to recall you being a member of my crew some time ago, Red-Handed Jill ,” he said, easily keeping his hold on me as I struggled to free my wrists from his grip. “And as your former Captain, I require an explanation.”

“The key word, sir, would be former ,” I spat. “I owe you nothing. ”

His eyes flashed and his lips curled into a derisive sneer. 

“Of course,” he scoffed. “I suppose I owe you a favour for flying away and leaving me to die all those years ago?”

“Let go -” I shook my head, kicking at his legs in hopes that he would release me. Instead, he forcefully stepped closer, pinning my full body flush to the wall. My heart stuttered in fear.

“A name ,” he growled, losing his patience.

“Why - does it - matter - ” I grunted, trying to twist away from him without success. “You get to go back to the Neverland and forget - ”

“ Forget? ” he snarled, lifting my hands and holding them against the wall above my head. I whimpered, shrinking instinctively as he lowered his face to mine. 

“I do not have the luxury of forgetting anything, you stupid girl. I remember everyone that sets foot on that cursed island. Every child that came before you, and every one that comes after. Those that stay, those that fly home, those that die. I remember all of you.” His grip tightened minutely on my wrists and I whined again, squeezing my eyes shut and turning my face away. 

“Please don’t,” I whispered. 

As though a switch had been flipped, the pressure holding me to the wall vanished. I cried out as I crumpled slightly against the wall, rubbing my wrists gingerly - I could still feel where his hand had been. I forced open my eyes, glancing up through teary vision to see him standing very still many paces away from me. 

I gathered myself for a few moments before speaking.

“I think that’s quite enough conversation for one night, Captain,” I breathed. “This was clearly a mistake, and I think you should return to your ship. Now.”

The Captain quickly snapped out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. Suddenly he was in control again, tilting his head and studying me while he leaned casually against the railing.

“Miss Darling, really, dismissing me so soon?” he asked, raising his brow again.

“Yes,” I snapped, straightening and heading towards the open window. 

“And how do you propose I return to my ship?” he called. I turned and regarded him where he stood, still relaxed and indifferent.

“I -” I started to answer, but paused. 

How was he to get back? How did he get here in the first place? 

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted. His bravado visibly faltered at my confession. “I don’t know how you got here. But you can’t - you can’t stay here,” I said firmly. 

“I may not have much of a choice, girl,” he grumbled. “I don’t remember doing anything but blinking to get here. This must have been your doing, so think .”

“I didn’t do anything!” I cried, beginning to get frustrated. “I don’t know how to send you away.”

The Captain was silent for a moment while he studied me. I quietly shuffled back and forth on my now-frozen feet, wishing I hadn’t dropped the comforter before coming onto the balcony. Though I was absolutely shivering, he stood almost comically still while he pondered our predicament. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he eventually asked. Simple, to the point.

I blinked. Did I?

…No. Stay.

“Yes,” I said tersely. “Yes, I do want you to leave.”

He dropped his head, looking off the balcony at the street below.

“Then why am I still here?”

“I don’t -” I started to sigh, but something had caught his attention below us. He motioned for me to be quiet, peering down intently. I obediently closed my mouth and waited in silence. His curls fluttered behind him as he narrowed his eyes. 

Eventually, he turned his head slightly to look at me.

“Do you live alone, Miss Darling?” the Captain asked carefully. 

I swallowed.

“N-no,” I murmured. 

His eyes, still locked on me, darted down as he searched for something specific. He quickly located my left hand, and zeroed in on my ring. 

Damn it.

“Well, well, ” he purred maliciously. I stiffened and hid my left hand behind my back, and he whipped his cruel gaze back up to mine. “I believe a fresh introduction is in order, Mrs…?”

“Beckwith,” I replied quickly, looking away. I turned to look into the bedroom, wishing I could crawl under those covers and just die right then and there. 

“Wendy Moira Angela Darling Beckwith ,” he recited with disgust. “My dear, I had hoped you would have chosen something a bit better. At any rate, it appears… Mister Beckwith has arrived home.”

I spun to stare at the Captain.

“What?” I whispered hoarsely. He looked back down at the street impassively. 

“Why, yes, he’s attempting to stab the key in the lock as we speak. Dear me, he certainly has seen better evenings, poor chap. What on earth do you suppose he’s been up to? In fact, I should love to speak to…” he trailed off as he turned back to me.

I knew his eyes were tracking my reaction. I tried to suppress the majority of it, but I could not quite hide the way my cheeks had gone pallid. The way my breath hitched in my throat.

“Mrs. Beckwith?” the Captain questioned. 

Oh, PLEASE don’t ever call me that. 

I felt my stomach lurch as I heard the door bang open downstairs.

“Go,” I whispered. I turned quickly and clamoured in the window, leaving a confounded Captain on the balcony. 

“Now wait a moment -” he started to protest, angered by my dismissal.

“I need you to go, Captain!” I pleaded, shutting my eyes tight as I desperately willed him to find a way back to his ship. 

I opened my eyes again, quickly grabbing the comforter from the floor where it lay and tossed it on the bed. I ran stiffly to one side of the bed and then the other, smoothing out the cover until it looked decent enough for a drunk man. I haphazardly went around the room and tidied what I could while listening intently downstairs. Like clockwork, Daniel was struggling to lock the door from the inside. His growls and grumbles of annoyance floated upstairs to me, spurring me on as I uncovered the mirror with closed eyes. I righted things that had been knocked over on the dresser as I listened to him trying to remove his boots without falling. 

Finally, I turned to the window and ran to shut it, prepared to tell the Captain…what? To be quiet? To jump off and find a place to stay down the street? Whatever I had to tell him, I needed to be quick. I rushed over to the window and started to close it, rambling desperately.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I don’t have a way to help you right… now…” I trailed away, staring dumbly where he had been standing not a minute before. I quickly ducked my head outside, examining every corner of the balcony in shock.

The Captain was gone.

Dumbfounded, I examined the area where he had been standing. Two large boot prints were still there, with a trail leading to them from where he’d walked. But there was no trail leading away from them - it was as though he’d blinked out of existence.

Loud stumbles and curses coming up the stairs was enough to snap me back to reality. I did not have time to investigate. Quickly, with trembling fingers, I closed and locked the window and drew the curtains. I stumbled across the room and climbed into the bed, curling up under the covers and closing my eyes to feign sleep.

The door creaked open, and I held my breath as Daniel muttered his way across the floor to the bed. He stood over me for a few moments, and I could feel his eyes on my face. I forced myself to breathe evenly again, as though I was deep in a dream. 

After the whole ordeal on the balcony, I was starting to think that maybe I was.

I managed not to jump as rough fingers brushed the hair out of my face and caressed a particularly sore area on my cheek. 

“You make me s’ angry,” he slurred quietly, and I kept my breathing even despite the tears threatening to form. I fought the urge to cringe away as he leaned close to my ear. 

“Why d’ye have t’make me angry, Wendy? All I wanna do ‘s love you,” he whispered softly. He wobbled a bit, but managed to land a graceless peck on my bruised cheek. 

Satisfied, Daniel clumsily crawled into bed and turned on his side away from me. It took no time at all for him to fall into a drunken slumber, his snores shattering the stillness of the room around us. 

Despite my emotional state, I found myself exhausted from the cold and an adrenaline crash, and started to doze off. Before I let myself get carried away to sleep, I drowsily took a last glance at the window. The semi-sheer curtains were drawn, but I could still see the blurry shape of the Second Star to the Right. 

How is this happening? I thought, not sure if I was asking the star or myself. The star only winked in response. 

I surrendered to sleep, and dreamed about nothing but a midnight voice whispering my name in the dark.

Chapter Text

The first thing I saw when I peeled my eyes open was the clock on the mantel. 

Tucked neatly in between two sagging pillar candles, the bronze ticking hands almost pointing to six o’clock. Tendrils of sleep still clouded my vision, begging me to close my eyes again and sink back into the pillow. I almost gave into the desire, but chose instead to blink away my dreams, knowing that I had to rise soon to show Daniel off to work. I didn’t trust myself to move without groaning and waking him prematurely, so I lay still for a while. 

My eyes found the clock again shortly after, noticing with dismay my few precious minutes had flown away and it was now officially seconds away from six o’clock. I chose to allow myself one more minute of peace, watching the thin second hand make its lurching rotation around the entire face of the clock. 

06:00:05…

06:00:14…

06:00:21…

A part of me held my breath as it began the second half of its trip, half-hoping it would tire out and stop when it reached the number twelve.

06:00:34…

06:00:44…

I imagined what I would do if time paused - probably sleep for an entire fortnite, letting my dreams carry me away forever. I would walk outside past all the people frozen in time, running my hand through the air and catching the hanging snowflakes. I could run to the library and read for the first time in years.

06:00:50…

06:00:53… 

I could escape. I could walk right out of this house and out of the country. I could go to Scotland. I could hide on a boat in any port. I could lock Daniel away in a box and throw the key into the English Channel. 

I lifted my head, staring intently at the second hand. It seemed to move in slow motion, the soft ticks and tocks echoing in the quiet bedroom.

06:00:58…

06:00:59…

06:01:00… 

I actually stopped breathing.

…06:01:01

I stared at the clock as it continued on through its next rotation, as though my world had not come crashing down around me with that extra tick . Time was never going to be on my side - it was a fickle enemy. Time had far too much control here. 

I closed my eyes and took a breath, re-centering myself in reality. The day would continue on as normal. I would prepare the way for my husband to succeed, and hopefully stay out of the way. I would clean and cook, and pray that he would return home in a good mood. And that was all I could ever do.

With my priorities sorted, I opened my eyes and gritted my teeth as I carefully extracted myself from the covers. I looked back quickly, ensuring he was still fast asleep, before slowly pushing myself onto my feet. 

A sudden flash of pain almost made me stumble.

I bit back a hiss and looked down at my toes - bright red and irritated, as though they had been frozen and were finally thawing out. I blinked at them in confusion. A quick glance around the room revealed some traces of wet footprints across the floor. They were small - the size of my own feet, in fact. I stood, still shaking off the remnants of dreams, staring dumbly at the floor. 

What in the world?

I shook my head, dismissing the issue for now. I instead focused on crossing to the (thankfully open) bedroom door and creeping down the stairs. I stepped carefully, making sure to place my feet in the corners of the steps and to avoid the fifth stair down so nothing would creak. Once I safely made it downstairs, I paused and listened intently for any signs of stirring upstairs.

Silence.

Good.

I padded my way from the foyer to the kitchen, and absentmindedly started on breakfast. As I cracked eggs and sliced bread, I let my mind wander back upstairs to the wet footprints. What had I been doing last night? Had I sleepwalked? I know I hadn’t bathed between Daniel leaving and falling asleep, or my hair wouldn’t be so desperate for maintenance at the moment. 

I yawned widely before closing my mouth with a huff, frustrated that the details of last night were still so hazy. I finished preparing the food with a worried brow, remembering to sneak small bites here and there to last me a while. I took the finished plate in my hand and walked back to the stairs. I stepped in all the right places again, still wracking my brain about the night before -

CREAK.

I froze.

In my stupor, I had stepped on the fifth stair down without realising. I bit my lip and tensed, expecting my husband to come tearing around the corner at any moment. When nothing happened, I exhaled softly - and very slowly lifted my foot off the stair. Beyond a quiet whine , the wood remained more or less silent, allowing me to deftly sneak up the rest of the steps. I tiptoed back down the hall to the bedroom door, relieved to see that Daniel still had not stirred. His drinking habits were a curse and a blessing - more volatile; deeper sleep.

I stepped fully into the bedroom and absently scanned the floor again, tracing the path of my footprints back to the window -

I nearly dropped the plate.

I stared openmouthed at the closed window, the sky beyond it looking deceptively innocuous. Light fluffy clouds dotted the sky, but I knew what lay beyond that sunrise. There was another star, further away from our sun - a star that had sent me an answer.

The Captain was here .

And suddenly, the clock on the mantel was far too loud.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing frozen in the middle of the floor until Daniel shifted with a grunt. My mind was still reeling as I rushed over to place the full plate of food on the side table. I took a deep breath and reached a hand out slowly to nudge him awake.

“Daniel…” I murmured. I lightly brushed his shoulder, but beyond a snort and a furrowed brow, he didn’t respond. I winced, squeezing his shoulder a little tighter and softly calling, “Dear…”

I yelped as his hand shot out and closed around my wrist in a crushing grip. He yanked me forcefully onto the bed to lay over his chest, and I tensed when his arms enclosed my torso tightly.

“Mm, good morning, Wendy,” he muttered, squeezing me in what I suppose was meant to be a hug. He nuzzled his face hard into the crook of my shoulder. I fought to keep still until he slowly released me, and even then, I climbed to my feet slowly and carefully. 

“Your breakfast,” I mumbled. I shuffled back a step as Daniel stretched intensely before relaxing back into the mattress. I kept my head lowered and my hands clasped together behind my back, watching through my eyelashes as he groaned his way into a sitting position. He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed deep circles into his temples with his thumbs. As though my words suddenly registered, he lifted his head and turned to look at the side table, where his food was waiting.  

“Bring that here,” he mumbled, wincing at his gravelly voice. I quickly obeyed, picking up the plate of food and holding it out for him to take. He didn’t immediately reach out - instead, he looked up at me and raised his brow. My stomach sank. 

Slowly, I lifted my right leg to place my knee on the bed. I hoisted myself up onto the covers, careful not to spill, until I was sitting on my ankles with the plate held out in front of me. I dropped my head.

“Very good.” I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me want to vomit.

He reached out and picked up his fork and knife, poking around the plate and examining the food. I waited, tense, until he finally lifted a bite from the plate and it passed his lips. He began eating in earnest as I fought to not let the plate tip out of my hands.

“What time is it?” he asked around a mouthful of eggs. I snuck a glance at the mantel.

“6:45, sir,” I murmured. He grunted.

“Don’t you usually wake me at 6:30?” he asked casually.

I winced.

“I’m sorry sir. You looked like you could use the extra rest this morning,” I whispered, praying it would be enough. The explanation seemed to satisfy him for now, judging from the leisurely way he continued to eat. I stayed silent, my mind wandering back to the events of last night. I still wasn’t too sure that it hadn’t been a dream.

The Captain was here .

How had he gotten here? Why had he been here? I traced my memories, trying to figure out what had brought him here. I’d opened the window, I’d climbed onto the balcony, and suddenly he’d just been… there . 

But I’d thought of him countless times before, and never once had he shown his face in my world. Yet he had been here, yesterday of all days, seemingly against his will. How very peculiar.

“Wendy.”

I startled, snapping my gaze up to irritated grey eyes. How long had he been calling me?

“Where is your mind, woman?” he grumbled, dropping his eyes back to the plate to continue eating. “I may be a generous man, but I shall not be made to call twice for my wife. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered quickly. 

He hummed low, examining his eggs closely. I stifled a groan as he methodically separated a tiny sliver of egg shell away from the yolk. Letting it stick to his fork, he lifted it in front of his face and turned it left and right, examining it from every angle. Finally, he lowered the fork to his right hand, and used his index finger to softly swipe the eggshell off the fork’s tines.  

“Now what is this, little mouse?” he asked quietly, his lips quirking into a small smile.

“I - erm -” I fumbled but he shushed me tenderly. 

“Shhhh, little mouse, it’s alright,” he cooed. He lifted his hand to show me the tiny piece of shell clinging to the pad of his finger. “Everyone makes mistakes, isn’t that right?”

I gave a shaking nod. He smiled wider.

“And in this house, we answer for our mistakes - don’t we?” he cocked his head to the side, furrowing his brow into a pseudo pout. I hesitated before nodding again, swallowing my bubbling anxiety. His eyes sharpened.

“Answer me.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I stammered.

He nodded once, then held his hand closer to my face. I steeled myself before slowly opening my mouth just wide enough for what I knew was coming. He snuck his index finger between my lips, and I closed my mouth around the digit expecting to simply remove the shell. Instead, I fought to keep still as his hand kept moving forward, making me squeeze my eyes shut in an effort not to gag at the foreign presence in my mouth. Eventually, I couldn’t take it any further, and I coughed around his hand. This seemed to satisfy him more than anything I could have said - shortly after, my mouth was empty.

Well, not quite. I could still feel the tiny piece of eggshell stuck to the tip of my tongue. His hand, still somewhat damp from its excursion, fastened around my jaw and squeezed until my lips were forced to purse. 

“Swallow it,” he commanded.

And I did. 

“Good,” he praised, releasing my jaw and tapping me smartly twice on the cheek. My eyes were still watery from choking on his hand, but he gave me a look and I quickly rearranged my face into some kind of trembling smile. 

Appeased, Daniel looked down at the plate that somehow had not tumbled from my shaking hands. He looked back up at me, his lips curling up in a bright smile.

“I believe I’m finished,” he declared. 

I smiled back tightly and carefully shifted until my legs were free to swing off the bed. My ankles nearly buckled under my weight, my feet still stinging and uncertain, but I managed to pad my way over to the door.

“I expect the floor to be dry when I get home,” he called. I stumbled.

“Yes, dear, of course,” I choked out, slipping quickly around the corner into the hallway. I scrambled down the stairs, being sure to step carefully this time. 

As I cleaned the plate, my thoughts frantically thought through anything else that I may have missed before waking him - two infractions within five minutes was dangerous. I would have to be nothing short of perfect for the rest of the day. 

With that in mind, I steeled myself and went back upstairs. The next half hour was filled with me getting him off to work, while keeping myself in one piece. Once he was ready, I saw him to the front door and waited for him to leave. He turned before setting out, reaching his hand up to cradle my jaw softly.

“Be good,” he instructed, a heavy warning in his words.

He left without waiting for my response. 

I stood still for a long moment, staring at the door. Slow hands reached out - my slow hands - and turned the lock as they had done a million times before. This was not the first time I had been alone in my house, and yet today could not have been more different.

What was I supposed to do now?

“Clean the floor,” I spoke aloud in a firm voice, hoping to shock myself back to a semblance of normalcy. It seemed to do the trick - my head felt clearer now that my hands had a clear objective. 

I kept my thoughts only to my task, narrating my actions in my mind so my inner monologue didn’t have a chance to ramble through anything else.

Fill the bucket.

Choose a rag.

Go upstairs.

Don’t look up, look at the floor.

Wipe away the footprint -

He was here.

I sighed sharply and squeezed my eyes shut. This was dangerous, there was no telling what kind of mischief the Captain would bring to my life. It was better for me to just forget it. 

But hadn’t I confessed that I didn’t want to forget him? I had stood out there, opening myself to the sky, and had been surprised when he’d decided to answer my call. 

Only from what I’d gathered, it hadn’t been his choice. How had it happened?

I shifted off my knees to sit instead on the floor, risking a glance up toward the window. The latch was locked and the stars were hidden, but I still shivered at the overwhelming feeling of being watched. I could still feel his stare - cold blue eyes piercing through to my soul with a wicked smirk that sliced at my lungs. It had been far more dangerous than I remembered from childhood, but there had been a certain rush that had been missing for a very long time. I had been confused, infuriated, afraid… but I also had enjoyed it. I had not wanted him to leave.

I bit my lip.

“Can you hear me?” I whispered, my words only a breath but still shattering the silence of the house. I braced myself.

Nothing happened.

I tried again, just as softly.

“Captain?”

…Silence. I didn’t feel anything change. 

And all of a sudden I felt like the greatest fool - sitting on the bedroom floor wiping up melted snow and frost in the shape of my own feet, whispering to a pirate captain a lightyear and a day away. I flushed in embarrassment, and promptly returned to scrubbing away all the evidence of my delusion.

That’s all this was. It’s all it could possibly be.

A delusion.

—————

As I set the last few things on the table for dinner, I heard a key turn in the lock. I hurried through the sitting room to the foyer, standing a few feet away from the door with my hands clasped and my head bowed. The door swung open, just wide enough to lightly graze the side of my foot before settling against the wall.

“Welcome home, husband,” I murmured.

“Oh, do shut up, Wendy,” he snapped.

I winced. Bad shift.

I wordlessly took his coat and hat as he wrenched them off, nimbly hanging them on the rack and closing the door softly. Locking the door took all of a half second, and then I was hurrying to meet Daniel in the dining room. 

“Fucking idiots, the lot of them,” he grumbled as I pulled out his chair. He stalked over and flopped himself down in the seat. He kept seething, talking to himself without acknowledging my presence as I quietly took my own seat at the other end of the table. “None of them know a good thing when they see it. I mean really, giving bloody Collins my best client, just because I was a little frank - a client appreciates an honest banker!” 

Daniel slammed his fist on the tabletop and I jumped. He looked up for the first time. 

“What are you flinching for?” he barked. 

I lowered my gaze, staring unblinkingly at the bare tablecloth in front of me. 

He grumbled quietly for a moment, but slowly removed his clenched fists from the tabletop. He turned his attention to the food, and began to eat without another word. 

I stayed still the entire time as he ate, his face stony and dark. I wished I could fidget with the frayed tablecloth in front of me. But I forced my fingers to remain in my lap, only rising to get him more water after he finished the last swig. 

When I returned, his face was schooled into a much more relaxed expression. 

Unsure of the sudden mood shift, I really didn’t want to approach him. But I kept my gate steady, placing the full glass silently back on the table - and fought not to jump as his hand whipped out and snatched my wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip. 

Daniel kept his eyes on his plate, but pushed his chair away from the table to open a space for me. 

“Sit with me, Wendy,” he murmured. 

I took an imperceptible breath to calm my nerves and slowly lowered myself to sit on his lap, folding my hands on top of my own legs and keeping my head down. He wrapped his left arm loosely around my stomach, and continued to eat with his right hand. I wasn’t fooled by the act; he was still tense, coiled and ready to snap at any moment. I just had to keep still and not provoke him. I could do that. 

“You made a lovely dinner, little mouse,” he said, finishing his plate. When I did not respond, his arm squeezed around my middle in warning. 

“Thank you,” I whispered. His arm relaxed. 

Daniel hummed, and reached his other hand up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. He wrapped his right arm around my abdomen as well, so he was hugging me from behind, and rested his head on my shoulder. 

“This is where you belong,” he cooed in my ear. I gripped my hands tighter under the table to keep them from shaking. “Right here with me, I’m all you need. You’re mine.”

I slowly slid my eyes to the dining room window. It faced west, just like the bedroom window, but the night sky was dark with looming clouds. The Star was hidden. 

But I trained my gaze just four inches below the top of the window, where I knew it was waiting. 

Daniel’s arm squeezed again. 

“Say it,” he breathed into my neck.

I closed my eyes. 

“I am yours.”

There was a flash, and the first crack of thunder shook the house. Daniel sighed and began trailing kisses along my neck. The clouds opened. 

And the sky cried.

Chapter Text

I plopped into the armchair with a not-very-dignified grunt, letting my head flop back in exhaustion. I blew harshly up at a stray hair tickling my nose, eventually having to bat it away with my hand when it didn’t leave me alone. I shifted, wincing, and sat up to yank the crumpled armchair pillow out from behind my sore back. Relieved that I was no longer being assaulted by inanimate objects, I sighed in relief and closed my eyes.

I had been restless all day - as soon as Daniel had left for work, I had been cleaning the entire house nonstop. In fact, the whole last two weeks had been the same - I must have scrubbed the floors five times by now, I’d even taken to standing up on a rather rickety chair to reach the ceiling and dust it on Tuesday. Every window had been meticulously wiped down, every piece of silverware we owned polished. 

While it was making Daniel more amiable, what I really wanted was to get out of the damned house. It had been ages since I’d been allowed outside, and the more my bruises faded, the more I hated staring at the same walls all day. 

I want to get out.

I tried to quell the thought before it could expand. I knew these feelings weren’t just about being on house arrest. Every once in a while that old and nearly-forgotten fire in me would rise and demand that I leave my house. My marriage. My home. 

“If I leave, I will be ruined,” I muttered to myself firmly. “I have no money. No prospects. No future if I leave.”

And it was true, there was no way I’d be able to make it alone. At least here there was a chance for a life, if I could just -

“Just… pull back a bit, Wendy dear.”

“But father, I want someone who will want me because of my ideals, not in spite of them.”

“Be that as it may, Wendy, we are a bit concerned that many of your suitors have been, er… scared off, and I don’t wish a spinster’s life upon my only daughter.”

“But father, all of these men have proven to be ridiculous and primaeval. That can’t be what you wish upon me either?”

“Of course not, dove, but I seem to remember putting my own foot in my mouth several times when I was trying to win favour with your mother. We were introduced by our parents, and it grew into something quite beautiful - I insist that you give it a chance, at least. Come to the party this evening, there is an upcoming clerk who just joined the bank -

“Oh, father, please -”

“- AND I would love to introduce him to you. It would make me so very happy, Wendy.”

“...Very well then, father. I’ll do my best.”

And I had done my best. I had been quiet and soft at the party, smiling and curtsying and putting on the most demure aire I could muster. I had been practically shoved towards Daniel Beckwith - a young and handsome, roguish man with sharp eyes and wit…

----

“May I have this dance, Miss Darling?” Mister Beckwith bowed and extended his hand slowly.

I stifled a groan behind a sip of my champagne. I almost lied, saying my dance card was already full, but a single glance to the right stopped me.

My father stood a few paces away, a distinctly hopeful gleam in his eyes as he whispered to my mother. She was nodding politely and smiling, but I saw the open hesitation in her stance. She locked eyes with me and lifted her brows in question, clearly telling me that the choice here was still mine. But I looked back at my father, and felt my resolve disappear.

This would make him happy.

I turned back to see Beckwith still waiting, one brow quirked up and hand still outstretched. I curtsied politely and gently placed my hand within his. His fingers squeezed mine almost imperceptibly. 

“I would be delighted, Mister Beckwith.”

With a polite nod of his head, he led us onto the floor as the next dance began - a waltz melody floated from the orchestra in the corner of the ballroom. Gentle notes plucked from delicate strings peppered my ears as I got into position to begin the waltz, watching all the other women on the floor simper over their, frankly average, dance partners for their affection. I forced my eyes not to roll.

“Waltzes are the superior dance, do you not agree, Miss Darling?” Beckwith asked pleasantly as we swayed to mark an initial tempo. I turned my eyes back to him and smiled tightly.

“They are most… agreeable, Mister Beckwith,” I assented. Something sparked in his eye and he tilted his head slightly. I felt his slight push to begin the dance, and followed his lead into the three-step whirls. He was, admittedly, a better lead than many men I’d danced with before. The slightest nudge with his hands, the smallest twist of his shoulders - I could practically follow with my eyes closed.

“You prefer another dance, then?” he asked, and I could hear a hint of amusement hiding in his politeness. My eyes narrowed - my bluff wasn’t usually called so quickly, which meant he was already more interested in me than other suitors had been. Joy. I kept my gaze just over the top of his right shoulder, fighting to keep the spinning ballroom in focus while we danced. 

“I must confess, I possess more of a fondness for the Tango,” I admitted carefully. I felt his shoulder move under my left hand and furrowed my brow, momentarily confused by what I thought was an unfamiliar lead-in to a dance step. Flicking my eyes back to his, I was surprised to see him chuckling quietly.

“Ah, a lady with some spark, then,” he smiled. I blushed. “I admire your… vigour.”

“...Truly?” I asked cautiously. He nodded, and I saw something flash again in his eyes, something akin to anticipation. I bit my lip. “Most of my dance partners have not shared my passion for the Latin dances. In fact, they seem to actively dislike it.”

“Then your previous dance partners have been substandard.” Beckwith said simply. I blinked.

“Indeed,” I murmured. 

Our movements slowed, and I realised that the waltz was coming to an end. As we finished, his left hand rose and opened and his right hand lightly pressed my waist from behind, non-verbally asking me to turn under my right arm. I cringed internally at the thought of him ending an otherwise-agreeable routine with something so gaudy as a dip, but he simply spun me out far enough to bend down and lightly brush his lips over my knuckles. His eyes never left mine, and I suddenly had the strangest feeling… I had been mesmerised by similar eyes before, sharp and cold, but they hadn’t been grey, they’d been -

“Miss Darling?” Beckwith called and I shook my head lightly. 

“My apologies, my mind was… elsewhere, Mister Beckwith,” I flushed. He smiled easily. 

“It’s quite alright. I was only wondering if I might steal you for another dance this evening, if your dance card happens to have the room?” he requested. I almost sighed in relief - he’d opened the opportunity for me to use my usual excuse. I started to tell him that my card was, in fact, full - but I caught sight of my father watching from the other side of the ballroom and faltered for the second time that night. 

He was obviously feeling encouraged after watching my successful turn about the floor, and I could almost see his dream for my future coming true behind his eyes. In my moment of hesitation, the orchestra began another tune - bows slid across strings in a smoother, more sensual way. Bold chords were followed by coy runs on the keys of the piano. A tempo solidified, two slow beats and three fast - a tango. 

Of bloody course.

I saw the moment victory flashed in Beckwith’s eyes, and how could I possibly have known in that moment how dangerous he was; how badly things would fall apart when I reached out and took his arm for a second time…

----

I came back to myself with a jolt at the sound of the front door unlocking. 

I practically launched out of the bedroom and around the corner, down the stairs, and across the entryway to stand in position. I forced my breathing to even out as the door opened, revealing Daniel with a… smile on his face?

I dared to hope that he had a good shift, even offering a timid smile of my own as I greeted him, “Welcome home, husband.”

His smile widened - and for a moment I almost let myself think that today was the day I’d been waiting for for years. The day that everything would stop and he would finally be the Daniel I married… 

Until his first step into the house was more of a trip, and he stumbled into the door frame.

My smile faded. 

“Hullo, Wendy,” he grinned, and I could smell the not-so-subtle hint of whiskey on his breath. The man was already drunk, and it was barely six in the evening. I carefully recrafted my smile as I helped him remove his jacket and hat, wincing slightly as he leaned to the side and bumped his elbow into me. 

“I’ve just come home for a piss and to change,” he slurred, already bustling down the hall to the washroom. “Fenwick and I are having a night out with some chaps, no need to wait up.”

He closed the door and I could hear him continue to chuckle as he bumped around in the washroom. I groaned under my breath, but walked upstairs and started laying out an outfit for him to change into when he was done downstairs. 

As soon as all the pieces were laid out on the bed, he started trampling up the steps, and I moved to the corner of the room in case he needed my help. He changed quickly, haphazardly throwing his dirty clothes onto the floor in a crumpled mess. He attempted to tie his own tie, but grunted in frustration. 

“Wendy,” he moaned. 

I hurried over and stood in front of him, gently moving past his bumbling hands with my own fingers to grasp both ends of the fabric. I moved with ease, flipping and turning the fabric until it had morphed into the shape of a bow. 

He bent down quite suddenly and kissed me deeply, freezing my hands where they rested. I inhaled slowly through my nose and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the feeling of his lips moving against mine. After too long of a moment, he pulled away and I forced a soft smile. He turned and blinked at the mirror, satisfied.

“Very good,” he grinned and brushed past me, knocking into my shoulder. 

I followed him at a distance down the stairs, and helped him back into his coat and hat. I waved goodbye as he staggered out the door, almost breathing a sigh of relief as I closed and locked the door behind him.

I swiped a hand against my lips in a futile effort to get the echo of his mouth off of mine. 

As usual, it didn’t work.

----------------------

I’d been standing at the window for ten minutes.

I’d wrapped myself in a thick shawl and donned a pair of slippers, making sure I wouldn’t risk frostbite again. My fingers were itching to unlock the latch and to step out like I had two weeks ago, even though none of my memories had faded away yet. I was worried to try calling him again - what if, just like last time, it didn’t work? I would feel like a fool, and entirely too disappointed for my own good. 

And, perhaps worse, what if it did work? 

I felt almost certain that a proverbial ball was in my court, and my next move determined how the game would be played.

That voice, stronger this time, whispered to me again. Open. Try. My fingers itched to obey.

I thought about the dreams I’d had for the past two weeks, how I’d caught glimpses of him and heard whispers floating through my mind, smelled the smoke and lush sea breeze as he drifted past me in the dark - if there was even a chance to experience him, all of him, again in real life -

The latch was unlocked before I’d even registered my hands moving.

I pushed open the window, hauling myself up onto the windowsill and through to stand on the metal balcony. I stepped forward carefully so I wouldn’t slip, craning my head around to keep an eye on the dark corner he’d appeared from before. I stopped when I reached the railing, and leaned against it, completely facing the corner and concentrating.

“Can you hear me?” I called out cautiously. 

There was no answer, just like when I had called out from the bedroom floor. I tilted my head, leaning on my elbows against the metal railing. 

“I don’t understand how you came last time,” I whispered. “It feels as though it were just a dream, but I know it wasn’t. I know you were real.” 

I bowed my head and closed my eyes, forcing every particle of my energy to focus on making him appear. I must have looked like a fool, straining so hard my head started to swim and my skin prickled. But when I released myself, and slowly opened my eyes… the corner was still empty.

I slumped, turning and staring at the Star where it shone softly above my head. I gave it one last try, murmuring the most heartfelt plea I could muster. 

“Please, Captain.”

I saw it this time - the Star flickered brighter for a moment, and then settled. 

I stared hard at it, openmouthed, and didn’t even have time to register the movement behind me before sharp metal rested against my spine.

“Don’t move,” the Captain threatened quietly behind me. “I have had plenty of time to think through this little charade of yours.”

“What charade?” I whispered, lifting my hands slowly off the balcony railing. The sword dug deeper into my back in warning.

“Where is he?”

“What are you talking about -”

“Pan,” he hissed, leaning close enough to my ear that I almost shied away. “I know he’s behind this. Whatever the two of you are planning -”

“Peter isn’t here, Captain,” I turned my head slightly, but he was standing just out of sight. “I promise, there is no scheme. It’s only me.”

He was silent, the pressure from his sword unwavering. I swallowed hard, glancing down at the two story drop from the balcony to calculate my chances - when a large hand roughly spun me around. 

My gaze met sharp blue eyes, cold fire burning in them as they glared down at me. I didn’t speak; I merely struggled to calm my breaths as I held his gaze steadily. He searched my face, and then there was metal against my skin once more - the sharp point of his hook firmly nestled between my chin and my throat. I was forced to tilt my head backward slightly to ensure my flesh would not be pricked. 

If I let myself get lost in his intense stare, I was almost transported back to that day on the Jolly Roger; strapped to the mast as a frosty wind blew through me, the Captain towering over me. 

Then I blinked, and the memory faded - but he did not. 

“Swear it, then,” the Captain said quietly, still staring at me hard. “My hook will know if your tongue lies.” 

To prove it, he dug the hook’s end further into my skin, under where my tongue rested in my mouth, causing a tiny dot of blood to well up over the iron appendage. I resisted the urge to swallow.

“I swear it, Captain,” I said immediately. My answer was sure, even if my voice shook. “I swear on my mother’s soul that there is no plot here. Peter is not involved.”

We stayed like that for a long moment, completely still in the winter breeze. His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t let myself flinch. Slowly, very slowly, his hook retracted from my skin. He took a deliberate step back; but I noted that he still had not sheathed his sword.

“Then I should like an explanation,” he ground out finally. “Why am I here?”

“I…” I began, but paused. How was I to explain to him something I didn’t even know myself? I averted my gaze, suddenly feeling very awkward. “I suppose there is no reason. But after what happened two weeks ago, I just… I needed to know. I needed to prove to myself that you were…”

The Captain tilted his head, watching me stonily. “Doubting my existence, were you?”

I bristled at the mocking tone, glancing up and frowning slightly. “I don’t know how long you have been in the Neverland, Captain,” I said stiffly. “But after so long of being away, I don’t trust my own memories some days.”

He looked ready to respond with some sort of cutting remark, but stopped. He studied me, considering my words. There was some sort of shift behind his eyes, but I blinked and it was gone. “Well, be that as it may - I am here now. And quite real.”

“Yes, I’d noticed that,” I said, brushing my hand faintly against my chin. I pulled them away, wincing at the tiny streak of blood tracked across the pad of my finger. I looked back up at him, intent on changing the subject. “You came.”

“I did not have much choice in the matter, I’m afraid,” he quipped, his brow raising. “This was your doing. Again.”

I flushed, asking, “I called you before. Why did you only come now?” 

He huffed. “All I know is that I was just in my quarters. And now…” he gave a small mocking flourish with his hook, “I am once more in this wretched place.”

“Maybe it’s the balcony,” I mused, ignoring him as I started to pace across the balcony. He blew out another sharp breath, but I ignored the petulant sound. “Nothing worked when the window was closed. And it only worked once I actually said Captain - I wonder if -”

“So I am now to be an experiment,” the Captain drawled from behind me. I stopped pacing, closing my eyes and sighing deeply through my nose. “Is that it, then?”

“You are not an experiment, Captain,” I bit out. I tried to keep my tone measured - he had still not put away his blade. “But there is something strange happening and as it involves us both, I should think you’d like to learn more about it too.”

“All I wish is for you to solve the problem of sending me back to my ship,” he snapped. “Then you can consider this a resounding success for Neverland research.”

“If you would let me think for a moment,” I turned and glared, “then perhaps I would actually be able to get that far.”

He scowled back at me, but opened his arms as if to gesture by all means. I sighed, and kept pacing, well aware that his irritated eyes were tracking my movements. Eventually, I slowed to a stop and crossed my arms, turning to study him just as he’d been studying me. 

“The last time you left, I really… needed you to leave,” I said carefully. His eyes flicked down briefly, lingering over my collared throat.

“Yes,” he agreed, “the situation did seem rather… desperate.” He looked down again, this time at the ring on my left hand. “A pity, I was rather looking forward to introducing myself to… Mister Beckwith, was it?”

“Yes, Beckwith,” I said stiffly. “Believe me, it’s best that you two aren’t acquainted. I doubt that the two of you would… get along.”

“Well if this issue isn’t resolved, perhaps I shall be forced to stay and find out,” he pointed out.

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m sure we’d all rather see you back on your ship, Captain.”

“None more so than I, my dear.”

And with that, we were back to simply glaring daggers at each other from across the balcony. It should be so simple - I almost opened my mouth to try and bid him farewell. Surely I wanted him to go, and take his infuriating glower with him.

…But you don’t, really. Even this is better than nothing.

It was my turn to huff quietly, turning away and crossing my arms tightly over my chest once more. I turned my own scowl onto the Star; it was still winking mischievously up in the sky, as though it were enjoying the show immensely. 

I resisted the childish urge to stick my tongue out at it. 

Hearing movement from behind me, I glanced back to see the Captain searching the perimeter of the balcony. Suspicion was plastered across his face as he studied the night sky. I furrowed my brow, following his gaze to see if I could spot anything - and as I had expected, there was nothing to be found. 

“Why are you so certain he is here?” I asked quietly.

“Because I know he is not -” he cut off abruptly, apparently not willing to provide me with an answer. His eyes slowly returned to me, narrowing once more. “If you are not in league with him, why the curiosity?”

“Have you ever known me to refrain from questions?” I pointed out. He stared at me, tilting his head slightly. 

“...No,” he eventually said, finally slipping his sword back into its sheath. “No, I suppose not. But fair is fair - one question for another, don’t you think?”

“But you didn’t answer my -”

“Why now?” the Captain pushed on, ignoring my indignant scoff. “Why has this happened so long after your visit to the Neverland - and why me, of all people?”

“I told you, I needed to know you were real -”

“Tonight, yes,” he nodded. “But before - why did you call for me?”

I paused. There had been a shift inside me that night, but I certainly was not going to tell the Captain that. So I gathered my thoughts for a moment, and then answered as truthfully as possible. “I just needed to see one of you. Any one of you.”

“And I am the one that came to mind?” he sneered.

“Everyone came to mind,” I retorted. 

“But I’m the one you called.”

I fumbled for words, his statement catching me off guard. I eventually snapped my mouth shut and averted my gaze, uncomfortable with the heavy stare he’d put me under. “... I suppose you were,” I said quietly.

“Dear me,” he said with a soft snort. “Are you truly that lonely here?”

I did not answer right away, feeling my eyes start to prick. I turned fully away, looking down off the balcony without truly seeing any of the street. The Captain was rather quiet behind me. I lifted a hand and feigned scratching at my temple so I could stealthily wipe the tear away. 

I heard him shift uncomfortably.

“Of course not,” I said quickly, keeping my voice bright even as I remained turned away. “I love it here. I don’t need anyone to…”

I trailed away, noticing a car slow down below us. Even as I prayed against it, the vehicle pulled up to the house and stopped directly in front. There was that desperation again, that gnawing feeling of panic - I needed the Captain to go. Now. 

I squeezed my eyes shut and concentrated, focusing all my energy on sending him home.

“What are you doing?” he asked from behind me, startling me out of my reverie. I frowned; I wanted him to leave, I needed him to leave, why wasn’t he leaving?

“I’m trying to send you home -” I started to explain, turning around; but the rest of the sentence died on my lips.

I was, once again, alone on the balcony.

There was a shift in the air, a brief warmth that was gone in a flash, and then all was still. As the car door opened below, the first fall of snow flurries began to dance in the air. I allowed myself to stare at where he’d stood for one moment more.

It wasn’t enough to want it, to think it - I had to voice his dismissal, just like his summons. As I finally hurried across the balcony to reenter the house, I found myself stepping around where he’d been standing. As though he was still there - as though I didn’t yet want to admit that I’d sent him away, and left myself alone.

Dear me, are you truly that lonely here? He’d asked. 

I made sure the room was immaculate, complete with a footprint-free floor, before crawling into bed. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to draw the curtains closed; I watched the flurries dance through the locked window, and imagined what the scene would look like if his dark silhouette was still standing there. 

Knowing that I could not summon him from indoors, I closed my eyes, and allowed myself one last response to him as Daniel stumbled up the steps.

“Yes, Captain,” I whispered. “I suppose I am.”

Chapter Text

I turned in the bed once more, squeezing my eyes shut to no avail. No matter how many times I closed my eyes, sleep refused to take hold. I should have been able to rest more soundly than ever, especially with the rest of the bed empty for the next two days. 

But even without anyone else in the house, I was restless. 

No matter how hard I tried to clear my mind, my thoughts continually strayed toward the Captain. I still didn’t understand why, but I had the power to call on him, to bring him here. It was the first time I had spoken to someone, however curtly, without Daniel’s heavy handed supervision in five years. 

I hadn’t realised how much I’d needed to speak to someone - anyone, about anything. About whatever topic came to mind, without having to bite my tongue under my husband’s glare. To speak freely. To be a person . 

I sighed once more, opening my eyes in resignation. I would not find sleep here, not tonight. The moonlight illuminated the room through the drawn curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. I found myself staring down at them absently, imagining the Captain’s shadow joining them on the wooden panels. 

The blanket suddenly felt too heavy. I threw it off me with a huff, relishing in the cool draft that leaked in from outside. The atmosphere in the house felt too stiff, too stale; there was no wind in here, not really. I ached to feel it on my skin, no matter how cold it was. Staying in the bed was a smothering feeling, as though just being inside was equivalent to being pinned under Daniel’s glare.

I sat up quickly and placed my feet on the ground, trying to let the cool floor soothe my feet. But it was not enough. I needed air, I needed a cool breeze against my face. I stood and padded over to the window, reaching up with cautious hands and drawing the curtains back.

The moonlight brightened even more, as though a spotlight had been turned directly onto the house itself. I took a slow breath, trying to ground myself, and pushed the window open a crack.

A soothing winter breeze swept across my nose, and tickled at my hair. It felt amazing, but I needed more. I pushed the window open further, and further, until the curtains swished from the cold air against my feet where I knelt. 

My lungs inhaled a full breath, full of the icy promise of freedom from outside. It prickled in my lungs like snow, and when I exhaled, it was with a relieved sigh.

I glanced up and caught sight of the Star. It was shining almost as bright as the moon, and I ached once more to speak my thoughts aloud to someone. Anyone. 

Even him. 

I closed my eyes and, secure in the knowledge that I was not on the balcony, spoke in a silence-shattering whisper.

“I don’t know what to do, Captain.” I let my head drop. “I wish that-”

I froze at a drawn-out sigh from the balcony. 

“We need to work on your timing. I was nearly finished, too.”

I craned my head to the left and there he was, as though he’d always been there - though this time he wasn’t wearing his elaborate coat or hat. He was decidedly more casually dressed this time, in a black poet's shirt and dark vest, loose hair fluttering around his face in the light breeze. He stood in the corner, leaning his back against the wall with his right leg slightly crossed in front of his left. In his hand, he held a rather large leather-bound book, open to a page near the end of the volume. He seemed completely unbothered, eyes locked on the text in front of him as he slowly turned the page. 

I remembered to inhale.

“Hello,” I said, climbing out onto the balcony as gracefully as possible. 

“Good evening,” he said dryly, glancing up at me as I successfully exited the window. “Rather late to be entertaining visitors, is it not?”

“It is late, yes,” I said, unsure of what else there was to say. 

“Are you not worried about another interruption from your dear husband?” 

The phrase dear husband seemed pointed. I resolutely ignored the bait. 

“He’s gone this weekend,” I glanced back at the blissfully empty bed. “Business trip.”

“Gone,” the Captain mused, returning his eyes to the text in his hands. He did not hide, however, the slow curve of a smirk on his lips. I was reminded rather strongly of the Cheshire Cat grinning from the dark. “I do wonder if that makes tonight’s meeting more scandalous or less.”

“There is no scandal,” I insisted weakly. 

“No?” His eyes were back on me, and his smirk grew. “Inviting another gentleman to the balcony your husband owns… I assume without telling him, as I have yet to introduce myself.”

“As I said before,” I reiterated firmly, “I don’t believe you would be too amiable with each other.”

“For some reason, I hold the same doubt, Mrs. Beckwith,” he hummed, and I cringed at the sound of my married name in his voice. 

“Don’t -” I started, but stopped myself. He raised his brows in question, and I changed my sentence quickly. “Don’t bother yourself with him. I am more concerned with figuring out what exactly is going on here.”

“And have any new theories crossed your mind since we last spoke?” the Captain asked. 

I sighed. “Not yet, no.”

“I assumed you would have thought of something before calling me here again,” he drawled. “Was there another reason for me to visit this evening?”

“I hadn’t meant -” I sighed again, suddenly feeling very tired indeed. “I suppose we have already learned something. I do not need to be standing on the balcony - having the window open is apparently enough.” I levelled a subtle glare up at the star. 

“So you did not mean to bring me here tonight,” he pushed, raising his brow again. 

“I did not think you would come if I stayed inside, no.”

“But you addressed me,” he continued to pry. “You must have wished to see me.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I finally admitted. “And I was -” 

I snapped my mouth shut, but I could see the same word flash behind his eyes as though I had screamed it. 

Lonely. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I repeated instead. He hummed, studying me, but he did not push further. I shifted under his scrutiny, and he returned his gaze to the book in his hand. 

“Well then,” he said, his voice very matter-of-fact, as though he had noticed nothing. He slid down the wall carefully to sit on the floor, propping the book against his knees. “I suppose I have no choice but to stay for further experimentation.”

“I’ve told you you’re not an experiment,” I reminded him, but he lifted his hand to wave away my protest. 

“You are no longer the only curious party involved,” he said simply, turning his page with a lazy finger. “Kindly inform me if you have any more ideas, will you?”

I stared at him. But he was no longer paying attention to me and my incredulous silence. Of course he would wait for me to do all the work, of bloody course . I sighed and started to pace back and forth across the balcony, wracking my brain. 

Why is this happening now?

Why did this not work with Peter?

Have I always had this ability?

Could I use it to transport myself?

The last thought made me stop short. A dangerous thought, one I quickly threw away. At the exact same moment, the Captain moved his knees further up toward himself and subtly endeavoured to tuck his elbows in. I studied him; his expression betrayed nothing, but I knew at once.

“You’re cold,” I noted.

“Had I known my winter attire would once more prove useful, I would have simply kept it on my person,” he replied tightly.

“I’m sorry,” I apologised sincerely. But I paused at his words, and a sudden question struck me. “You really didn’t have any warning?” I asked, and he glanced up at last. “Before you were… summoned, as it were, was there not any sign that I was about to call you?” 

He frowned, letting his eyes drift away as he actually considered my question.

“You say you have spoken to me without successfully summoning me?” he asked.  

“I tried to call you the day after your first visit - but the window was closed, so it didn’t work. And I tried to call you last week for maybe three minutes before you appeared.” Before I had finished my sentence, he had started to nod slowly.

“Yes, on both occasions - my ears were ringing. I don’t recall ever having issues with my hearing before our first meeting,” he admitted. 

“They do say that a ringing ear means someone is talking about you,” I pointed out. “Perhaps there’s some truth to the old wives’ tale.” 

He snorted derisively, but didn’t offer a rebuke, which meant he didn’t quite disagree. 

“And… what does it feel like to be called?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. 

He thought again for a moment, slowly closing the large book and setting it on the ground. His brow pinched and his arms raised, his hand and hook moving gently through the air over his chest and arms as he searched for words to describe the sensation. My eyes tracked his movements, waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts.

“It is as though… I am experiencing a harsh chill,” he mused at last. “That full-body tremor that wracks one’s body after experiencing too much frigid air.” 

I slowly sat down as well, leaning my back against the metal railing as I imagined what he was describing. 

“There is a crescendo of sorts - similar to right before you sneeze - and by instinct I allow my body to release into the shiver, and I am yanked through space and time like a slingshot. Pulled tight, stretched across the galaxy. It is over in a blink, and then…” he gestured broadly with his left arm at the entirety of the balcony. “I am here.”

Staring, I asked, “Is it painful?”

“It is… less than pleasant,” he said carefully. I winced.

“Do you think,” I wondered, “you could resist it? Maybe if you pushed through the feeling, you could fight the urge to ride out the pull?”

“Perhaps, it is a viable theory,” he shrugged. “I know not.”

We sat in silence for a time, mulling over everything we’d learned tonight. I worried that I would have to be the one to restart the conversation again, but was pleasantly surprised when he inhaled deeply and shook his head.

“I cannot believe that I am suggesting such a thing,” he muttered so low that I had to strain my ears to hear him. He lazily dropped his head to the side to look at me, and spoke at a normal volume.

“If you should find the need to call me again, kindly speak to me with the window closed or indirectly first. If I am to be summoned like a dog across space and time, I assume I might request a warning?” His brow raised tauntingly, but the intent behind it didn’t feel as malicious as I would have expected. I nodded slowly.

“Of course,” I agreed. He inclined his head almost in thanks, and reached for his book to continue reading. 

For the first time in our conversation, I looked at the book with an overwhelming feeling of longing. My fingers itched to hold it, to feel the weight, to turn the pages with my own fingers and learn its secrets.

“What are you reading?” I asked before I could stop myself.

“Nothing exciting, I regret to say. Matters of business and accounting,” he waved his hand in my direction. 

I deflated - I’d heard enough about such matters from Daniel’s rumblings after his shifts at the bank. I’d been hoping for ship logs, at least.

“Disappointed?” he smirked, and I raised my brows in bewilderment. He hadn’t even needed to look at me to know? He chuckled, a low sound that scratched an itch in my brain I hadn’t known was there. “I could practically hear your heart sink, girl. Surely you have more exciting things to read in this dreary house of yours?” 

“I miss reading,” I confessed softly. This did make him fully look over at me, clearly confused. “I haven’t been able to for years.”

The face he made was almost comical. He seemed affronted to hear such a thing.

“The storyteller being kept from her books, what else has this wretched world gotten wrong?” he scoffed. “Whyever have you been denied such a thing?”

I shrugged with a sad smile. “It’s… no longer acceptable for me to be so attached to my stories. It’s unseemly for a woman to rely too much on make-believe, she somehow becomes brainless and too opinionated all at once. There’s not a single book besides accounting books in my home.”

He pondered this for a moment, flicking his eyes between the business book and my window. I watched him for a moment, fighting back a yawn as a wave of tiredness suddenly crashed into me. A weight had already been lifted off my shoulders, and it had left me quite exhausted in its wake. I covered my mouth with my hand in an attempt to smother the yawn, but he saw immediately.

“I thought you could not sleep,” he teased dryly. I flushed.

“I couldn’t,” I insisted. “I just… it’s nice. To speak to someone.”

I yawned again before I could help it, rushing to cover my mouth once more. He stood in a fluid movement, closing the book softly. 

“I believe it is time for the lady to retire,” he said pointedly.

I hesitated, but nodded as I slowly used the balcony railing to rise to my feet as well. 

“According to your ongoing theory, you must, ah… want me to leave?” the Captain asked haltingly. 

“Yes,” I agreed, and faltered. The truth was once again, I didn’t want him to go. But now I knew I could call him again, I could see him again. 

“Then how should we -” he started, but I interrupted him with a quiet shh. Surprisingly, his question cut off immediately and he obeyed, falling silent while I concentrated. 

I closed my eyes, and imagined how it would feel to watch him introduce himself to Daniel. How furious Daniel would be to see another man on our balcony. How much danger I was putting myself in, even with Daniel gone for the weekend. 

I snapped my eyes open, locking eyes with the Captain’s searching gaze. I nodded once, briskly.

“Goodbye, Captain.”

He inclined his head respectfully.

“Goodbye, Mrs. -”

I squeezed my eyes shut in dread, not wanting to hear him call me that damned name. “Go home.”

He was cut short, and when I slowly opened my eyes, he had vanished again. I stared at his bootprints just as I had after the last two encounters, and slowly stepped over to them. I fit my feet within the confines of his footprints, the edge of my shoes barely coming in contact with the sides of the tracks. He had been standing right here, and I could still feel the slightest zing in the air where his body had rested on the fabric of space and time. 

I stood revelling in the feeling until it faded, prompting me to reluctantly turn and crawl back through the window. The room had aired out now, considerably - the space felt rejuvenated. Comfortable. I pulled the window panes back toward me, but stopped when there was roughly an inch-wide crack. I couldn’t seal myself off again, not yet. 

As I crawled into bed, suitably exhausted, it hit me. There was a plan in place for me to see him again. And he seemed to be in agreement - which meant he wanted to see me again.

I didn’t need to read into it any more than that.

Chapter Text

I grunted in frustration. 

“Captain??” I called again, looking around to make sure that I was, indeed, standing firmly on the outer end of the balcony. I had been calling the Captain for a good ten minutes, and he still had yet to appear. I found it difficult to believe that he’d already figured out a way to fight being called, though I supposed the man was stubborn enough to do anything he saw fit. I’d stood on every square inch of the balcony, I’d tried with my eyes open and closed, inside and outside, facing the window and facing the railing, pacing back and forth, standing still, standing in his corner - absolutely nothing .

“Ugh,” I sighed, looking up at the sky. Clouds were obscuring most of the horizon, and the Star was hiding behind a rather thick blanket of cumulonimbus clouds. I looked directly at the hidden star and threw my arms up and out to the side in exasperation.

“Is no one going to answer me today?” I asked, irritated. Apparently, for some reason, my summons formula was off. I was missing something, what else had clicked to bring the Captain to the balcony? I glared at the sky.

“Captain, I am trying to speak to you!” I called, willing my voice to cut through the thick layer of clouds and pierce right through the Star itself.

“Yes, yes, all right!”  

I turned quickly. The Captain was right back in his corner, and he did not look entirely pleased with my tone. His hand was balled into a fist at his side, and his lips were twisted in an aggravated sneer. His right arm wrapped carefully across his stomach to hold his jacket closed. He blinked his eyes hard a few times as though clearing a headache. 

I stared in confusion, about to demand why he had not answered me - but then my face slackened with realisation. “I have to look at the Star .”

“What in the blazes are you blabbering about, girl?” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck tenderly with his hand.

“I knew I had to be missing something - the window must be open. I must refer to you specifically. And I must also apparently be facing the Star!” I was rather excited that I’d solved it all, but my mood turned sour when all the Captain did was scoff derisively.

“How enlightening,” he snapped. “Unfortunately, Mrs. Beckwith, I do have other things to attend to today and did not plan to be hauled out of the Neverland so aggressively. Now if you would kindly return me to my ship, I have business to attend to.”

“Aggressively?” I asked. 

He sighed, raising his hand and gestured firmly up at the sky. “It seems that the more emotional you speak your summons -”

“Emotional?” I cried incredulously, but the Captain barreled on.

“- the harsher I am thrown from my world into yours. I did not think you capable of quite nearly breaking my spine , Mrs. Beckwith.”

“Well, I am sorry,” I admitted, “but I was getting frustrated. It was not working -”

“Yes, I am aware, I was plagued with the nastiest ring in my ears for quite some time, thank you,” he gritted, using his hand to roughly tug on the lapel of his coat to straighten it. I huffed.

“I thought I was meant to give you a warning when I wished to speak with you?” I pointed out. His nostrils flared.

“Your warning makes it dreadfully difficult to concentrate on important tasks, I’m afraid. The ringing also appears to shift in intensity along with your voice,” he grumbled, beginning to rub gingerly at his ear. I felt a twinge of guilt.

“Well, what was so important anyway, what have I interrupted?” I asked, more mellow but still with a slight bite to my words. He glared at me.

“I am not required to divulge my daily routine to you, madam,” he quipped.

“I have already apologised for the pain I have caused you. Now inform me of what I have interrupted so that I may be properly sorry for that, too,” I demanded, my cheek making the Captain grind his teeth.

“If the lady must know, your precious Pan has been rather careless lately regarding the whereabouts of his little Hideout. My crew is preparing to launch an attack, and I cannot very well lead them if I am stuck here with you!” he growled. 

Stuck here with you. His words stung, but I was immediately more concerned than hurt.

“Peter?” I asked carefully.

“Pan, yes,” the Captain confirmed.

“But… I thought you already knew where his hideout was? You all took me - us from there years ago,” I reminded him. Keep him talking, don’t let him go back and hurt Peter. He threw his head back and laughed, a severely condescending sound.

“Oh, my dear, Pan is not a stupid entity - his Hideout always seems to re-materialise in a totally different area of the island by the time we make any progress finding the current one. We have finally set eyes on his newest hovel, and I do plan on making landfall this evening and putting an end to this once and for all,” he said firmly. 

“He’s only a child ,” I insisted desperately, and he growled, stepping closer to me. To my credit, I managed to stay still, resisting the urge to flinch away.

“He is anything but a mere child , madam,” he snarled. “He - it - is capable of more horrors than you will likely ever know. The things I have seen it do, the things it has done to -” 

He stopped himself abruptly, snapping his mouth shut. He took a deep breath, turning away from me. I stared hard at his back, watching it rise and fall with the effort of calming his ragged emotions. 

“What do you mean?” I asked quietly, afraid to know the answer. His head ticked down and to the left sharply, clearly unwilling to give me any more information.

“Pray that you shall never need to know, child,” he muttered. I was baffled.

“Peter was always kind to me,” I said quietly. I saw, if possible, the Captain’s shoulders tense even more. “Well, perhaps not at every opportunity, but… my memories of him are happy,” I confessed. 

He slowly turned to face me, his features already much calmer - but there was a glint of cruel anticipation in his eyes. I faltered.

“Ah, yes, those happy memories of yours. A child, after all, understands the world perfectly and remembers everything exactly the way it was intended,” he snorted. I bristled.

“They are my most treasured memories, Captain. I should like to think I’d remember them correctly,” I said firmly. His brow raised.

“Go on, then,” he prompted. “What does the lady remember?”

“He showed me wonderful things,” I responded quickly. “Mermaids. Fairies dancing. How to soar through the air without a care in the world, how to fight your lot -” I noticed with satisfaction that his eyes narrowed at my words. “- He protected me, he was my friend .”

“So he kidnapped you and your brothers, ripping you from your true family who had done nothing but love and look after you all, and showed you new shiny things to pique your interest so you would not leave him,” the Captain surmised. 

I blinked, caught off guard, and tried to speak again but he was faster.

“ Did he protect you? Did he truly help you fly because he wished you to be happy? Or were you forced to be dependent on him to survive in the Neverland?” he accused. “Pan is no friend to anyone, my dear. Pan traps children in his twisted little set of games, luring them in with promises of a freer life, so that he may use you all for his own purposes,” he spat.

I was stunned. We stared at each other silently as I processed everything the Captain had claimed. It wasn’t the truth, that wasn’t the Peter I remembered. And yet…

Any time I’d found myself separated from Peter, there had been a certain… freedom to it, but it had also felt very frightening. Not unlike the way it felt to speak with the Captain now -  away from my husband, but still risking his wrath should he find out. 

I looked away, brow furrowed in discomfort.

“Now you see,” the Captain said quietly. I sighed, and turned to look out from the balcony, leaning on my elbows on the metal rail. He was wrong, I did not quite see. But his words had reignited a deeply bitter thought. 

“He left me here,” I admitted, even though this was not news to him. “He left and forgot.”

The Captain stepped to my left, mirroring my position and leaning against the railing. He did not look at me, and I did not look at him.

“... I know,” he said eventually. He said it as though acknowledging an unfortunate fact, information that was neither happy nor sad. It was strangely comforting.

“I’m the only one who remembers,” I whispered. I saw him glance at me.

“Then his former band of renegades has forgotten?” he asked. I nodded sadly.

“It took a long time, but all the boys forgot eventually. John forgot first, Michael followed a while after. The other boys held on for as long as they could but…” I sighed. “They had to grow up. Every one of them.”

He hummed in response. “I must say I am not entirely surprised.”

“I certainly was,” I smiled tightly. “The boys had a difficult time giving up their freedom for things like school, wearing ties, finances, baths.”  

My smile faded. 

“But after a time, they had no need for stories anymore. They didn’t need Peter. And they didn’t need me,” I murmured. “They left, all younger than I - they all left the house before me and I was the only one left to remember at all.”

“Did you ever confide in anyone else?” he asked, and I laughed sharply.

“And risk being committed? No, Captain - I worked it into my stories, and my parents heard bits of it here and there, but that was all it was to them. A story. Sometimes I believe that fitting the grandest adventure I’d ever had into something so simple as a story - that was the downfall for the boys. I had hoped it would serve as a constant reminder so they would not forget, but it simplified it. Kept the experience juvenile, something they only associated with playtime in the nursery, stories and dreams. It very well may have been my fault that they all forgot,” I realised. 

The Captain didn’t respond, gazing down into the street. Once more, the sheer action of voicing my most pressing thoughts aloud was enough to clear enough room in my chest for a full breath. The silence did not feel uncomfortable; we sat in it together. The breeze even seemed to quiet, giving us space to process our own thoughts without interference.

The silence did not last much longer. We both startled at the sound of a loud POP up the road, and the Captain automatically took a step to his right, using his shoulder to nudge me behind him. I quickly walked around to stand in front, raising a soothing hand before he could reach for his pistol.

“It was not a gunshot, Captain,” I told him calmly. “It was just a vehicle backfiring.”

He relaxed slowly, glancing distrustfully at the edge of the neighbouring building that was hiding the vehicle in question. 

“Modern transport, what a ghastly thing,” he sneered. I snorted.

He resumed his post, keeping watch on the street below, but I saw his eyes dart occasionally towards where the sound had come from. Rather than draw attention to it, I also settled back into position, this time with him to my right. The third time his eyes shifted to look, they dropped and stared at the gold ring glinting on my left hand. I fought the urge to adjust my position and hide my hand - he was already too uncertain about my home life for his own good. 

Or mine.

“Tell me about your husband, Mrs. Beckwith,” he requested. Outright this time, bold. I forced my face to stay neutral, even going so far as to masterfully craft a small smile. 

“His name is Daniel,” I said lightly. “We were introduced by my father, Daniel was an upcoming clerk at the same bank. I was getting too old to avoid marriage for much longer, and Daniel was an… agreeable suitor, so…” I lifted my hand and displayed the ring more obviously. “Here we are.”

“Is he still an employee of the bank?” the Captain asked.

“Yes,” I answered, putting my hand back down. 

“Forgive my candour, but I would have assumed he would be able to afford… better lodgings than this,” the Captain said delicately. My smile slipped for a moment.

“Yes, well, he’s been running into some… difficulties at work lately,” I said. 

The Captain hummed, removing himself from the balcony and circling around to stand near the window. I glanced back nervously, but he didn’t try to enter the house. He simply stood at the glass, his eyes roaming around the bedroom. His eyes paused on the covered mirror.

“Superstitious, Mrs. Beckwith?” he asked. I laughed awkwardly. 

“Can you blame me, O Captain from another realm?” I pointed out. “The mirror reflects too harshly in the sun, and rather than shift its position throughout the day, I keep it covered until I need to use it.” The lie slipped easily from my lips. The Captain appeared to be satisfied, continuing his examination of the room.

“No books, indeed,” he murmured, and I sighed.

“Indeed,” I echoed.

“Surely you cannot be too happy with a man who would forbid you to read?” he said suddenly. Another pointed question, another needle to see if I would slip. If his suspicions had any basis in truth. I smiled again, but sadly.

“It’s not his fault, he is merely… a product of our time. We disagree on some things, but life together has been good lately,” I said truthfully. “We were not exactly a love match, Captain, and so it will never be perfect. But I am content.”

The Captain turned and studied me carefully, and as he did so that little voice reared its ugly head once again.

Liar. You’ll never be content here.

I pushed it away and kept smiling. After a moment, something changed in the Captain’s eyes and he relented, turning back to look through the window. I sagged in relief.

“Then it sounds like you’ve made a fine life for yourself, Mrs. Beckwith,” he nodded briskly. 

“I have,” I agreed quietly, turning back around once I trusted he would not enter the house. I heard him shift quietly, something rustling against the fabric of his coat, before he returned to stand to my left.

“May I ask why you called me here this evening, madam?” he urged. 

“Oh, yes, I…” I faltered, realising that the Captain was, after all, a very busy man and I hadn’t had an important reason to speak with him. I had only craved that relief, that breath of fresh air that accompanied all of our meetings. But that wouldn’t be enough to justify hauling him through the universe with such vigour. I bit my lip, searching for a suitable excuse and only able to scrounge up: “I wanted to ask... about… Smee.”

His brows raised higher than I’d thought possible.

“Smee?” he asked, incredulous. I winced mentally, but nodded enthusiastically.

“Smee,” I confirmed. “I wanted to… ensure that he and your crew were still in… good health.”

The Captain was trying very hard to keep a straight face.

“Verily,” he allowed with a smirk. “Well, you should be pleased to note, madam, that Mister Smee is indeed still in fine spirits. He is as bumbling as you undoubtedly remember him.”

I smiled a genuine smile this time, enjoying the memories I had of the odd little bo’sun. Even though we’d technically fought on opposing sides during the battle, every interaction I’d had with the man had been bizarrely sweet. I was glad to know he was still around on the ship.

“And the crew, well - other than the occasional scrape and bruise, they have not run into that much harm over these last few years,” he assured me. I sighed in relief, despite the fact that the vast majority of them had tried to run me through with the business end of a sword all those years ago.

“Well, then I - I am glad,” I said lamely. 

The silence that stretched after my response was not as comfortable as the first one. I shifted on my feet, glancing away. I heard an unexpected low laugh escape from the Captain. 

“What is it?” I asked.

“Hm? Ah - nothing to concern yourself over, madam, I assure you.”

But my probing stare was enough to make him sigh in resignation, and turn to me hesitantly.

“If I ever were to tell them of our meetings, I daresay they would be entirely too… ecstatic. They still seem to hold a rather strange fondness for little Red-Handed Jill,” he confided. 

“Truly?” I asked, my brows raising.

“I seem to recall a good deal of reluctance from them when you were to be captured, aye,” he admitted. I was surprised.

“But I’d thought that was the plan all along?” I asked. Something shifted in his gaze and he glanced away.

“Aye, it was,” he said quietly. “Your storytelling that first night seemed to… nearly change their minds, Mrs. Beckwith.”

“Oh,” I managed, stunned. 

“Yes,” he said awkwardly.

I stared at him, waiting for him to say anything else. When he did not, I shifted nervously and steeled myself to make a new request.

“I would… love to hear more about the crew in the future,” I said carefully. “I… miss the Neverland. I miss its stories.”

“You miss the crew?” the Captain asked, surprised. I almost said no , but then I realised that wouldn’t be entirely truthful.

“I miss the Neverland,” I repeated firmly.

“Did you miss me?” he blurted out. 

He had not meant to ask the question, judging by the surprise in his eyes mirroring my own. He snapped his mouth shut as soon as the last word escaped. There was a pregnant pause as we both stared at each other, both of us just as anxious to hear my answer.

“I miss the Neverland,” was all I could echo faintly.

“Of course,” he nodded tersely, turning away. I wasn’t quite sure, but I thought I could hear him mutter something along the lines of bad form, James. 

“I am sorry for interrupting your evening,” I apologised sincerely. “But please, Captain… Please do not harm Peter. I know he has caused you harm, I know he can be aggravating -”

“You know nothing about Pan, child,” he grumbled. But his shoulders dropped slowly and he turned back to face me. “I shall do my best not to kill him until you fully understand his nature. But I cannot promise you anything, Mrs. Beckwith.”

I sighed. “Very well, Captain. Do I… have your permission to call on you again?”

He inclined his head respectfully. “It is within your power, my lady.”

“I won’t call if you do not wish it,” I said firmly, afraid of how it would feel when he inevitably agreed and asked never to see me again. 

The Captain tilted his head, studying me with a guarded expression. His next words were quiet and slow.

“Perhaps… I have missed the Mainland as much as you have missed the Neverland, madam.” 

My brows raised in surprise, but I quickly schooled my features into a much calmer expression.

“I see,” I said simply. “Goodnight, then, Captain.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Beckwith,” he said quietly.

I shut my eyes tight, flooding my brain with false warnings that Daniel would be arriving soon. “Go,” I whispered. 

I opened my eyes and caught the tail end of his departure this time - a light shimmer was dissipating into the foggy London air, and I stepped forward automatically to run my fingers through it. The gleam only lasted a half-second, but the most delicious warmth tingled along my skin and brought a bright smile to my face. Unable to resist, I once again stepped forward into the same space the Captain’s body had occupied, and relaxed into the sharpness of the air. All too soon, the effect faded, and I turned to reenter the house.

I froze.

It had been placed with purpose, laying with perfect innocence on top of the windowsill. Leather-bound, about three inches thick, edges kept pristine except for one fraying corner of the binding. Emblazoned on the cover was a gold title: The Man of Feeling , by Henry Mackenzie. 

I had a new book to read.

Chapter Text

I barked out a laugh, slapping my palms over my warm face to cover my eyes.

“Wait, wait, wait - so he was just running into the fray… with no trousers on?” I giggled. The Captain hid a chuckle behind a faux cough, and nodded.

“Aye,” he grimaced jokingly. “And naught but a dagger in hand.”

“Oh dear ,” I laughed. “Poor Starkey.”

“Yes, yes, poor fellow,” he smirked, shaking his head in exasperation. “At the very least, the battle that day turned rather nicely in our favour.”

“Maybe because Starkey’s state of undress was distraction enough for you to strike,” I pointed out. The Captain smiled briefly despite his efforts not to.

“Yes, madam, I do believe you are right,” he admitted, raising his goblet and prompting me to pour another small glass of brandy. I obeyed, before also refilling my glass. We each took our shots in amused silence, and I could tell that he was still trying not to smirk at the wince on my face. I put the cork stopper back in the bottle as I sat back, feeling the fire trickle down into my chest. 

He sighed, turning and looking up at the night sky. “Can you truly find it anywhere?”

“Yes,” I sighed with a small smile. I didn’t need to clarify what he was asking about. “Anywhere.”

“Even when you cannot see it?”

“Yes,” I laughed lightly. He raised a brow in challenge.

“Close your eyes,” he demanded. I was surprised when I obeyed without hesitation. I heard fabric rustle as he stood up next to me.

“Stand,” he ordered. I grinned cheekily, climbing to my feet. I jumped when a hand lightly rested itself on my shoulder, but the Captain didn’t seem to think too much of it. The hand guided my shoulder around until I was spinning slowly in place. He moved with me, never in the same direction, so I would truly be disoriented. I giggled, still in control but slightly flushed. 

“Now,” he urged, “point to the Star.”

Without even thinking about it for a moment, my hand shot up and pointed above and behind me. The Captain shifted, and I could feel the tickle of one of his curls as he tried to see from my perspective. 

I stilled, not saying anything but focusing solely on how the hair felt on the skin of my clavicle. Coarse with sea spray and wind, thick and heavy. My pulse skipped over itself when he exhaled sharply, the edge of his breath grazing my ear.

“That is uncanny, madam,” he commended, the trace of an awestruck laugh colouring his voice. 

“Thank you, thank you,” I grinned, opening my eyes and turning to face him straight on, faltering when I realised he hadn’t quite had the chance to move away from me. His temple was inches away from my mouth, but he was still looking up at the Star and hadn’t seemed to notice. To spare him (and myself) the embarrassment, I quietly took a few steps backward. 

This had not been the plan for the evening’s visit. I’d called him back tonight, a week after our last meeting. When he’d appeared, he had already been sitting on the floor, leaning back against the wall, brooding about something - for all my questioning, he hadn’t told me what was wrong. He simply had continued to sit quietly, staring steadily at the wall. 

I’d almost sent him back. But something had stopped me, something had made me think that going home was not what the Captain needed. So I’d squared my shoulders, walked over to the window, opened it and stepped through it into the house. 

When I’d returned, it was with brandy and two small glass tumblers. 

“If we are to mourn something this evening,” I’d said simply in response to his questioning eyes, “let us at least do so in style.”

And that is how we had come now to be more than a few drinks deep, much more relaxed than I think either of us had been in months. 

“And what if you are inside a building, are you still able to see it?” the Captain asked, bringing my attention back to the present moment. 

“It’s not that I can always see it, per se,” I said slowly, “I can just always feel it. It’s like how you can feel when your head is facing straight forward, or your shoulders are twisted slightly and not squared - I can feel something inside align itself when I look at the Star.”

“Fascinating,” he murmured. I watched in amusement as he twisted his body each way slowly, keeping his eyes locked on the Star as though testing to see if he could feel the same thing. His shoulders slumped slightly and his head cocked to the side, assumedly meaning he couldn’t sense it. 

“Why you?” he wondered out loud suddenly. The words stung for a moment, but somehow I knew he hadn’t meant any offense. “Since you came years ago, things have been so different. Pan has never… and now this? I cannot fathom it.”

“Neither can I,” I sighed. I turned to walk back to the brandy bottle but the Captain was already moving, deep in thought as he picked up the bottle in his hand. I almost called out, thinking he wouldn’t remember it was stoppered, and stilled when he absently lifted it to his mouth and removed the stopper with his teeth. He poured two glasses easily, before sticking the cork back in halfway with his mouth. He pressed on the top with the side of his hook, and picked up one of the glasses to hand to me. 

I took it from him, downing the drink before he could even lift his in a toast. The heat of the brandy did little to slow my heartbeat - when had that picked up? - but it was enough of a distraction so I was no longer focused on his mouth. 

“I spoke with Smee about our… situation,” he said offhandedly. I looked up in surprise. 

“Mister Smee? What did he say?” I asked. The Captain’s brow pinched and he shook his head, slowly nursing his own drink. 

“He had no advice to give,” he said. “He merely asked if…” He stopped himself, shaking his head again and sighed. “He said nothing of note.”

I pursed my lips in doubt, but ultimately decided to let it go. I could pry about it later.

“Do you wish to speak about what’s bothering you?” I asked instead, expecting him to shrug me off as before. 

I was surprised when he sighed again and sat down against the railing, nodding tiredly. I carefully sat down as well against the wall, directly across from him, and waited. 

“The mission I attempted to execute last week was… unsuccessful,” he said finally. 

I hummed in response, struggling to keep my calm composure while my hand tightened around my glass. 

“It turned out to be a trick. Another of its games ,” he sneered, knocking back the rest of his brandy in one hard swallow. He did grimace this time, though I suspected it was more due to the soreness of his loss rather than the bite of the drink. 

It?

“Peter?” I asked abruptly, regretting my question when the Captain’s face twisted further into a scowl. “Pan, I mean,” I backtracked. That was what he preferred to call him, after all. The scowl lessened, but the Captain still set the glass down to absently rub at the base of his hook. 

“Aye,” he muttered shortly. 

“I am… sorry,” I said with care, unsure of how I actually felt about the loss. He gave a slight nod, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the railing. 

“So was Mullins,” he said simply. My stomach sank. 

“You don’t mean…” I trailed off when he opened his eyes to stare at me in challenge. 

“I believe you understand precisely what I mean, madam,” he said quietly. I lowered my gaze, feeling my stomach begin to twist. “This is curious, I’ll admit - I do not seem to recall you being so… invested in the health of my crew when you were a child, Mrs. Beckwith.”

“I was only a… well,” I corrected myself, knowing that my youth wasn’t exactly an excuse. “Death becomes a much more unsavoury creature as you age, I think.”

“Hmm,” he mused. “And what of your stories? Is there not at least one character who must die to allow your heroes their, ah, happily ever after? ”

“Not always,” I said softly. “Sometimes, yes. But stories of death and death in the eyes of a child are not the same as experiencing it as an adult.”

“I believe that seeing one of your band of rascals falling in battle would have been enough to traumatise you, child or not,” he challenged. 

“I believe so, yes,” I admitted. “But there is a deeper connection among peers, is there not?”

The Captain stilled, and suddenly his gaze was no longer locked on me. His eyes wandered, an almost haunted glint appearing in them. 

“Aye,” he said quietly. “Aye, there is.”

Neither of us seemed to know what else to say. It was my turn to study him now. Curiously, I didn’t like seeing him like this - whatever I’d said had obviously reminded him of something very personally upsetting, and the moping Captain from earlier had returned. 

“I enjoyed the book,” I said, trying to change the subject. “It was quite…”

“Dull?” he supplied quietly. I shook my head adamantly.

“Sad,” I corrected. “Beautifully sad.”

“I am afraid my shelves do not contain many happily ever afters, Mrs. Beckwith,” he apologised. I winced.

“If it’s all the same to you, Captain, I’d prefer you not use my married name,” I said quietly. His eyes narrowed.

“And why is that?” he asked. I paused, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t tip him off.

“It is… offensive to the ear, admittedly,” I lied. “I wish I hadn’t needed to take it.”

He studied me for a long moment.

“Aye,” he admitted slowly, “it does mar the… musicality of your name, I agree.”

I flushed, and something told me it had nothing to do with the alcohol I’d consumed. 

“But as you are married, I cannot very well call you Miss Darling any longer. It would be very bad form, you see,” he explained. I sighed.

“I understand, Captain - if you must, you must,” I said softly. 

“I shall try my best, madam,” he said. I smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Ah - that reminds me,” he said abruptly, climbing to his feet. He stood with much less difficulty than I had - of course, as a pirate captain, he hardly would be a stranger to alcohol. He lifted his brandy glass, holding it out to offer it to me. “I had planned to bring you more, but it… slipped my mind before our meeting tonight.”

I stood as well, walking slowly over and taking the glass from him. 

“Oh that’s quite alright,” I said, noticing a small scuff on the glass. “I suppose I should return the first one to you -”

“No,” he refused quickly, “Keep it.”

“...Very well,” I said, surprised. The Captain’s eyes drifted down, focusing on my hands as they carefully buffed out the mark on the glass. Only once I’d almost finished did he clear his throat and blink, looking back up at me quickly.

“If you should like to read more, I am happy to return to my chambers to fetch them,” he said carefully. I furrowed my brow.

“Now?” I asked.

“Now,” he nodded. I was bewildered.

“Captain, that is very generous of you but… is the journey not unpleasant?” I asked, concerned. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not as unpleasant as leaving a storyteller without her stories,” he said simply. 

I stared at him, floored. I did not speak again until he shifted slightly, clearing his throat again.

“Very well, Captain,” I said weakly. “How long will you need?”

“Naught but a moment, madam,” he assured me. “They have been sitting in the same spot since our last meeting.”

“Alright, then,” I looked down at the glass, brushing my thumb against it a final time. “Go home, Captain.”

When I looked back up, he’d disappeared. 

I took a moment to stare at his footprints again, but this time, I was not focused on his arrival or departure. I replayed the conversation in my head, coming to the conclusion that neither of us would have been quite so open if I hadn’t run to fetch the brandy. That’s all it was, alcohol could be a powerful thing -

The books have been sitting in the same spot since last time. That means he intentionally picked out books for you in advance.

“Stop,” I whispered to myself. This was not a path I could go down. 

Certain he’d had long enough to fetch the books, I decided to call him to get it over with. I turned and looked at the Star. Briefly, I wondered if I had to use his title - would it also work to use…?

“Hook,” I said softly. 

Fabric rustled behind me, and I turned to see him plant his hand against the wall, trying to steady his footing. Tucked in his right elbow were three more volumes, books he’d picked specifically for me -

Stop it.

“Are you alright?” I asked, stepping forward. I removed the books from his arm and placed them on the ground, reaching a steadying hand out. He rested the side of his hook on my shoulder, blinking hard for a moment. I vaguely noticed that the close proximity of the iron appendage was not bothering me at all.

“Aye,” he huffed. “Tis the drink - journeying between worlds is worse when one’s constitution is already threatened,” he smirked, finally managing to drop his left hand. He looked at me and stilled, the amused expression sliding off his face when he realised where his right arm was. He carefully removed it from my shoulder, making sure his hook didn’t snag on any hair or skin.

“Apologies, madam,” he said quietly.

“It’s alright,” I said, turning to pick up the books with care. He’d appeared back in the corner, and the roof overhang had luckily kept a small area of the balcony free of snow. Just to be safe, I brushed a hand over the back of the book at the bottom of the stack, relieved to feel that it was dry. 

“Thank you,” I said, running my fingers along the spines reverently. Hook was silent, and as I looked back up, he quickly moved his eyes away from my hands. 

“It is my pleasure,” he said. “Will the lady need anything else this evening?”

I shook my head. “No, Captain, I am fine.”

“Very well, then,” he bowed slightly. “Goodnight, madam.”

“Goodnight,” I smiled, closing my eyes and concentrating. A faint blink of gold glowed through my eyelids, and when I opened my eyes, I was alone. I revelled in the crisp, silent air for a moment before climbing back into the house.

I knew I wouldn’t have the house to myself for much longer. The bed looked warm and inviting, especially since the brandy was settling like a comfortable, soothing weight in my stomach. I wanted nothing more than to languidly slide under the blanket and shut my eyes, so I could float away in comfort. But if I left these books out…

Sighing, I walked over to the far corner of the room, and removed the first drawer from the dresser. Once it was safely on the bed, I placed both hands inside the chasm where the drawer once was, pressing my palms firmly against the top of the rectangular hole, and lifted the dresser with a grunt. I took a few strained steps sideways, placing it back down, and walked back to look at the area of flooring it had previously concealed.

Bending and carefully running my fingers along the seam in the wood revealed a loose section of floorboards. I pried it loose, looking underneath to see the small hiding place I’d been using for years now. 

The hole was about a foot wide, three feet long, and six inches deep. Tucked away in the hole were small keepsakes from my family - a pair of cufflinks that had once belonged to my father, a pair of earrings from my mother’s vanity, a crystal ornament that once had decorated our Christmas tree. A few pound notes were bundled in the furthest corner, one of the last gifts my parents had given to me in case of an emergency. The newest occupant in the space was the first book the Captain had given me, and there was just enough space left for the three newest additions.

I gently moved The Man of Feeling , rearranging it and the other keepsakes to make sure everything would fit. As I lifted the money, temporarily relocating it to another corner of the hole, something tumbled into sight with a soft clatter.

I paused.

I’d forgotten I’d kept it all these years. Yet, here it was, staring at me blatantly from under the bedroom floor. There was still a small section of chain attached to it, and the centre was pierced through. With a trembling hand, I reached out and picked it up cautiously between my thumb and forefinger.

The acorn felt so much lighter and smaller than it had in my hands before. The hole in the middle was the only evidence of damage; other than that, it looked exactly as it had when Peter had plucked it from his clothes. Once upon a time, we’d called this a kiss - nothing more than a child’s misunderstanding, because of course Peter hadn’t known about kisses. Peter hadn’t known about a great many things.

It was hard to call it a kiss now. When I’d been a child, swept away by magic and mischievous green eyes, everything had seemed so much… more. Even holding this little piece of Peter had filled my heart just as much as flying alongside him. But now, holding it felt off. Like I’d kept something far beyond its return date, and I shouldn’t even be looking at it any longer. The image of a kiss, gentle and sweet, had fallen away - and now, all I could see was a miraculously well-preserved tree nut. 

A sudden idea struck me.

I knew what to do to call the Captain. I’d done the same for Peter plenty of times before - stood outside and gazed at the Star, calling out his name wistfully. There had never been an answer. Would it help to hold the kiss?

My fingers closed slowly around the acorn, and I turned my head to look out the window. It would be easy to at least try. Just step onto the balcony again and call him. My knees started to straighten; but remembering my conversations with the Captain made me hesitate. I wasn’t sure I wanted to believe that there was a dark side to my Peter, but I’d noticed the way the Captain’s face paled each time Peter was mentioned. Beneath the obvious anger and bloodlust, there was always something else.

Fear.

I wasn’t sure what memories planted that terror in the Captain’s mind. And I wasn’t too keen to find out. That voice in the back of my mind urged me to put the acorn down. Without debating the issue any further, I tucked the acorn back into the money stash, finished packing everything into the small hiding spot, and replaced the loose section of flooring on top. I moved the dresser back into the corner, lifting instead of sliding, to make sure that there weren’t any scuff marks on the floor Daniel would see. Once I’d returned the drawer to its proper spot, I turned and flopped onto the bed with a sigh.

My mind was already slipping into oblivion, every breath pulling me further and further away from the draughty bedroom. I didn’t even have the energy nor the presence of mind to pull back the covers; the brandy did a good enough job of keeping me warm just laying on top of the comforter. By the time my husband returned home, I would already be deep in a genuine sleep.

I drifted off into dreams that moved like liquid - no images stayed for long, there was no concrete plot to follow - but sprinkled throughout my slumber were the sounds of a poorly-disguised chuckle and the clink of brandy glasses.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Each day when Daniel left for work, and each evening when he left on his outings, I pulled out one of the books and read as much as I possibly could. It only took me a week to get through all three books, and it was as though I could feel the cobwebs being dusted ever so nicely from the ridges of my brain. 

Once I’d finished the books, I waited for Daniel to go out in the evening before moving the dresser away again. I took out the four books I’d collected, knowing that I’d have to give them back to the Captain if he planned on gifting me any more in the future - there simply was not that much room left in the hiding nook. 

“Captain, I’m going to call you in just a moment,” I said with a smile, telling myself I was only excited to see him because of the possibility of more books to read. I opened the window and climbed out onto the balcony.

“Captain,” I said again, keeping my face down at the ground as I finally rose onto my feet. I walked to the edge of the balcony, glancing below to make sure that Daniel was officially gone from the street entirely, grinning when it was all clear.

“Last warning, Hook” I said, still aiming my gaze down below. I’d decided to start giving him three concrete rings in his ear so he’d have more time to prepare. I looked up at the Star and smiled, finally fully ready to call him to chat.

“Captain!” I called happily.

There was a strained yell from behind me. 

I whipped around to see Hook flickering in and out of view, face pinched in concentration. I was alarmed to see his sword gripped tightly in his left hand - the sleeve of his white poet's shirt was stained red; with his own blood or someone else’s, I wasn’t sure. He grunted, screwing up his face with tremendous effort.

“Not… now!” he gritted out. My stomach jolted - he was trying to resist my summons, caught in the peak of a battle. His eyes cracked open and met mine, the pain clear in his harsh gaze.

“Let go!” Hook shouted. Pleading. I finally remembered how to speak.

“Go!” I blurted out, just wanting him to be released from whatever torment this was. 

He vanished with a strangled cry, a haze of pale gold exploding into the air for a half-second. I stared, frozen, until the gold was gone and the wind had carried away any remaining electricity from the air. 

I stayed there long after a chill was buried deep in my bones. It was only when I heard a car door slam on the street below me that I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath and headed back inside. As I crawled into bed, the only things I could think about were the sheer pain on the Captain’s face and the blood on his shirt. Whose blood had it been? Had he been winning or losing? I wasn’t sure what I hoped the answer was.

He was in danger. A familiar feeling settled like a stone in my stomach - dread. I found myself torn between aggressively shouting for him so he would be removed from the fight, or never calling him again for fear of hurting him.

In the end, I glanced over to the window to ensure I’d closed and locked it. Just to be safe, I turned my head as far from the Star as possible, burying my face in my pillow to muffle my words.

“I am sorry, Captain,” I whispered. I hoped he’d hear the soft ring and recognize it for what it was - a sincere apology. I lifted my head to curl into a comfortable position, and jumped when the front door opened with a faint bang . 

I scrambled under the covers and closed my eyes as heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed open and I tensed, hoping that I could avoid whatever ill temper Daniel seemed to have tonight. 

My hopes were dashed when a heavy hand planted itself on my shoulder and flipped me over onto my back roughly. My eyes snapped open, abandoning the idea of pretending to sleep.

The fingers buried themselves hard in the flesh of my shoulder, and I whimpered. Daniel’s face was so close to mine, I could practically feel his eyelashes brush against the bridge of my nose. He was absolutely plastered, but there was a sharpness in his grey eyes that hadn’t been present recently. 

My stomach sank with a very familiar sort of dread. Nothing had really changed after all - his fury had just taken a brief vacation.

“Those whores think they can just throw me away,” he growled, more to himself than to me. “I’m not a good lover, eh? Can’t keep it up, they say? I’ll show them.”

When his other hand came up to my other shoulder, I closed my eyes again. I kept my arms at my sides and let him move me around like a rag-doll, knowing it wouldn’t last long. Every time he grasped another part of my body with crushing strength, I grit my teeth and held my breath to keep from crying out, telling myself it would be over soon. 

Sure enough, after a rough few minutes, what his harlots had apparently told him held true - his stamina under the influence wasn’t exactly anything to be proud of. He rolled off me with a groan, without even having satisfied himself. 

I kept my eyes squeezed shut as he muttered obscenities at the wall from the other side of his bed, his grumbles getting quieter and quieter until he finally slipped away. His snores filled my ears as I willed my heartbeat to slow, suddenly very glad that I hadn’t been able to meet with the Captain after all.

I found myself wishing I could melt through the mattress and disappear entirely. Now that Daniel had snapped once more, I knew his roughness was here to stay again for a while. We always seemed to go in these loops, cycles of false peace giving way to violence once more. Would there ever be a way to fully break out of it? Would there ever be a day when the bruises faded from my skin and I could rest easily, knowing that they would not marre my flesh again?

I did not know the answer. I forced myself to slip into a fitful sleep, seeking what little comfort I could in my subconscious.

Once again, my dreams were mere flashes and broken pieces of stories, but the sound interwoven within them was no longer cheerful. Instead of smothered laughter, strained cries of battle floated through my mind. The clinking of glasses had been replaced with the clashing of swords. 

A vicious rooster crow echoed out of the darkness. A phantom hand and something cold, like metal, grasped my shoulders gently - but the metal morphed into flesh, and suddenly two harsher hands were roaming my torso. Flashes of eyes - grey, green, red - whipped past me, and I stumbled backwards away from them, stumbling into a pool of clear blue water. 

I spluttered, blinking to try and clear my vision. My eye was drawn to a woman a few yards away - a green woman, with a kind smile, her eyes closed. Just behind her, two sets of eyes watched her closely - one pair shining white-gold, the other pair angled and blue.

Before I could call out to the strange woman, something flew down close to me - I felt the sheer wind from it bite at my skin, and the pool turned blood red. I felt the same metal from before latch around my ankle and drag me beneath the scarlet waves, but I did not feel afraid, I felt warm and safe. Just when I started to relax, an ominous tick tock tick tock started to boom through the water. I looked down to see the clock from my mantle floating slowly upwards towards me from the deep -

I woke with a gasp, drenched in a cold sweat. I blinked hard, trying to breathe steadily while hiding my eyes from the sting of the sunshine.

Sunshine?

I forced my eyes open fully, whipping my head to the left and finding the clock. It was just as bad an omen as it had been in my dream, as the two hands mercilessly pointed towards seven o’clock. The eerie silence of the room prompted me to slowly turn my head back to the right, and I froze.

Daniel was sitting calmly at the end of the bed, fully dressed for work. A nearly-clean plate of food sat on the side table, and his side of the bed had been meticulously made. I swallowed, terrified. 

“Sleeping in, little mouse?” he asked gently. I shook my head quickly and sat up.

“Please -” I stammered, but he held up a hand and I snapped my mouth shut.

“I waited,” he said simply. “I woke, dressed, ate, and cleaned - I did your job for you, Wendy. Do you know what that makes you?”

I stayed still as he leaned over to me, the tick in his jaw far more obvious the closer he got. His hand reached up towards me, and I flinched as his hand locked harshly around my jaw. 

“Useless,” he spat.

I closed my eyes, and as he removed his hand, I cast my thoughts to the Captain. I hoped he was alright, because I wouldn’t be able to call him until all evidence of my husband’s temper had disappeared again. 

I found myself wishing I was back in my dream, with the red pool and the strange green woman. I would have taken a disjointed dream over my waking nightmare.

The first crack of a palm against my cheek rang out, and the cycle began anew.

Chapter Text

A few weeks later, I reluctantly pulled the curtain away from the mirror. 

I stood in the midday sun, dressed only in my undergarments, secure in the knowledge that my husband was at work for another few hours. I kept my eyes away from my abdomen, legs and upper arms, knowing that they were still marked. Instead, I closely inspected my face, neck, forearms and hands. The skin was clear in these areas, which of course would be the only areas visible once I’d redressed. 

I’d decided to try and call Hook during Daniel’s work day, when I could be certain my husband would not return home too early. Lately, Daniel’s nightly wanderings had grown irregular, and he either came home in the wee hours of the morning or barely five minutes after he’d left. I couldn’t take the chance of summoning the Captain when we could easily be discovered. 

So it was with nervous knots in my stomach that I put on one of my more conservative dresses - pale blue, white trim, long sleeves and a high collar just to be on the safe side. It would not be unusual for this much of my skin to be covered, since winter had not fully surrendered over to spring yet. The air was still brisk, and the occasional frost would sometimes make the balcony a little slippery to walk on. I brushed a hand through my hair, electing to keep it down around my face just in case I’d missed a mark or two on the back of my neck. 

“Captain,” I said quietly, wanting his first warning to be soft and not overwhelming. I donned my slippers and my shawl, walking over and undoing the latch.

“Hook,” I said, my voice more certain as I climbed outside. The breeze was sharp today, biting at my eyes, and much stronger than the few rays of sun peeking out from behind the clouds. Below the balcony, cars honked and rattled as they passed, an endless stream of exhaust tinting the air with grey. 

“Captain, I hope you’re there,” I whispered, praying that whatever fight I’d interrupted two weeks ago hadn’t killed him. I wasn’t too sure why I was so invested in his health given our personal history, but things certainly had changed. I remembered telling Peter that I thought everything would become clearer when one grows up, but I was indeed an adult now - and things were still about clear as mud.

Pushing my conflicted feelings about the Captain aside, I looked up.

“Hook, may I speak with you?” I called softly. 

There was a quiet sigh from behind me, and I turned to see him relaxing against the wall with his arms crossed.

“I was beginning to wonder if I’d see you again, madam,” he said. He pushed his shoulder away from the wall, taking a step towards me, and by sheer instinct I quickly took a step back. He paused, staring at me hard. 

I glanced at his hook, partially hidden beneath his left arm, and shifted my gaze to his shoulder. His shirt today was black, but the memory of his blood-stained sleeve flashed past my eyes, forever seared into my memory. Realising my mistake too late, I snapped my eyes back up to his. A sudden look of understanding passed across his face, and he stepped back to lean on the wall again.

“I must confess I was afraid of this,” he said simply. 

What?

“Captain, I -” I started, but he looked away and shook his head.

“I had hoped, after our meetings, you… but you have remembered what I am.” He uncrossed his arms and began to absently run a finger along the length of his hook. 

“Captain, I promise, it is not what you think.”

“You promise?” he muttered, flicking his eyes back up to look at me. I faltered, watching the persona of the terrifying Captain rebuild itself around him, brick by brick. His eyes sharpened, his head cocked to the left, and he pushed away from the wall again with purpose. I kept still as he stalked forward, lifting his hook to inspect it closely. “I saw your eyes as you sent me away. The fear in them. I do not know if I believe your promise , my lady.” 

I swallowed hard and started to back away again, searching his eyes and finding what I was looking for. Hidden beneath the coldness was an uncertainty - a slight bend of his brow, barely noticeable, but I had spent enough time in his presence to know that he hoped what I said was true. I took a steadying breath, re-planting my feet and packing every ounce of open honesty I could into my expression.

“Captain, I confess I was afraid that day -”

“Of me,” he finished, his voice certain.

“ For you,” I corrected. He halted mid-step.

He searched my face for any sign of a lie. I held his gaze firmly, not even daring to blink. The tension started to slowly melt from his shoulders, and he lowered his hook to rest at his side. He took another step towards me, and though we were suddenly no more than a hand’s distance away, I stayed my ground. 

“ For me, you say?” he said quietly. I nodded.

“Yes,” I murmured. He exhaled sharply, a faint hint of spiced rum dissolving into the air. Not nearly enough for him to be intoxicated in the slightest; likely the residue of a pirate captain’s dinner the night before. It was a much different smell than the whiskey on Daniel’s breath - this was warmer, smoother. I found that I didn’t mind it much at all.

“What happened that day?” I asked. His face began to harden again, but instead of letting him retreat into his shell, I pushed through his discomfort. “Captain, I will not be afraid. I simply want to know. What happened?”

He studied me, clearly sceptical. But he sighed anyway, and I could just barely pick out notes of cinnamon and cardamom from his breath before he turned away. He paced away from me for a moment, stopping in the middle of the balcony to clasp his hand and hook behind his back. 

“It was a routine skirmish, nothing more,” he dismissed, but I zeroed in on the way he kept fidgeting with his hook with his hand. “An attack was launched on the ship, we countered, zero casualties.”

I narrowed my eyes, locking my eyes back on his left upper arm. 

“Any injuries?” I asked pointedly. He tensed.

“Aye, a few,” he admitted. “Starkey is still recovering from a rather nasty run-in with a sword, and Smee was forced to fashion a crutch for Jukes.”

I winced. But I was not deterred.

“Hook,” I said carefully. His hand stilled. He turned his head to the left, prompting me to continue. “When I called you, your sleeve…”

He slowly shifted to fully face me, incredulous. He brushed lightly against his left upper arm with his right forearm. I could read his expression clearly - he still hadn’t expected me to truly be that concerned.

“Aye,” he confirmed. “It was my own blood. Twas a mere scratch, I assure you.”

“A scratch?” I asked, raising a brow. “Awful lot of blood for a scratch , Captain.”

“Very well, a minor gash, then,” he waved his hand lightly. “A few stitches and a small scar for my troubles - hardly comparable to the wounds of my crew.”

“Does it hurt?” I asked. His lips quirked in amusement.

“My, my,” he smirked. “Worried, indeed .”

“Avoiding the question, indeed ,” I countered. His brows raised in surprise.

“Aye, if the lady must know, it packs quite a sting. But I assure you, madam, I have dealt with far worse.” To prove his point, he lifted his hook again and held it up so I could see it clearly. “If you were so anxious about the state of my health, why did you not call for me sooner?”

“I… I did not want to risk calling you at the wrong time again,” I said. It was partially true, after all - not a total lie, merely an omission. “And I saw your face. I could tell, it pained you to resist. I am in no great hurry to see such a tortured face from you again.”

If possible, his eyebrows climbed higher. He huffed out a short, stunned laugh.

“The storyteller worried for her villain,” he mused. I fought the urge to groan. “How unexpected.”

“I’m no storyteller,” I said. “Not anymore. That part of me has been dead for years.”

“What a shame,” he tisked. “I’d hoped the gifts from my library would be enough to revive her.”

“I don’t know if that could ever happen,” I sighed. “But either way, the books have been… well, they’ve been wonderful,” I said truthfully. “More than I could have asked for.”

The smirk on his lips lost some of its sharpness. I practically watched a witty remark fizzle away on his tongue as he tried to adjust. Sincerity seemed to be unfamiliar territory for the man.

“Then I apologise for not bringing more,” he bowed his head. “I… did not think you would call upon me again after…”

“It’s alright,” I assured him. “Actually, I loathe to say this, but I must return the books you’ve lent me -”

“Given you.”

“... Given me,” I amended hesitantly. “And I must ask you to not bring me any more.”

“And why would that be?” Hook asked slowly. 

“It is too risky, it’s far too easy for me to get lost in them and forget my duties around the house.” This wasn’t a total lie either. 

Hook considered this for a moment, unsure of what to say. He shook his head and looked away, clearly perturbed by something. But when he looked back up at me, he bowed his head respectfully and smiled tightly.

“Very well, if the lady insists,” he said. I mirrored his expression with a stiff smile of my own, brushing past him and climbing back into the bedroom. I’d laid the books out on the bed, ensuring I wouldn’t have to move the dresser and reveal the secret nook to him. I stacked the four books in my arms, hauling myself back outside with a little difficulty. By the time Hook had moved to help, I was already on the balcony and holding the books out to him. 

He took them with a terse nod, holding them awkwardly in his left elbow. The sight made me crack a tiny smile.

“Something amusing, madam?” Hook asked. I shrugged.

“Sometimes you just… remind me of someone, is all.” I looked him up and down. “Oddly enough, you remind me of my father.”

He choked softly, masking it with a cough. I let out a real laugh then.

“Not like that ,” I assured him. “You two are so different and yet… sometimes some of your mannerisms are so like him.”

“Explain,” he said. 

“Stubbornness, to a fault,” I smiled, moving past him again to stand at the railing. “You are more steadfast, but there was… a bravery to my father that few people noticed. I didn’t really see it myself until I was older.”

“Was?” Hook asked quietly. 

When I did not respond immediately, he sighed in understanding. “Forgive me, madam. It was not my intention to upset you.”

“No,” I murmured, blinking to keep my eyes dry. “No, it’s alright. I miss them, is all. Both my father and… and my mother.” The tears pricked at my eyes then, and I wiped one away hurriedly. Hook stepped up to stand beside me, and suddenly a white handkerchief was dangling in the air next to me. I accepted it reluctantly, dabbing lightly at my eyes.

“Damn that breeze at this altitude; making my eyes water,” I lied. Hook hummed.

“You must have been close to them,” he surmised. I nodded solemnly.

“My relationship with my father had its ups and downs. By the end, I was just trying to keep him happy. He would get so pale, so tired - any time his eyes lit up or he cracked a smile, it meant the world to me. My mother… She was my best friend.” I sniffed, wiping another stray tear away.

“It sounds as though they loved their children very much,” Hook said quietly. 

“Oh yes,” I agreed. “You should have seen their faces when we came home from the Neverland. I never wanted to scare them like that again.”

“And did you miss them? When you were in the Neverland?” Hook asked.

“I did,” I said slowly. “It was strange. I remembered them much easier than my brothers did. I started to ask them questions about home, to try and help them remember. John had trouble remembering, but Michael never could seem to grasp that I was not his mother. They weren’t alone, even I would ask about mother and father in the past tense, like they were no longer -” I cut myself off before I could say it. 

“That is, unfortunately, perfectly normal. For one, your brothers were younger. The magic of the Neverland truly wreaks havoc on memories, and the younger the child…” Hook trailed away. 

“That makes sense,” I nodded. “Anyway, for all their insisting that I was their true mother, I haven’t heard from them for quite some time.”

“Truly?” Hook asked, surprised. “I’d have thought you three would still be as thick as thieves.”

I shook my head. “John and Michael are too busy being the most brainwashed men you could ever meet. Wrapped up in politics and investments, only stepping away for however long it takes to ponder the fact that they are God’s gift to this country.” I chuckled humorlessly. “The last time I saw them was at father's funeral, grieving as though they had cared for him during his sickness. When my mother passed two years later, I went to the funeral alone.”

“Bad form,” Hook muttered. I nodded tersely.

“Bad form,” I echoed.

“What of the other devils?” he asked.

“I must confess, I don’t know where any of them are. Once they left the house, we never heard from them again. Once, a few years ago, I passed Slightly on the street. He looked a little ragged, and when I called out to him… he did not know me.” I looked over at Hook, and was surprised to see him nodding.

“Aye, that can happen,” he said carefully. “As I said, the Neverland affects our memories. The younger a child is, the more severe they will feel the magic. And as they age, memories surrounding the whole event just become more and more altered. Surely you must have felt this yourself?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Sometimes, details slip away.”

“Aye, I experienced the same thing,” he said. My brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?” I asked. He hesitated.

“I have… travelled between the Neverland and the Mainland before,” he admitted haltingly. I gawked.

“When were you going to tell me this?” I demanded. He bristled.

“I did not realise it was any of your business, madam,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry,” I backtracked, “I did not mean - I just believe that any details may help us understand what’s happening here.” I gestured widely at the balcony. 

“All that matters is I have travelled the realms multiple times before our first meeting on this balcony,” he said stiffly. “I am more familiar than most with the intricacies of the Neverland.”

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“In different ways,” he said vaguely. “I never was transported as I have been when you’ve called.”

“So you went back and forth by choice then?” I surmised. He gave a small, tight nod. “That must have been difficult, leaving each world behind.”

“More than you know,” he confirmed.

“Who did you… leave behind when you left the Mainland for the last time?” I asked carefully, not sure what I hoped the answer was. He smiled ruefully.

“A… family of sorts, if you will.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “How old were your children when you left?”

His eyes dimmed, and he shook his head.

“I never married, madam,” he clarified. “Neither did I… sire any children.”

“Oh,” I sighed, not sure why I was relieved, “I had assumed otherwise.”

“Clearly,” he managed to smirk, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He did not speak further about what he’d meant by ‘family’. “I did not leave absolutely everyone behind, however.”

“Smee?” I guessed.

“Aye,” he nodded. “Smee and I were acquainted years before we left for the last time. We’ve always had a…” 

His face darkened, and his hand curled into a fist. “...a mutual distaste for Pan.”

I waited for him to continue, but it seemed that I’d gotten all the information I could from him today. We stood in silence for a while, but something was still bothering me. I started fidgeting with the sleeve of my dress, trying to figure out how to voice my concerns.

Hook glanced over and paused, seeing my distress. 

“What is it?” he asked. I bit my lip.

“I must confess something to you,” I said, turning my head towards him but keeping my eyes down. “After our last meeting - our last true meeting - I thought about trying to summon Peter.” 

The silence was deafening. 

I slowly raised my eyes to Hook’s, and winced at the coldness there.

“Indeed,” he said stonily.

“I did not do it,” I finished. 

He raised a brow. “I see.”

“I did not do it because there is something no one is telling me,” I said firmly. “You know something, something important that I obviously never saw. So please - tell me about Peter.”

“I am not sure you -” Hook started, but I interrupted him.

“Whatever it is, it’s something dangerous,” I said. “And I think I have a right to know.”

Hook looked away. He focused on the cars rattling along below the balcony, suddenly very interested in modern transportation, ghastly or otherwise. I knew he was stalling, but something told me to wait for his answer patiently. There was once again a flicker of fear in his demeanour - something he tried hard to mask, but it was strong enough to still peek through. Anything that scared Captain Hook that much was worth waiting to hear about.

“Pan is… unique,” he started slowly. “He is the only entity in the Neverland that truthfully does not age.”

I was confused. “But I thought -” 

He closed his eyes, and I fell silent. 

“Aye, so does every child that follows him,” he grimaced. “He lures you in with promises of eternal youth and joy. But every child that flies to the Neverland still grows up. Time is different there, age is not as… linear as it is here. But once someone reaches true adulthood in the Neverland, it is as though we… pause. We are finally frozen in time.”

“So… if I had stayed with Peter…” I realised. He turned to look at me frankly.

“You still would have grown up, yes,” he nodded. “And you would have been -”

Here he did stop himself fully, closing his eyes again and turning away. He collected himself and finished his thought.

“You would have been… punished for it.”

Somehow I knew that was not what he’d been about to say. But as he spelled it out plainly, Peter’s “daily lesson” to the children replayed in my mind.

I won’t grow up! No, I promise that I won’t. I will stay a boy forever!

And be banished if I don’t .

“How do you know all of this?” I whispered. But Hook’s eyes were far away again, his fingers rubbing at the base of his hook. I waited, until my eyes caught a slight tremor in his left hand. I pursed my lips, concerned.

“Hook,” I called softly. He startled, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I was… elsewhere.”

“Do you wish to talk about it?” I asked carefully. His face tightened again in a grimace, and he shook his head. The haunted look was slowly spreading over his face again, and I struggled to think of something to keep him from shutting back down. 

I slumped and sighed theatrically, pushing away from the balcony. He turned his head to track my movements. I walked with false exasperation over to the window, crouched down, and opened it. I turned and placed one hand on my hip, pointing inside with the other.

“Don’t make me fetch our brandy again, Hook,” I chided softly, and was pleased to see the tension in his face break slightly. A small smile flashed across his lips for a brief moment. Satisfied, I shut the window and straightened up, intending to walk back over to him.

I must have stood too quickly, or maybe it was the speed of turning my head. 

A collection of dark grey spots speckled the outside of my vision, and I pitched to my left. I threw a steadying hand out, searching until I made contact with the wall, holding my other hand against my eyes with a quiet oh . 

A large hand was suddenly placed on my upper back.

“Steady,” Hook said quickly. I hadn’t even heard him move. “Steady, now.”

I guided myself carefully to a sitting position against the wall, blinking hard to try and clear the spots away. The hand left my back and moved to my right elbow instead. My arms were gently moved to wrap around my knees, which I’d instinctively tucked in towards my chest. The hand shifted now to the top of my head, softly nudging it forward and down.

“Between your knees. It will pass,” he urged quietly. I took a deep breath, shutting my eyes against the tilting of the world and focused on other sensations to help orient myself. I rubbed the fabric of my skirt between my thumb and forefinger, concentrating on the texture of the linen. I took note of the cold hard wall pressing against my lower spine. Little by little, the ground seemed to stop spinning, and I was able to breathe a little easier.

I was suddenly aware of his hand again, resting lightly against my upper arm in case I proved myself incapable of even sitting up. His fingers drifted upwards, feeling instead the sharpness of my shoulder.

“When was the last time you ate anything, girl?” he murmured. My stomach twisted into knots that didn’t have anything to do with hunger, and I raised my head. Hook was crouched on one knee in front of me, his right forearm resting on top of his right leg. He scanned my face, his eyes narrowing as I leaned my head back to rest against the wall tiredly.

“I apologise, Captain,” I breathed. “I’d quite forgotten to make my breakfast, I was anxious about our meeting today.” Definitely a lie - there was barely enough to scrounge up for Daniel’s meals, let alone my own.

“Unacceptable,” he said firmly. “I’ve half a mind to go downstairs and bring you something myself.”

“No,” I said quickly, reaching out a hand to grasp his shoulder. “No, Captain, that’s quite alright - I’ll prepare something once we get you back home.” I couldn’t let him go downstairs, it would tip him off for sure. 

He stared hard at me. “If the lady swears it.”

“I swear it, Captain,” I said, knowing it was a lie.

“Hook.”

I paused. He’d said it so quietly, I would have missed it if we’d been further apart. 

“What?” I asked. He didn’t repeat himself immediately, staying silent long enough for me to doubt I’d heard anything at all. When he did speak again, his voice was just as low.

“I was Hook to you earlier, must you insist on using my title once more?” He leaned in slightly, close enough for our heads to knock into each other should I decide to startle. I stayed perfectly still, tracking his movement with my eyes. “I’d rather thought we were past such formalities, my lady.”

We both fell silent, the air heavy with an almost electric charge. I tore my eyes away from his expectant face, lowering my gaze to focus instead on my hand. It was still clasping his shoulder, just on the edge of his left clavicle. Almost by its own volition, my grip weakened until I could slide my fingers slowly down, across the surprisingly soft black fabric. Just as I’d done with my skirt before, I pinched the linen between my fingers and rubbed it softly. The sudden stillness of the Captain made me halt my motions, and look up. 

His face was guarded again, but this time there was something else lurking behind his neutral visage. I couldn’t quite place it. An uneven thump-thump in my chest made me swallow hard, releasing the fabric of his shirt and moving my hand to my lap.

“Hook, then,” I croaked, my mouth inexplicably dry. “I swear it, Hook.”

“That settles it,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering. His hand was still resting on my shoulder, a steadying weight to keep me upright. We sat still for a few moments, letting me finish catching my breath. 

“The colour is returning to your cheeks,” Hook noted. “Can you stand?”

I nodded, closing my eyes and taking a steadying breath. His hand travelled gently down my arm, tracing a slow path from my shoulder to my wrist, before pulling away. When I opened my eyes, he’d risen fully to his feet. 

He bent his right arm, offering me his elbow. I hesitated for a brief moment, but eventually reached up and took hold of his arm, hauling myself up as delicately as I could manage. I stumbled on my skirt, and his hand was back on my shoulder blade, helping me straighten fully. I winced as his touch pressed against a rather wicked bruise, and his hold shifted to under my arm instead. He’d noticed. Somehow he’d noticed my tiny grimace, and I waited for him to speak up, but he didn’t. He stood silently, like nothing had happened at all. 

“Just a moment,” I managed, dropping my head. 

“Of course,” he said. “Take your time.”

We paused until my head stopped vibrating enough for me to open my eyes. I turned my head to glance around the balcony, testing my limits. My eyes locked on the books - in a heap on the ground, covers flapped open and pages blowing lightly in the wind as though they’d been dropped in a hurry. I looked away, satisfied that my vision was clear. 

“I’m alright now,” I smiled tightly.

“I would prefer to help you through the window,” he said firmly. 

“Hook -”

“It would be very bad form to leave you out here in your condition. Besides, if you were to fall and injure yourself trying to reenter your house, who else would be around to badger me?” He pointed out dryly. I flushed.

“Very well, then,” I muttered. He shifted, creating more distance between us until we were standing side-by-side. My left arm was looped under his right, and his left hand rested on top of mine. We walked slowly together up to the window. He crouched to open it, and carefully helped me manoeuvre through the opening. I stepped down onto the windowsill, still holding his hand, and finally hopped down onto the bedroom floor.

Hook had not taken a step inside the house, though I doubted he’d have hesitated if I’d stumbled or collapsed again. Both of his feet remained planted squarely on the balcony. Our hands were still lightly intertwined, as he made sure I was steady enough to stand on my own. He waited for me to let go first.

“There you are, madam,” he bowed slightly. “How shall you be spending the rest of the day?”

“I hadn’t really planned it,” I admitted sheepishly. “I suppose I will change first, into something a bit more comfortable.”

His eyes wandered slowly down my body, studying the gown I wore.

“A shame,” he murmured. “If I’d known the lady was uncomfortable, I would have insisted that the situation be rectified.”

I froze, sure that my blush had deepened and spread to my ears at his words. I scrambled to change the subject.

“A-and then I suppose I shall eat,” I stammered. 

Hook nodded approvingly. “Correct.”

“And I believe I’ll clean a bit more before… my husband comes home,” I said softly. 

As I spoke, Hook’s entire demeanour changed. His eyes lowered to rest on the floor, and his arms again shifted to rest clasped behind his back. His face neutralised, and his body tensed.

“Of course,” he said lightly. “I shall leave you to your tasks, Mrs. Beckwith.”

“Hook, please -” I started to remind him, but he recognized his mistake quickly. He shut his eyes and grimaced.

“Forgive me. I shall bid thee farewell, madam ,” he amended. He closed the window carefully so all I would have to do was lock it. He stepped quickly over to the books, bending and stacking them before tucking them back into the crook of his right arm. He turned to look at me through the glass, waiting. 

“Go home, Hook,” I said softly. With a flash of gold he was gone. 

I glanced around the room, glad that I’d cleaned it before calling him. I was already severely embarrassed enough with how the meeting had ended - it had not been my intention to cut the afternoon short with an episode of the vapours. 

I could still feel his hand, like it was still holding me steady even now. I’d experienced something similar with Daniel - every time my husband touched me, it was like I couldn’t get rid of his hands. They were always on me, in me, like a stain I could never get out. But this was different - like a blanket had been draped over my shoulders on the coldest night. 

I wasn’t too sure what to do with that information. This was dangerous, something that I should not be encouraging as a married woman. But for the first time in a long time, I felt… happy. 

I looked at the window, the sight of the empty balcony prompting that strange inner voice to whisper again.

Open it, my mind pleaded with me. Open it and call him back. 

I shook my head violently and drew the curtains over the window. 

“Foolish,” I mumbled. 

I abandoned the plan I’d relayed to the Captain, choosing instead to pull out the brandy I’d threatened him with not ten minutes ago. I poured a large glass and downed it quickly. The fire licked down my throat, settling warmly in the pit of my stomach. A part of me felt guilty lying to the Captain, but there was no way I’d be able to sneak any food from the limited stores we had. 

It didn't matter. The brandy cleared my head, snapping me back into alertness like a slap in the face. It filled my belly enough to fuel me as I went downstairs to clean, trying to scrub away whatever spell Captain Hook of the Neverland had cast on me.

Chapter Text

“Hook,” I called for the third time, smoothing out my skirt with my hands. I wasn’t sure why I’d bothered to look nice - it was a dark evening, so it wasn’t as though he’d be able to see any details of the dress I wore. I also wasn’t sure why I’d felt the urge to look nice for him in the first place. Yet here I was, making sure the old dress was as pristine as possible for a pirate captain of all people. Of course, I had to admit to myself, he was the most sophisticated pirate captain I’d ever met. 

Alright, the only pirate captain I’d met.

I looked up, sighing at the bleakness of the night sky. Clouds formed a blanket over the stars, making the sky look empty and desolate. I’d decided it was safe to call him at night as I always had before - Daniel had left for a lengthy business trip two nights ago. He wasn’t due to return home for a fortnight yet. Plenty of time to chat with the Captain.

I locked onto the Star.

“Hook,” I called. 

“Oof!”

I whipped around to see Hook bracing himself against the wall. Alarm bells rang in my head as I watched him sway, barely able to hold himself upright. I dashed over and placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to bend to catch his eye.

“Hook, are you hurt?” I asked urgently. He did lift his head up then, and I was surprised to see the most serene expression on his face. His eyes lit up in recognition, and he smiled in earnest.

“Oh, it is you!” he exclaimed happily. “You are back!”

My brow furrowed worriedly. Had he been hit in the head? I wasn’t seeing any blood, but it was like he was delirious. 

“Hook, what is going -”

I cut myself short as I was overwhelmed with the smell of spiced rum. He was drunk. No, not just drunk - absolutely plastered. He managed to regain his bearings somewhat, enough to let go of the wall and straighten up. He wrapped his right arm across his chest and placed his left hand behind his back, before teetering over into a low bow. I stared, unsure of what I should do.

“Madam,” he said, standing back up. “I am pleased to see you again.”

“Y-yes, I can see that,” I stammered. “But I think I must have called you at a bad time, perhaps you’d be better off getting some rest on your ship.” I checked him over anyway carefully, making sure I wasn’t missing any injuries. I nudged his right shoulder forward and to the left, checking over his back. He chuckled lightly.

“Careful, madam, do not let thy hands wander,” he smirked. I blushed furiously, finishing my cursory inspection with scarlet ears. It was easy to determine an absence of blood - he was wearing a white shirt again, untucked and loosely hanging around his frame. The white was spotless, no red in sight. My attention was drawn back to the shoulder that I had seen soaked in blood that one day, wondering just how bad of a scar the white linen was hiding tonight. 

“Captain, you forget yourself,” I scolded gently.

“ Captain ,” he shook his head. “Hook, madam, Hook .”

“Hook,” I corrected myself. “Please, you have been drinking, you should -”

“Or James,” he mumbled, looking up at the sky. 

I was speechless, and simply resorted to staring at him incredulously. He was still looking up at the sky, almost as though he hadn’t realised what he’d said. He shifted, and I thought he was falling again for one terrifying moment - but then realised he was twisting himself back and forth while searching the sky, trying again to find the Star like I could.

The sight made my heart hurt for some reason.

“Hook,” I said, firm in my use of his last name. “I should get you back home.”

“No,” he groaned, finally turning back to look at me. “You help.”

“I… I help?” I asked, flabbergasted. He nodded solemnly.

“You help,” he repeated, as though that explained everything. Perhaps it did, but the details were lost on me. I studied him, tilting my head to the side as I looked him up and down again. He kept his eyes locked on me, like he was worried that I was going to disappear. I put my hand back on his shoulder and looked back at his eyes, concerned about what I saw in them.

Fear.

“Are you alright?” I asked softly. His face twisted for a moment but he pulled it back, looking away. I squeezed his shoulder. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”

He looked at me again, opening his mouth to speak, but ended up closing it quickly. I blinked, and the small smile was back on his lips. Even deep in the drink he was able to reconstruct his walls frighteningly fast. He shook his head.

“I am well, Miss Darling,” he said lightly. Too lightly. I noted the use of my maiden name - so deep down, he still must think of me as Wendy Darling rather than Wendy Beckwith. I smothered a smile. “You look lovely.”

I flushed again. “Thank you,” I sighed, feeling slightly foolish being dressed nicely for such a meeting. This had not been what I’d expected. 

“Truly,” he said, very seriously. “You always look lovely.”

“I… thank you,” I said again lamely, not sure what else I could say. “But please -”

“No one in this blasted world gives you enough credit, Miss Darling. You solved how this whole…” he gestured rapidly between the two of us. “... thing works, I commend you.” He turned and stepped toward the end of the balcony, throwing his arms up and shouting loudly for the whole street to hear: “I commend her!”

“Hook, please!” I hissed, clamping my hand down on his shoulder and turning him back to face me. “Please, you must be quiet!”

“Ah,” he whispered. “Aye, of course, forgive me.” He placed a finger to his lips and shushed himself softly, dropping back into another wavering bow. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“Yes, yes,” I murmured, exasperated. I guided him back into a standing position with my hands on his shoulders. A part of me was worried now to send him back to his ship, afraid that he’d collapse and hurt himself - or drink more and risk his health. 

“I’m fetching you a glass of water,” I said firmly, turning to leave. I flinched when his hand snapped out and grabbed my wrist - not too tightly, but with a desperate edge to it.

“Do not leave,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. 

I glanced down at his fingers, carefully reaching up and prying them loose with my free hand. He offered no resistance, but I noticed that his eyes squeezed shut tighter as I left his hold. I kept his hand in mine and placed the other back on his shoulder.

“Hook, I will be right back,” I assured him softly. “I promise.”

He hesitated, but then his head dipped in a slow nod.

“She promises,” he mumbled, almost to himself. I nodded too, even though he wasn’t looking at me to see it.

“She promises,” I echoed.

He let go of me then, and I stepped back, watching him for a moment. He leaned against the wall, and once I was confident that he wasn’t going to keel over on the spot, I turned and crawled through the window.

I hurried down the steps, not wanting him to be left alone out there for too long. What in the world was happening? This was too much for me to comprehend tonight. I wasn’t sure why I was so worried about him, but the thought of leaving him to his own devices sent an arrow through my stomach. I filled up a tall glass of water for him, choosing to fill a second one as well for later. 

I climbed back up the stairs, careful not to spill anything. Although it may not have mattered if I had, because turning the corner into the bedroom nearly made me drop both glasses onto the floor.

Hook was in the room, contentedly running his hand through the curtains on either side of the window. He pulled his hand through the fabric from one end to the other, letting it slide smoothly across his skin, watching it slowly drop away and flow in the breeze. 

Good lord, it was almost funny.

“Hook,” I cried. He whipped around at the sound of my voice, and then the smile was back. 

“You have returned,” he said happily.

“Yes,” I said quickly, setting the second water glass down on the dresser and hurrying over to him. “Yes, I came back. I promised I would.”

“She promised,” he agreed. I held the water out to him and started trying to coax him back out the window.

“Here, drink this. All of it,” I ordered. 

He started to sip obediently, but stopped suddenly. 

I turned away to lure him back outside, hearing the sound of the glass being set on the side table. “Let’s go back onto the balcony -”

I flinched as his hand caught my wrist for the second time that evening.

I turned, ready to soothe him and swear I wasn’t leaving, but there was something different in his eyes this time. They were locked on my wrist, right where the pale yellow fabric ended on my skin. He slid his grip down to hold my hand instead, and raised his hook to gently shift the fabric upwards.

“What. Is. That .” he asked lowly.

I looked down and froze. Somehow during the water handoff, he’d caught a glimpse of the finger-shaped bruises that were still fading around my wrist. I tried to tug my hand away lightly, but this time he had no intention of letting me go.

“Miss Darling,” he growled, and I could feel his hand start to shake.

“It’s nothing, Hook,” I lied, trying to push the fabric down. He swatted my free hand away with the back of his hook, still staring at my wrist. Desperate, I thought back to what I’d told him during our first meeting, and twisted the story somewhat. “It - it happened at the market, someone got a bit too enthusiastic and thought I was someone else - someone who owed them money.”

“Who.”

“Hook, it’s alright…” I trailed away as his eyes flicked up to mine, and a brief flash of red blinked across his irises. 

“I shall kill them,” he said simply. I shook my head violently, wide-eyed.

“No, Hook - please, they apologised, they did not mean to hurt me,” I lied.

“But they did ,” he snarled.

“It was a misunderstanding,” I pleaded desperately. “Please.”

He stared hard at me, with a newfound alertness in his expression. His eyes narrowed as they searched mine, and I could tell that he was suspicious. He looked back at the bruise, clenching his jaw. He looked up at me, and I almost shied away from the warning in his gaze.

“You promise,” he said suddenly. I swallowed.

“I promise,” I lied. He did not look entirely convinced, or maybe he was just still disturbed by the sight of the mark on my skin. He released my hand and I covered my wrist again quickly, watching as he lifted the water glass again to his lips, downing the contents. Just as I was about to try to usher him back outside again, he collapsed with a sigh into the nearby armchair.

“Hook,” I groaned. “You must go outside.”

“You should not be hurt,” he muttered, his head lolling to the side heavily. He hadn’t even heard me. “Never should be hurt.”

I flushed again, embarrassed. I hoped he wouldn’t remember this chat in the morning. He continued to doze in the chair, his eyes slowly shutting of their own accord. I noted with concern the sheer darkness of the circles under his eyes. The man truly did not let himself sleep enough. He was still mumbling to himself softly, and I leaned in to catch his words.

“Could come with me,” he breathed. “Safe.”

I froze, unable to even bring myself to reach out and try to shake him awake. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway - Hook was well on his way to sleep, nestled comfortably in the plush armchair. I stared at him, dumbfounded, until his breathing evened out and his face completely relaxed. I let my gaze wander over his form, more at ease than I’d ever seen him before. My heart panged when I realised I wanted him to stay that way - his brow smooth and unworried, his hand unclenched. 

He wanted me to come with him? To where - the Neverland?

Yes, that stupid voice urged in my mind. Yes, go with him.

“You’re drunk,” I murmured to Hook, knowing he couldn’t hear me. Maybe I was trying to convince myself too. “That’s all this is.”

I turned and removed the blanket from the bed, lightly covering him up to his shoulders. He was so deep in sleep that he didn’t stir beyond a small twitch. I moved to the side and closed the window so it would not be too draughty, locking the latch and drawing the curtains closed. I blew out the lit candle on the dresser, plunging the room into near darkness. Before I left, I moved the second glass of water from the dresser to the side table, where he could easily reach it should he wake.

And after a moment’s pause, I grabbed the quietly-ticking clock from the mantle and removed it from the room. 

I crept downstairs, throwing myself ungracefully onto the sofa. I covered my eyes with my hand, rubbing deep circles into my tired eyes. The evening had completely thrown me, and I was more confused than ever before. What was the end goal here? What kind of game was the Captain playing?

And why did I want to join in? 

I didn’t notice myself slipping away until I was already gone, fading into dreams full of pleading eyes and soft whispers.

She promised.

------------------

Warm. Soft.

I stirred, twisting my body languidly into a slow stretch. My muscles tightened, relaxing again as I exhaled softly. I was so comfortable; it was like I was inside of the softest cloud imaginable. I rolled to my right, trying to bury myself deeper in the warmth -

And squeaked as I promptly fell to the floor in a heap.

“Owwww…” I whined, my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to chase that feeling of comfort again. I pulled the fabric draped around me tighter to combat the chill of the floor, but it was no use. The moment was gone. I groaned again, my body sore from hitting the ground, and cracked open one eye.

The light was dim, but it was still enough for me to bury my head in the blanket. It was still early, but soon it would have been time to wake up anyway. I had to make breakfast, I had to get Daniel ready for work -

No. He’s on a trip, I remembered, letting myself relax again. I started to drift away, back into the clouds, but my brow twitched as I registered the fact that I had indeed fallen to the floor. There was no way I was that close to the edge of the bed. What had I been doing in my sleep, dancing? No, this wasn’t my bedroom floor. This wood was rougher, and much colder than even my room usually got. 

I’d been on the sofa.

Confused, I forced my bleary eyes open again. Sure enough, the blurry room around me was definitely the downstairs living room. Why had I fallen asleep down here? I blinked hard, trying to sit up, and felt a blanket shift off of my shoulders. I looked behind me, and stared dumbly at the comforter from my bed. Why in the world would I -

I bolted upright so quickly my spine nearly snapped. Hook. I’d called Hook last night. He was drunk, too drunk to know what he was talking about. And I’d left him sleeping in my room… with this blanket .

I scrambled to my feet, blowing a stray lock of hair away from my nose harshly. It had fallen loose in my sleep, but there was no time to find the ribbon and fashion another updo. I crammed the comforter into my arms and sprinted up the stairs, rounding the corner into the room quickly.

The room was empty. Nothing was amiss, except for the fact that the bedsheets were still left uncovered. The armchair had been brushed off, the pillow fluffed neatly. Nothing had been moved or taken, as far as I could tell. The only sign of abnormality was the overwhelming silence of the room - the mantle clock was still gone. I looked around as I made my way further into the room, absently placing the crumpled comforter on top of the bed. The curtains were drawn open, so I took a glance out through the glass.

Hook was standing incredibly still, facing away from the bedroom. He was looking out over the balcony, hand and hook clasped behind his back again, watching the sun climb over the horizon. I swallowed anxiously, making my way forward and opening the window quietly. He stiffened, but did not say anything as I climbed out to join him on the balcony. 

I stood behind him, too nervous to approach or speak first. We stood in tense silence for a few moments. I let myself freely study the back of his form, watching the first rays of sun peek through some of his errant curls, casting a glow across their peaks and curves. His white shirt had been meticulously tucked into his trousers, as though it had never been askew at all. His hand started moving - fidgeting with his hook once again, something I’d come to realise was a bit of a nervous tick for him. He breathed in deeply.

“I must humbly beg your pardon, madam,” he said quietly, his tone monotonous and formal. “My actions last night were unacceptable, and I shall not allow it to happen ever again.”

“It is alright,” I murmured, but he shook his head jerkily.

“No, it is not,” he insisted. “It was unseemly, presenting myself as a mere tosspot. I behaved abysmally, and once more I beg your pardon.”

“I… you have it, I suppose,” I said awkwardly. His shoulders released some of their tension at my words, and I realised that he truly had wanted to hear me say I’d forgiven him. “But truly, it was no trouble. I was simply worried,” I said honestly. “And you can hardly call yourself a tosspot , that was the only time I’d seen you drunk without having joined you myself.”

“I thank you, madam,” he said. “It shall not happen again.”

“It…” I sighed, knowing I wasn’t going to change his mind. “Very well.”

He still had not turned around to look at me, so I let myself keep studying him. I could tell he’d slept somewhere other than his own bed - his curls were tangled around each other, slightly frizzy and unkempt. I remembered how coarse they’d felt against my throat before, laden with sea spray and sunshine on the lagoon. I blushed at the memory, averting my eyes down to my hands. It was my turn now to fidget nervously with my sleeve, unsure of how to proceed. 

When he still did not say anything, I took a breath and cleared my throat awkwardly.

“I left the blanket with you last night,” I said certainly. “I know I did.” 

He bowed his head. “When I woke, you were nowhere to be found. I looked around the room, I searched the balcony, and was beginning to fear that something had -” he paused, shaking his head. “A simple glance downstairs proved that you were safe.”

There was that word again. Safe. Something he seemed to be awfully concerned about all of a sudden, both drunk and sober. Curious.

“I attempted to rouse you, but you were too deep in your dreams. You barely stirred. Carrying you up to your bed would have been improper, and I had already transgressed enough for one evening. I brought the blanket down to you and returned upstairs.” He finished his story with a curt nod. I bit my lip.

“Then I must beg your pardon,” I said softly. He turned his head, but did not fully look at me. “I wasn’t prepared for you to see the whole bedroom, let alone the rest of my house. I hadn’t gotten a chance to clean.”

He did fully turn to look at me then, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Madam, I am not sure what house you believe yourself to live in,” he said slowly, “but I assure you, the little I saw of your home was practically spotless.”

I started to frown myself, knowing that the state of the house would have been enough to infuriate my husband - but I focused on what Hook had said.

“The little…?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“I did not snoop through your home, my lady,” he assured me. “I should not have set foot inside it at all. Incredibly bad form.”

I sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

He bowed his head. “Of course.” He looked back over the balcony. “Though I am unsure why you allowed me to stay in your room, of all places. You would have been completely right to send me away as soon as I arrived.”

“You needed rest,” I said simply. “You were so comfortable, and I worried that if I sent you back, something might have happened. I went downstairs so I wouldn’t disturb you. I would have simply slept in my own bed, but it wouldn’t have been…” I trailed away, and his shoulders stiffened again.

He turned slowly, until his entire body was facing me. He stared at me, his eyes serious. “I understand. But, know that if you had chosen to sleep in your bed, no harm would have befallen you. I…” He faltered. “I would not touch you.”

“I know,” I whispered. 

“I swear it,” he said firmly. “I would not touch you, if you did not -”

He shut his mouth with a snap, closing his eyes in shame and bowing his head. I felt like I’d been slapped in the face; we both knew exactly what he had been about to say.

I would not touch you, if you did not wish me to .

“What have you been doing all night?” I asked quickly, trying to change the subject. He pinched the bridge of his nose tightly with his thumb and forefinger, exhaling sharply. 

“Once I left you downstairs, I returned to the bedroom to fix the chair you graciously allowed me to rest in. I stayed out here the rest of the night.”

“You stood out here for that long?” I asked, stunned. He nodded seriously.

“I did not believe it would be wise to be waiting inside when Mister Beckwith returned home,” he explained. “I watched for him, but curiously, he never showed.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, realising he still didn’t know the situation. “I didn’t have the chance to tell you last night, Daniel is away on an extended business trip.”

“Extended?” Hook asked, brow furrowed. “How extended?”

“Two more weeks,” I shrugged. He blinked slowly, aghast.

“He would leave you alone in this house for so long?”

“I am perfectly capable of surviving on my own, Hook,” I smiled. “Besides, I have you to bother, if I need company.” I laughed lightly, but Hook did not join in. He kept staring at me.

“You are right, of course,” he said. “If ever you need me, I am only a call away. If I must stand guard on this balcony through the night, pistol drawn - then I would be happy to do so.”

I sobered, not sure where this sudden protective streak had come from. 

“That is very kind, Hook,” I murmured. 

“It is the truth,” he said simply.

I didn’t know what else to say. The entire last twelve hours had been far more of a whirlwind than I’d anticipated, and there was no more road map for me with this man. One night had completely shifted the entire tone of our interactions, and though I wasn’t exactly complaining, it certainly made me nervous. 

Apparently not nervous enough to put a stop to it. I stepped forward slowly, not choosing to stop in front of him, but to instead walk to the railing. Now that his shadow was not being cast on me, I could bask in the warmth of the sun, even if it barely reached the foggy London street. He turned and joined me, folding his arms leaning against his elbows lightly. We simply stood with each other, watching the sun climb higher in the sky. The activity on the street below picked up considerably, horns blaring and people chattering, going about their own lives. 

It boggled me to think that none of them knew what fantastical things were happening just above their heads, none of them could ever understand. 

I shivered suddenly, an errant breeze sending a chill down my back. Hook turned to look at me. 

“Are you cold?” he asked. I smiled apologetically and nodded.

“A bit,” I admitted. 

“I had not noticed a chill,” he apologised. “It is so much warmer here in your world than mine at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The Neverland is frozen,” he said simply. I baulked, alarmed.

“What? What happened?” I asked urgently. He tilted his head, confused - as though I should already know.

“The Neverland freezes every time he leaves,” he explained slowly.

“Peter?” I asked incredulously. Hook’s face tightened, but he nodded anyway.

“Surely you remember the control he has on the weather,” he said. “Each time Pan leaves, he takes Spring with it.”

“I did not know that,” I said weakly. “When you say frozen…”

“Snow dusts the entire shore,” he described, looking up at the sky. “Frost covers the ship. The entire lagoon freezes to solid ice. There is no moving, no way to sail until he returns. The mermaids are trapped beneath the waves, unable to spend any time near the surface - though I suppose that is good news for us.”

“Every time he leaves?” I clarified, incredulous.

“Every time, aye,” he confirmed.

Another shiver passed along my spine, one that only halfway had to do with the chill. Every new fact I learned about Peter unsettled me. What else did I not know?

“If you are cold, my lady, perhaps it is best to let you go inside,” Hook suggested. I shook my head.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. He studied me, looking me up and down.

“Perhaps a shawl, then,” he said softly. “Your gown is lovely but, admittedly, not the most suitable for the winter months on its own.”

My mind flashed back to the night before.

You look lovely.

“Do you like it?” I asked, turning to face him. He raised his brows, surprised, about to speak - but stopped himself abruptly.

“This line of conversation may be a tad improper, do you not think so, my lady?” he asked stonily, looking away.

“I think… we may be a bit past impropriety, Hook,” I said softly. He turned back to me warily.

“Madam,” he said quietly, “I am nothing if not a gentleman. Perhaps not the most respectable gentleman after last night, but a gentleman nonetheless. I do not wish to jeopardise your honour.” His eyes were intense. He was waiting for me to make a choice - I suspected that it was because he did not think he was strong enough to stop me himself.

“I believe my honour has already been jeopardised - with or without your help, Hook,” I challenged, surprising the both of us with my boldness. I took a small step forward into his space, and he tensed, but did not retreat. “And I’m not sure I wish to change that.”

His eyes searched my face, looking for any sign that I was lying to him. But I wasn’t - I’d finally found a way to chase away the bleakness of my life in London. This was a reckless decision, of course - but it had been so long since I’d enjoyed anything. Had any adventure. Had any fun . 

After a moment, his gaze darkened slightly, and he allowed his eyes to wander my frame once more. He nodded in approval.

“Aye,” he murmured. “It suits you perfectly well.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It was my mother’s.”

“I would have thought it had been made for you,” Hook confessed. I smiled.

“Really?” I asked, my voice soft. He nodded slowly.

“This bit here…” he said, reaching a cautious hand up to lightly brush along my waistline. I inhaled sharply, glancing down to see his fingers carefully tracing the embroidered flowers along my torso. When he came to the end of the pattern, his touch lingered, almost reluctant to pull away.

“Is there anything else you like?” I whispered. His eyes flashed, and he snapped his eyes back up to mine. We stared at each other silently. His gaze shifted, above my eyes and to the right.

“Aye,” he mumbled, removing his hand from my waist. He raised it instead to softly run my hair through his fingers. I was reminded of the way he’d looked last night, running the window curtains over his arm and letting them flow back into place. “Aye, the way your hair curls here.”

“Curls,” I smirked. He huffed out an amused breath.

“Yes, I do have a few more than you do, do I not?” he acknowledged softly. I glanced up, and wondered how it would feel to run my hands through them. I allowed myself to reach up towards his shoulder with a gentle hand, carefully rubbing the very end of one of his curls between my thumb and forefinger. Rough and likely damaged from salt and sun, but still pretty in my hands. 

I blinked in surprise when I felt his hand brush against my cheek, his fingers blissfully cool.

“Your cheeks are flushed,” he noted lowly. “You must truly be catching a chill. The air is biting you.”

Even as he said it, we both knew he was wrong. There was an even darker look in his eyes now - was it possible for someone to be primal without being distinctly predatory? 

“No,” I breathed. “Warm.”

He stilled, flicking his eyes down to my mouth. His hand lowered, the tip of his index finger just lightly brushing my lower lip. 

“Warm, you say?” he murmured. I nodded slowly. It had been the only word I could possibly think of to describe this unfamiliar sensation inside me. He leaned in and shifted to his left, pausing when his lips were a breath away from my ear. 

“How warm?” he breathed. 

I shut my eyes and exhaled shakily, allowing myself to be swept away by the feeling of curls against my throat, and I started to reach up towards his shirt. His fingers crept around behind me, gently tracing a long trail down the centre of my back. I leaned into him, running my palms across his covered chest. I didn’t know what I was doing - I was following some innate instinct of mine, letting my limbs move according to the feeling in my core. I looked down at my hands -

And stilled at the sight of my wedding ring gleaming shamelessly in the sun. 

Hook sensed my discomfort and paused, pulling away to find my eyes.

“Perhaps…” I whispered. “Perhaps too warm.”

He gave a long, slow sigh of acceptance. He closed his eyes and nodded, stepping away carefully. “Perhaps you are right.”

“But it is… a good warm,” I confessed softly. His brows lifted in surprise, and his mouth untightened into a small smirk. 

“Well then, perhaps I shall leave the lady to, ah… sort herself out ,” he purred, eyes once again alight with hunger. 

My brow furrowed in confusion; I wasn’t sure if he meant anything by the phrase. But he did not explain further, so I smiled in uncertainty.

“Yes, maybe that is best,” I said. 

“I remain, madam, a mere call away should you need anything ,” he bowed slightly, never taking his eyes off my form. I nodded hesitantly.

“Goodbye, Hook,” I whispered. 

Once he’d vanished, I stumbled back towards the window quickly. Just as I’d told him, there was an unfamiliar heat pooling in my stomach. It was not the same as the warmth from a hearty meal, or a stiff drink. This heat was something else entirely - simultaneously too hot to bear, and yet not hot enough. 

I thought again about what Hook had said - he’d suggested that I ‘ sort myself out ’. What on earth was that supposed to mean? The way he’s said it certainly sounded like it had been intended as a hint, or a code. Perhaps it had not been what he meant, but I decided to try and reduce the warmth in my gut first. I stalked through the bedroom into the washroom, intending to draw the coldest bath I could stand. I wasn’t sure if it would do anything to soothe the heat starting to spread through my body. 

I wasn’t sure even bathing in the Arctic could do such a thing.

As I stripped and washed, I caught sight of the fading bruises once more, wrapped around my wrist. I laid a finger against them and shuddered, remembering his hook brushing against them as his hand had shaken with anger. Did he remember seeing them? Did he remember my lie, my false explanation that he’d accepted in the end? 

Did he remember how open he’d been with me?

I quickly found that lingering on the thought of him at all was enough to nullify the chill of the water - so I cast my thoughts away from him quickly, thinking instead of everything and anything else. I scrubbed my body without looking at it, without focusing on how no matter how hard I scrubbed, the feeling of his hand was still present. 

Still spinning me in a circle to test my ability to sense the Star.

Still holding me steady from my fainting episode.

Still grasping my wrist.

Still brushing my hip.

Still running down my spine.

No, my brain resolutely did not think of him at all. But my body was a different story. My mind may have temporarily blocked the memory of his voice, but my fingers still remembered the feeling of his curls. My cheeks still remembered the flush his presence had caused. And my ears still remembered the sad whisper they’d caught from his lips.

She promised.

Chapter Text

“Hook,” I gasped, bolting upright in bed. 

It took me a moment to adjust to the sight of my room; I swore I had just been on the Jolly Roger. The ship had been covered with a thick layer of frost, but the cold hadn’t reached me. That same boiling heat was present in my stomach, only made stronger by the memory of Hook drawing a slow finger down the length of my spine. 

Now I was certainly not on the frozen vessel, but back in my London home. The bed was still vacant to my right - it had been less than two days since I’d seen the Captain last, and Daniel’s trip would still be lasting a little over a week. 

The only thing that had followed me from the dream was that warmth in my belly; it had been unwavering since my last encounter with the Captain. No Daniel meant endless time with my own thoughts, which were currently all occupied with replaying the last meeting. I couldn’t go two minutes without remembering the way his eyes wandered my torso, the way his breath had ghosted over my ear.

I moaned lowly, doubling over in bed. Every thought only served to increase my internal temperature. I wanted it to end, and I also did not want it to ever stop. Frustrated with my conflicting emotions, I threw back the covers and started pacing around the room. My hands rested lightly on my hips, and the bottom hem of my nightdress lightly trailed around the floor. 

I glanced up at the window, looking at the looming dark clouds that had taken residence over London for the day. 

I smiled softly. Many Londoners would likely be rolling their eyes and groaning at the promise of another dreary day. Normally, I would agree. But these clouds seemed to promise loud claps of thunder and sharp flashes of lightning - my favourite type of weather. 

Determined to catch the storm as it rolled in, I walked downstairs to grab a chair from the dining table. As I started to exit the room, I paused, turning back to the table. After a moment of consideration, I shifted the first chair to a one-armed grip, picking up a second chair with the other hand. 

Moving both chairs up the narrow stairs was more exercise than I’d anticipated, and I was definitely panting by the time I reached the window. I hauled both chairs out, one at a time, onto the balcony. I angled them so they were half-facing each other, half-facing the approaching storm. I decided to grab the side table from the bedroom, setting it between the chairs.

I went downstairs to make tea, apparently in a mood to obey my impulsive whims this morning. I arranged the tea, cream and sugar on my family’s tea tray, carefully carrying it up to the side table outside. The only thing left was to change out of my nightdress and into some real clothes.

I climbed inside, peeling the soft fabric away from my skin. Just to be sure, I drew back the curtain in front of the mirror, turning my body carefully to assess the healing injuries. Pretty much all the marks had faded, with the exception of a couple of nasty ones on my abdomen and lower back. Even they were almost gone, just in the sickly yellow phase. I pattered over to the closet, carefully considering each option before moving on to the next dress. After about five or six possibilities, I moved one more out of the way and paused.

It would be risky.

This whole thing is risky.

“This is stupid,” I whispered to myself, but slowly reached out and removed the dress from its hanger. I blushed the entire time I put it on, berating myself for encouraging this whole mess. I turned to look in the mirror.

The dress was a pale pink, nearly flesh tone. The smooth fabric hugged my shape gently, with the sleeves resting just off the shoulders, and extra fabric was draped across the bosom like a curtain. There was a slit on the side, only reaching up to just above my knee - but it was nonetheless enough for me to wonder if this was a good idea.

Oh, dash good ideas. They are overrated.

“Hook,” I said, taking one more glance in the mirror. I combed through my hair lightly with my hands, making sure it was tangle free and the curl he’d pointed out was prominent on the right side of my face. 

“Hook,” I repeated, turning and stepping out onto the balcony. “Captain, I must speak to you.”

I slowly lowered myself into one of the chairs, choosing to reach over and make my cup of tea. I moved with no haste, intending to make Hook understand that I could make him wait. I had dangled his three rings in his ear, and now he would have to stay put until I was ready to call him. I didn’t understand why the urge was there, but there was an overwhelming feeling of power in the scenario. Power I’d never had.

Power I enjoyed. 

Only once my tea was prepared to my liking did I recline in the chair, craning my neck to find the Star hidden behind the ominous clouds.

“Hook,” I whispered. 

There was a low whistle from behind me. 

“How… hospitable,” he observed. I did not look at him or speak, waiting for him to slowly step forward and sink into his own chair. I glanced at him - he sat perfectly still, staring at me. He was dressed once again in his loose white shirt and plain black trousers. I smiled lightly, and gestured to the tea tray.

“Please,” I said. He cocked a brow, reaching over and fixing his own cup of tea. I watched carefully out of my peripheral - one cream, one cube of sugar. He kept the cup on the table while he stirred it, removing the spoon once he was done and tapping it three times on the rim of the cup. He picked it up, slowly bringing it to his lips. 

When I looked at him again, he was still staring intently at me. I raised a brow of my own, wondering if he would say what he was thinking. At my look, he slowly dragged his eyes down to stare at the dress I’d chosen for the afternoon. A small smirk crept onto his face, and I could see the moment he understood. He leaned back in the chair, keeping his hips forward while he rested his upper back against the wood. He flicked his eyes back up to me, smiled goodnaturedly -

And slowly spread his knees. 

He had recognized this game exactly for what it was, and he was already too happy to play along. I swallowed, fighting to keep my eyes locked with his, instead of playing my hand and letting them wander. I ended up having to turn away, looking back over the railing at the giant black clouds.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, and cleared my throat.

“Of course,” he smirked, sipping his tea once again.

We sat for a time, watching the sky get darker as we nursed our cups of tea. Distant lightning flickered miles away, the following sound of thunder barely reaching our ears. I mentally berated myself for not walking into this meeting without a proper plan - it was no longer the time to solely rely on improvising and impulses. This was unfamiliar territory, I would not be able to get by on mere whims. Still, I shifted slightly, raising my left leg to cross over my right. The slit opened, allowing a good amount of skin to show. I heard Hook exhale slowly. 

“And how have you fared since our last meeting, my beauty?”

I blinked, the sudden use of the endearment throwing me. I’d heard it come from his lips before, and though there was still a distinctly teasing tone to the phrase, it was not quite mocking anymore. I wanted to hear it again.

“I have been alright,” I said truthfully. “Bored, mostly. There is not much to do except clean around the house while I am alone. And you? How have you been since I last saw you?” I asked.

“Cold,” he said simply. “The ship is still frozen, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” I frowned, turning and catching his eyes hastily flicking away from my exposed leg. “Peter is still gone?”

“Aye,” he muttered. “He has been gone for some time.”

“Does that mean that he is… here?” I asked slowly.

“...Most likely, aye,” Hook said quietly. I automatically looked up, glancing around the sky as though I expected Peter to come swooping over the roof and land on the railing to crow. I wasn’t sure what I would do if he showed up here and now. I’d probably have to stop the Captain from leaping off the balcony, sword in hand. 

Something did soar past the balcony then, and I jumped - only to see that it was simply a bird diving towards a small tree in the yard. I pressed a hand against my chest, trying to calm my heart before it thumped right out onto the ground.

“Hoping he’ll pay you a visit?” Hook asked lightly, but I could hear the note of bitterness in his voice. I shook my head.
“I don’t think so, no,” I said.

“Good,” Hook huffed, and I turned to see that he was not quite reclining anymore, more like slouching in his chair. He sipped his tea with a scowl on his face, and I sighed. 

“I’m sorry. I know you hate talking about him,” I said quietly. “Let’s change the subject, hm?”

Hook did not say anything, but waved a nonchalant hand in my direction as if saying go on, then. Some of my confidence was waning now, and my fingers started nervously picking at the silky fabric of my skirt. The thunder was louder now, like there was a big timpani sitting in the sky, playing just for us. It was still a decent way away yet, but I could feel the breeze pick up as the clouds floated towards the house.

“If you are bored,” Hook said suddenly, “I could always bring you something else to read.”

“I…” I hesitated, wanting nothing more than to accept his offer. “I have told you I cannot. But I appreciate it, Hook. Truly.”

“If you are certain.”

“I am.”

“That is settled, then.”

“Hook,” I said, waiting until he flicked his eyes towards me. I nodded sincerely. “I am serious. Thank you.”

He nodded slowly, dropping his eyes and looking back over the railing. I kept watching him, noting the tension melt from his shoulders as a crisp breeze washed over us. He exhaled, and I found myself wishing to see his face as relaxed as it had been when he’d fallen asleep in my armchair. There was still a light, ever-present crinkle to his brow, and I wished my gratitude had been enough to wipe it away. 

There was a shift in the air, and I felt the hairs on my arms and neck start to stand on end. I didn’t have to wait long for the release - A bright flash of lightning abruptly illuminated the balcony, followed quickly by a loud clap of thunder. The sound continued, rolling into deeper tones until it finished with a low rumble . I smiled and closed my eyes, listening until the echoes had faded away. 

“Unafraid of storms, then, my lady?” Hook asked. I opened my eyes to see him watching me curiously. I nodded, relaxing.

“They are comforting,” I murmured. “I enjoy watching them roll in.”

“You are so full of surprises,” he shook his head. “Comforted by something so destructive.”

“I think it’s beautiful,” I insisted. “Every storm is different. The lightning, the thunder... So much wind - that’s what I really love about storms, how they make the air dance. And whatever destruction they bring makes room for new growth, new creation. Is that not beautiful?”

“...Aye,” he agreed, letting his eyes drift over my body. I stilled, feeling that warmth creep up once more as he drank in the curve of my bare shoulders. “Aye, beautiful.”

I smiled shyly and looked back to the sky, no longer actually paying attention to the clouds. He shifted in his chair while I was not looking, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly cross his right leg over his left. 

“Do you possess a thirst for danger, then?” he said quietly. I hummed, tilting my head - and ultimately shook it slowly.

“A thirst for adventure, maybe,” I murmured. “But I have experienced enough danger in my life. I don’t think I’ll be craving more any time soon.”

His legs uncrossed, and he slowly set his cup of tea back down on the tray. I glanced over to see him start fiddling with his hook absently.

“Aye. Perhaps that is best,” he muttered. I frowned.

“Don’t,” I said quietly. He looked up, brow raised. “Don’t think what I know you’re thinking, Hook.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you speak, madam,” he said lightly, but he looked back down and continued rubbing his right forearm. I sighed, torn between distracting him and forcing him to understand that I was not afraid of him. But I knew where the latter would lead - in a circle. And I’d had enough of endless cycles lately. 

“How has your crew been dealing with Peter’s absence?” I asked instead. He sighed, letting himself slump again tiredly, but I could tell there was no animosity directed towards me yet.

“It is always difficult,” he confessed quietly. “It has been a few weeks this time. They have their sleeping chambers, the bunks, below deck - so at the very least, they have a dry place to rest their heads.”

“Does it stay warm?” I asked, concerned. 

“Not as warm as it should,” he said grimly, bringing his left hand up to rub deeply at his eyes. “It is not a very insulated chamber, but they tend to make it with minimal complaints.”

“Hmm,” I hummed, not quite liking his answer. “And your cabin?” I asked, remembering how plush the main quarters had seemed to me as a child. “How insulated would that one be, Captain?”

He slowly uncovered his eyes to look at me, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. “Accusing me of neglecting my crew, madam?”

“Not necessarily,” I said smoothly. “Just a simple question.”

“Well, to answer your question,” he raised a brow, “my cabin also tends to catch a bit of a chill when the Pan has abandoned his throne.”

“Well,” I nodded awkwardly, understanding that I’d made a poor assumption. “That’s good, then.”

“Thank you for your expert opinion, my lady,” he said pointedly. I flushed.

“I remember your cabin, is all,” I said defensively. “It seemed rather… grandiose.”

“It was grandiose when I inherited the ship,” he said. “It would not have honoured my benefactor to alter the theme.”

“Someone gave you the Jolly Roger?” I asked, surprised. “Who?”

“It is none of your concern,” he said firmly. I frowned.

“You really don’t want to tell me anything, do you?” I pressed him. “You haven’t responded to my questions with anything besides riddles. I don’t understand what you have against the Neverland -”

“Count yourself lucky, madam,” he interrupted quietly. “You never should have been involved with the Neverland in the first place. You were meant to experience a normal childhood and grow into a well-adjusted woman, without knowing any of the sinister magic you’ve been exposed to now. Every child it’s ever taken - every child has been deprived of that life. Just because your lot has had the privilege of returning home, does not mean that you have not been robbed as well.”

“The privilege?” I asked, confused. “See, this is what I mean! How long do the children usually stay? Where do they get banished to when they grow up? What about the Natives? How do they -”

“Oh, cease your nattering, woman!” Hook snapped, standing abruptly and walking over to stand against the railing. A part of me watched him with anxiety, but there was a new burning in my chest - I needed to fill in the blanks, desperate enough to ignore his outbursts. I told myself that he would not strike me, and pushed on.  

“You say I have been robbed,” I insisted, slowly standing as well. “I’d like to understand. That’s all I ask. Now you are robbing me - do not say I deserve better while keeping me in the dark!”

“The dark, madam, is bliss ,” he said with rising irritation, whipping back around to face me. “I swear on my life that the things I know, the things too many know, would make you never want to set foot on that cursed island again.”

“Then why are you still there?” I asked firmly, turning and walking to the right corner of the balcony. “Why do you stay?”

“I cannot leave,” he shouted at last. “No one has the power to escape! Does that at least answer one of your questions, woman?”

“Yes!” I threw my arms up and out to the side in exasperation. “Yes, thank you! ”

“ Good ,” he growled. “Because I shall not be answering any more!”

“Why not?” I demanded. “Why are you so afraid of -”

“You know nothing of fear,” he snarled. “Nothing.”

“Nothing??” I cried incredulously. “I think I know more than you realise, Hook.”

“There is a reason your Neverland adventure is something out of a dream for you,” he hissed. “The things you were spared from - I do not know why, no one does, but you were saved by some unknown force at the end of your journey. You should not have come home, only a few of us have ever had that luxury, and we certainly did not receive such mercy from Pan himself!”

“We?” I said, noting the odd choice of pronoun. “Who is we ?”

“I am sure you would like to know,” Hook sneered. “But unfortunately, as I said, you shall have to live with the rest of your unanswered questions.”

“This is not fair,” I muttered, staring as he closed his eyes and turned to grasp the balcony tightly with his left hand. “You came back, you proved to me this was all real, and I am still left feeling insane because apparently I was brainwashed as a child. You have the power to undo that, to put my memory right, but you won’t !”

“I have not needed to speak the truth about the Neverland in over a century,” he said angrily, turning back to face me again. “I shall not start again now.”

We stood on opposite sides of the balcony, glaring at each other silently. Just as I started to contemplate sending him home, there was one more loud BOOM directly above us -

And the sky opened.

I gasped in surprise as the first drops hit my skin. Rain started harshly pattering against the ground of the balcony, plunking against the crown of my head and running in rivers down my body. Hook had also been attacked by the water, his hair already starting to flatten against his scalp. Within moments, we were both practically soaked through, still staring at each other angrily. There was an overwhelming urge to use the uncomfortable feeling as fuel for my ire, but I felt the anger slowly fade from my body, leaving behind a deep tiredness. 

As I considered the fuming Captain in front of me, I caught another glimpse of that strange fear in his eyes. Whatever I’d wanted him to say, whatever I’d been pushing him to remember - it was scaring him. This was something deeply-ingrained in his memory, something that still affected him today. And all of a sudden, I understood.

I still did not have answers to my most burning questions. But I’d recognized that look in his eyes. How would I react if someone started badgering me for explicit details of my marriage? Whatever he was hiding, I got the feeling that this was essentially exactly what I’d been asking of him. He was right to lash back out at me, afraid to be hurt again. 

A snippet of our conversation earlier that week flashed through my mind.

You help , he had said. James had been inebriated, but there was a raw honesty to his plea that I couldn’t deny. Whatever was bothering him, he had grown to see me as some form of relief. 

Well, you’re not exactly helping now, are you?

I winced. My conscience was right. This wasn’t something I should push, at least not now. I could wait until he was ready to tell me - if he ever would be ready to tell me.

As I deflated, something about the situation made me start to relax. Here I was on the balcony of my home, arguing with a pirate captain from my childhood in the pouring rain. We were not so different, he and I. Something had broken both of us in the past… and in my case, the present. Standing together in the rain seemed to wash away the fire in our gaze, leaving behind a tension that desperately begged to be cut.

The Captain looked away, a scowl still etched into his face. His curls had gone limp around his cheeks, and he crossed his arms across his chest. As I watched his shoulders slouch forward, I was reminded of a petulant child who had been hauled from the sea before he was done playing. 

I was the one that broke first. A smile insisted on crawling onto my face, and an exasperated laugh bubbled up from deep within me, bursting out of my mouth as the Captain started to look more and more like a drowned rat. I looked away, raising a hand against my mouth to try to stifle my giggles, but it was no use. The entire situation was entirely too absurd for me to find it anything other than comical. 

I took a breath, fully releasing my anger with a soft exhale. I tilted my head back, squinting as I just focused on how clean and good the rain felt.

Then I turned back to Hook, who still looked distinctly grumpy, but the sharpness of his anger had been mellowed by the rain. I walked over to him, reaching my left hand out in front of me. He watched me warily.

“I am sorry,” I said sincerely. “I was out of line. I don’t know what you are protecting me from, but I understand. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He looked down at my hand, considering it. After a moment, he sighed and reached out his own hand to shake mine briskly. He shook his head, his harsh brow relaxing slightly.

“You meant no harm,” he said. “You should not be punished for your curiosity. All is forgiven.”

We stared at each other for a moment, our energy so different than before. I could see him now - there was the Hook I’d come to know recently, a gentleman with a knack for banter and comfortable silences. He’d emerged from the depths of his ire, still idling behind the wall he always was ready to build around himself. If I could pull him from the deep, surely I could coax him out into the open.

“Thank you, Hook,” I said softly. I looked up at the rain again, chuckling, “It would be a shame to argue and ruin the storm.”

Hook watched me quietly, saying after a moment, “I suppose it is a… kinder storm, than the ones we see aboard the ship.”

I looked down at him again, smiling softly and nodded. “Father used to take me out in the rain, when I was little enough for such things.”

Hook raised a brow. “Did he? From what you’ve told me of your father, I’m surprised he’d expose his daughter to the elements in such a way.”

I chuckled fondly at the memory of my father, shaking my head and feeling pieces of my hair stick to my cheeks. “Father used to love the rain. He’d spin me - and we’d dance.”

Hook smirked softly in spite of how tired his eyes still were.

It was enough of a lift in his mood that I looked down at his hand, shifting my arm to raise in a palm-up arch between the two of us. I lifted his arm gently with my other hand, crossing it with mine.

“Like this,” I said softly, beginning to walk around him in a slow circle.

His smirk grew softer - and he slowly followed my lead, turning with me for a short while. When the next round of thunder rattled the window pane, I switched arms with him - and he followed smoothly, the two of us spinning in the opposite direction, a bit faster this time.

Until I was moving with more of a skip in my step, my smile widening as I felt the growing puddles splashing beneath my shoes. The water caressed my skin, washing away echoes of other hands - even if just for a short while. I closed my eyes, enjoying the brief feeling of being clean.

At some point, his hand shifted to gently grasp mine - and then he was leading me into a small turn under his arm. I giggled softly as my feet slid a bit on the balcony - but before I could stumble, he reached out to brace my other arm with the flat of his hook, ensuring I stayed on my feet.

”The balcony is a bit more slippery than our yard was, I’m afraid,” I chuckled sheepishly, opening my eyes - and I sobered slowly as I registered Hook’s expression.

The mood had obviously shifted yet again. His eyes had drifted below my face - he was scanning every inch of my now-soaked dress, and I looked down to see that it was decidedly more form-fitting now than when it had been dry. The fabric clung to my skin, draping across itself almost like ripples in a pool. Deciding that he had already played his hand, I went ahead and played mine - letting my eyes wander over his white poet’s shirt that was now slightly less opaque than before. 

It was hard to see any details, but I could see the faint outline of a broad chest. Thick straps, presumably made of leather, criss crossed over his torso - and I realised it must be the harness for his hook. On his upper arm, I could also see the outline of what looked like a still-healing scar.

I stepped forward first, closing the distance between us slowly. His eyes were still firmly locked on where my waist met my hips, watching the way they moved as I shifted my weight. My breathing was quieter now - almost scared to startle either of us off, as I brought myself closer to him. So close that his eyes were forced to break from my hips to instead focus on my chest - the dress now had the illusion of a lower cut, as the water dragged down the draping fabric to expose a bit more skin below my clavicle. I was tempted to tease him and remind him where my eyes were, but I supposed that for a short while, I could allow my eyes to be elsewhere too. 

As though he sensed my amusement, he dragged his gaze back up to mine. I reached a tentative hand out, lightly brushing it against the soaked white fabric against his chest. His hand twitched against my arm, and he slowly lowered it to run reverently across the peak of my right hip. He tisked lightly.

“My, my,” he murmured. “I do hope your beloved storm does not ruin your dress, my beauty.”

“It may,” I shrugged softly. “It may not. But I have other dresses, I can simply… take this one off.”

If it had been possible for Hook’s eyes to be a colour other than blue or red, they would have turned pure black . My breath hitched, wondering fleetingly if being forward with him was some sort of mistake.

“...Is that so?” he breathed. I nodded, doe-eyed. “Warm again, my dear?”

“…Very,” I whispered. His smirk widened and his eyes narrowed. He traced a languid circle atop my hip, and one particular rain drop slipped down the back of my dress so deliciously, it might have been his own hand. He leaned in, letting our foreheads touch faintly. 

“Perhaps you had better… take care of yourself, hm?” he hummed softly.

I paused, his words washing over me slowly. 

Take care of myself? 

Sort it out? 

I didn’t know how to ease the feelings I’d been having - but the message seemed loud and clear to me.

Whatever I was feeling… it was my problem. Not his.

I flushed, feeling my heart sink in disappointment. I pulled back slowly, watching Hook’s smirk melt away. I schooled my face into a blank expression, nodding tersely.

“Yes. Perhaps you are right,” I said, my voice flatter than before. He startled, frowning.

“Have I insulted you, my beauty?” he asked in concern.

I lifted my chin, trying to keep my conflicted emotions from showing in my face. “No, Captain.”

He paused at the formality and the sudden distance in my voice, his eyes searching my face with uncertainty. When I did not waver, his face also morphed into indifference, and he straightened properly.

“Very well, then. I suppose I shall take my leave of you, Mrs. Beckwith,” he bowed stiffly.

“…Very well. Goodbye, Captain,” I said quietly, turning away so I wouldn’t have to see him leave. A blindingly bright flash of lightning lit up the world at the same moment, and I couldn’t tell if the electric crackle in the air had come from the sky, the Captain, or my own growing frustration. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

I sighed quietly to myself as I crawled back into my room. Suddenly the water on my skin was uncomfortable again, causing my dress to cling to my skin in a way that was almost claustrophobic. What kind of game was the Captain trying to play? I had seen it in his eyes - somehow, some way, he knew exactly what was happening to me. I had a feeling he also knew how to relieve me of this torment. But once again, he encouraged me up the mountain until I was teetering on the precipice, expecting me to find a way back down by myself. This was torture - every syllable from his mouth was another piece of kindling to stroke the fire in my belly, every brush of his hands a fan for the flames. Even the memory of him was enough for me to close my eyes, swallowing a groan.

What. Was. Happening. To. Me?

As I stripped and headed straight to the washroom once more, my thoughts bled into each other in my head. Why was he intentionally pushing me closer to the edge before abandoning me there? It was cruel. And it hurt - it was actually physically painful now, as I reached the bathtub. Surely the Captain did not mean actual physical harm.

One thing was for certain. I would figure out what his goal here was. And if he thought he would be able to play me like a pawn, he was sorely mistaken.

Chapter Text

I stomped up the stairs, gripping the railing tightly with my right hand. It had been four days of this - four days of trying desperately to ignore the persistent ache in my abdomen. Four days of pushing away all thoughts of the Captain, only to have them boomerang back around to smack me in the face. This was getting ridiculous.

I growled, throwing the door to the bedroom open roughly. The urge was still there - the urge to crawl under the covers and bury my head in my pillow, to drown in my thoughts of the Captain and lean into the pain. Maybe all these years in my marriage had turned me into a proper masochist after all.

“Hook, you bastard,” I hissed, ripping my eyes away from the bed and gazing around the rest of the room instead. I had spoken the truth to him during our last meeting - I was bored in the house alone. So there were no other distractions from my thoughts, nothing else for me to focus on instead. It had started to consume me so much that I’d spent this morning rearranging the bedroom - I’d pushed the bed from the wall across from the window to the rightmost wall instead, the side table (which I’d had to dry off from the rain) perched next to it. The dresser was still in its corner, hiding the section of loose floorboards. I knew I would have to move everything back before Daniel returned home, but at this point, I did not care. The physical exercise of it should have been enough to release some of the energy that was continuing to build inside of me, but it almost made it worse. Three times I’d had to stop mid-push, stumbling to the ground as my abdomen tensed in ways that it had never tensed before. 

“What have you done to me, you son of a -” I cut off with a frustrated groan. My eyes whipped to the window, and my mind made itself up in a flash. Before I’d even registered what I was doing, I was stalking quickly up to the window and opening the latch.

“You are going to explain yourself, Captain,” I muttered, successfully delivering his third warning and stepping outside. I quickly glanced up, feeling something align as I oriented my face towards the star. 

“Hook,” I shouted. I heard a pained yelp.

“I see you are upset, your majesty,” he mocked, rubbing his lower back gingerly with his hand as I turned to glare at him. “My back and I would love to know your reason today.”

“You have been a knave , Captain Hook,” I gritted. “You have cast a spell on me, and I do not know how to undo it. You will explain. Now. ”

“Such spirited accusations, madam,” he scoffed, wincing. “And what spell have I supposedly placed you under?”

“Do not play coy with me, Captain,” I growled. “You know precisely what has been happening, you encourage it. It does not go away, I can never make it go away.” My face twisted into a grimace. “It hurts .”

“You are in pain?” he asked, suddenly serious, scanning my body for injuries.

“Yes,” I whimpered. His eyes narrowed.

“Explain,” he demanded firmly. “Where does it hurt?”

“Here,” I shot my right hand to rest on my lower stomach. “And here,” I placed the other one on my chest. His head tilted to the right, and he cocked a brow.

“How does it hurt?”

“There is a… a blaze in my gut,” I said, struggling to encapsulate the intensity of the feeling in just a few words. “And I cannot extinguish it. The flames are everywhere, and they just build until I am left a frustrated mess . There is an ache in my chest that grows whenever I send you away. See?! I see it in your eyes, you know what you’re doing!” I cried, pointing a frantic finger at the smirk that was slowly spreading across his face. 

“Aye, I believe I understand,” he chuckled lowly.

“It is unfair, Captain,” I pleaded. “You make it so much worse, and right when I think I will find some release, you keep telling me to sort it out myself. To take care of it. You just leave me here in shambles, and I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to make it stop, I… If this is just a game for you, then I am tired of playing.”

His smirk faltered, his brow furrowing.

“My beauty, I do not view you as a game ,” he murmured, stepping forward. “As for your problem, well… I do understand what you are experiencing. Though the thought of watching you squirm like this is, admittedly, tempting.”

“What is happening?” I whispered. He lifted a brow, before raising his gaze to the sky as he searched for a proper explanation.

“Does the pain feel good?” he finally asked. I glared at him.

“No,” I mumbled. 

“Is that so?” he pouted, raising his hand to lightly press against my hip. I moaned, leaning into him automatically. My hands came up to press against his chest. “There. Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” I whispered despite the pain.

“Good,” he cooed. “Very good, my beauty.”

“But why?” I whined. He tisked lightly.

“Surely you have been… intimate with your husband, have you not?”

At the mention of Daniel, I pulled away slowly. I stepped back, despite the growing ache in my chest, until I was on the right side of the balcony. Hook did not advance, just watched me from his spot.

“Yes,” I said shortly. “We have been intimate.”

“You understand the way it makes him feel?” Hook asked simply. I nodded slowly, confused about how that was relevant.

“Yes, of course. I know the… signs,” I said awkwardly, remembering the way I’d discovered the tightness in his pants meant it was time to lay down. “And I know what makes him… happy.” I’d seen the look on his face before, the tension in his muscles as he went faster and harder, until he collapsed in a pleased heap on top of me. 

“And does he ever make you feel that way?” Hook asked, beginning to walk towards me slowly. I blinked, confused.

“N-no… but I am a woman, Captain. It is not possible for me to experience what he does,” I said, and his eyebrows shot up.

“Oh, my dear,” he shook his head, his eyes roving down my body and back up to my face as I swallowed nervously. “It is very possible.”

“What?” I asked, stunned. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” he asked quietly, only a few paces away from me now. I pushed myself flat against the wall as he continued to advance. “You shall have to find out. When I tell you to take care of it, that does not mean that I want you to extinguish the flame, my beauty. It means I want you to chase it, chase it off that cliff until you feel yourself fall… and begin to fly .”

“I don’t understand,” I whispered, failing to keep my heartbeat calm as he stopped directly in front of me. If he took another step, he would crush me against the wall. He smirked again.

“You are a woman of curiosity, are you not?” he asked, tilting his head and leaning forward. He placed his face so close to mine, I could feel the motion of his lips as he spoke. “When you find yourself alone, and feeling the way you are now, climb into your bed and… explore yourself.”

“Why would I-”

“Surely you wish to feel that sweet release, my beauty,” he purred, reaching his hand up to tuck a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “I promise you can. Your hands are miraculous instruments. Use them, find what makes you feel that good pain, deep inside.”

His hand went down to my hip again, trailing a path upwards. His hook nestled gently under my chin, tilting my head back as he shifted to breathe against my ear. His hand swept over my waist, and I whimpered as it drifted over the peak of my bosom. He chuckled, his breath ghosting over my ear and down my neck as he pressed closer to me.

“And when you find your body’s strings, my dear…” he murmured, “...play them. Play them until you reach a crescendo you have never felt before. Not for anyone else, but for yourself.” He pulled back to look into my fluttering eyes, and the sight made him hum softly. 

“There is a place that will always welcome your touch, little one,” he purred, and shifted his leg. His knee lightly invaded my space, brushing a spot between my legs, and I cried out, grabbing his shirt. My hips automatically bucked, trying to chase the friction his knee had brought, but only hitting empty air. He hummed again, his hand shifting to grip my hip once more. “I would be honoured to help you with your discovery, my sweet. But this is for you to find on your own.”

“You bastard,” I hissed, and he barked out a short laugh. “You’re going to leave me alone again like this.”

“Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, I am. But when you discover what you like…” he pinched the skin at my hip lightly, making me yelp and jump closer to him. His lips curled into a feline grin. “When you discover what your husband never has, do not hesitate to call for help. Do you understand, my dear?”

“Yes,” I breathed dutifully. His eyes sparked.

“Good,” he murmured. “Very good.”

“Am I to… to send you away now?” I asked, uncertain.

“If you like,” he said simply. “Of course, if you require an audience…”

“No,” I said abruptly, ignoring the way such a simple sentence made me want to crumple to the floor then and there. “No.”

“Then I shall leave you to take care of it, ” he bowed slightly.

I bit my lip. I knew what he’d meant now - well, I somewhat knew. I still didn't quite understand. I’d been told that as a woman, I was simply not meant to experience such bliss. I was intended to help my husband with his… needs , and that was my sole purpose. But the Captain had not truly steered me wrong yet. 

“Alright,” I said, not sure why I felt the need to rub my legs together like a cricket. “Goodbye, then, Captain.”

His smirk was still engraved in my mind as he disappeared with a burst of gold. I allowed myself to crumble slightly, staggering inside through the window until my feet were both planted firmly on the bedroom floor. I stared at the bed, and started walking over to it to follow the Captain’s orders. I was indeed a woman of curiosity. 

I reached the bed, and reached my left hand out to peel back the comforter - and stopped at the bright gleam of my wedding ring staring back at me. 

This was wrong. 

This was all wrong. 

I was married, and here I was entertaining fantasies about my own arousal while thinking of another man.

This was too dangerous.

I grit my teeth against the pain and turned abruptly, walking back downstairs to find anything else to do. There had to be something that could distract me. I managed to find a corner of the kitchen that had not yet been scrubbed spotless, and set to work, my mind successfully diverted.

For now.

Chapter Text

Everything was clean.

There was nothing left to do.

I’d moved the bedroom back to its original layout, knowing that my husband could return any day now. I’d even moved the dresser to wipe down the interior of the hiding nook, polished my keepsakes from my parents, and counted the small wad of money twenty times. My sleep had been poisoned with the Captain’s voice, luring my hands away from under the pillow to wander where they shouldn’t. Even while awake, I had to fight myself, keeping my hands from absently brushing against my thighs, my neck, my stomach.

I fluffed the pillows on the bed for the tenth time, telling myself I was trying to achieve the perfect space. As I ran my fingers over the plush fabric of the pillow, I could practically see the Captain’s white poet’s shirt bend under my touch instead. I threw the pillow down with a moan, watching it bounce on the bed.

I paused. When I had let out that noise, that little needy sound, it had felt so good. Like a release, in a way. I tentatively did it again, groaning raggedly - and my hips flexed. I froze, standing stock still even as the fire in my belly roared with a vengeance. 

I raised my hands, glancing between them.

Surely it couldn’t hurt… could it?

Daniel was always out, providing his attention to any woman who suited his fancy. Could I not at least have this? This one distraction, this one source of pleasure in my dreary life? Clearly, Daniel was not about to help me discover this side of myself any time soon. Not that I wanted him to, anyway. 

I blinked, and realised that my hand had started absently gripping the comforter so tightly it started to wrinkle. I sighed, brushing out the creases, slowing to a stop to stare at my hands. So small, so innocent - how could these simple things make me feel what I knew a man could? I tried to picture myself with that pinched look of ecstasy on my face, but I couldn’t even conjure the image. There was a face that came to mind, though - a face that I wanted to see twisting in pleasure. And it was not my husband. I stared at the bed, but my mind was not in my bedroom. My mind was occupied, replaying the things Hook had said to me the last time we’d spoken.

When you find yourself alone, and feeling the way you are now, climb into your bed and… explore yourself. 

Surely you wish to feel that sweet release, my beauty.

I bit my lip, slowly undoing the cover I’d just tucked in, and climbed tentatively into the bed. I pulled the blanket up over myself, all the way to my shoulders, and slid down until I was lying horizontally. I took a shaky breath and closed my eyes, remembering how Hook had said to do it.

Close your eyes, and simply look for places where your body begs for the touch of your hands.

What a silly notion. But the way he’d said it, the way some secret part of me was already hungry for his touch - maybe he knew what he was talking about after all. I kept my eyes closed, and without any effort, images of the Captain appeared in my mind. Things I had seen - his smouldering eyes on the balcony, the feeling of his hook under my chin, the way his lips quirked up into a smirk when I was flustered -

My hands slowly began to brush along my skin, starting with my neck. I left no stone unturned - my fingers gently massaged behind my ears, I cupped my throat and slid the hand down… and almost opened my eyes when it came in contact with the peak of my breast. But I kept them closed and focused on the mental image of the Captain. 

And when you find your body’s strings, my dear… play them. Play them until you reach a crescendo you have never felt before. Not for anyone else, but for yourself.

I felt around my breasts carefully, wondering if it could possibly feel any better than it already felt - and gasped when I inadvertently pinched a nipple between my fingers. I rolled it slowly, feeling it harden even more beneath my touch. I whimpered, remembering the way Hook’s breath had sent shivers down my spine as he sighed into my ear. I almost stopped entirely, starting to feel mortified, but Hook had said to keep going. Even if he hadn’t - I wanted to.

I spent some time with both hands there, kneading and pinching until my back started to arch slightly and my mouth dropped open. My memories of the Captain started to alter and warp, transforming into new scenes that I’d never seen before. I found myself imagining what it would be like to kiss the smirk off his face, what I would see if he ever took off his poet’s shirt, how it would feel to be laying right here and feel his weight on top of me, have his curls falling into my face as he said vulgar things to me -

My hands slipped lower, trailing over my stomach and slipping below the band of my knickers. I sighed as I ran my fingers along the inside of my thigh, and faltered.

There is a place that will always welcome your touch, little one.

I hesitated, and then inched my fingers towards the spot in between my legs, shocked to find the wetness waiting for me there. I didn’t have to marvel for too long, though - I accidentally brushed one specific spot, a small nub at the top of my sex, and whined breathlessly. It hurt too much to use too much pressure, and an experiment with simple tapping didn’t yield the best results. 

I finally tried moving my fingers in a small circular motion, and I swore I was going to roll off the bed then and there. 

I brought my other hand up to clasp over my mouth, smothering the wanton sounds that were spilling from my lips.

I could see things much clearer in my mind now - almost as though it had already happened, I saw Hook propped up above me with a hungry look in his eyes, I watched him kiss his way down from my neck to my chest, past my stomach. I could practically feel his breath against where my hand had taken refuge, and the movement of my fingers could almost be him speaking my name with desire against my core … 

“James…” I sighed involuntarily, letting my head fall to the right. I was vaguely aware of the comfortable sensation of something locking into place internally, my hips began to rise to meet my hand -

“CONFOUND IT, WOMAN!”

I sat up with a gasp, my eyes popping open. When my head whipped to the right, I caught sight of the window, slightly ajar, and a blurry figure pacing angrily across the balcony through the curtains. 

“Get me back there, now!! ” he shouted, and I was alarmed to see the fuzzy shape of his sword drawn in his hand. 

Shite!

I frantically scrambled out of the bed, haphazardly straightening my robe and combing my fingers through my own hair in an effort to make myself presentable. I pressed my cool left hand to either cheek, hoping to reduce my flushed appearance as I rushed to the window. 

“Captain!” I panted, opening the window. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He whirled around and pinned me in place with a terribly fierce glare. I shrank away from his eyes, which were rapidly switching between blue and red. 

“I had him,” he growled. “I had him right where I wanted him. I suggest you work on the timing of these calls, Mrs. Beckwith, as some of us have bigger worries than mending the laundry all day. I am the Captain of the Jolly Roger, I am no mere dog at your beck and call!”

“I told you not to call me that,” I said meekly. 

“Send me back, ” he snapped in response. “ Now. ”

“I will!” I insisted, “I’m sorry, I will…” I squeezed my eyes shut and waited. After a few moments, I opened my eyes and jumped when he was still standing expectantly in front of me. 

“Any time now, Mrs. Beckwith,” he gritted, seething. 

“Don’t call me that,” I retorted, my mood turning sour. I closed my eyes again and fought with my scattered emotions to find the desire to send him back to his ship. 

“Damnation, girl, I am losing my patience .”

“Stop talking,” I pleaded, ashamed at how breathy my voice sounded. Every syllable from his mouth did nothing but feed my embarrassingly vulgar imagination. Fortunately, the Captain obeyed and remained silent. 

I grunted a bit in frustration, pushing my hair further out of my face. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t summon the urge to send him back. 

“It’s not working,” I admitted guiltily. I startled as cold metal touched my chin, tilting my head up carefully. Expecting to open my eyes to a sword or pistol, I was surprised to see it was only the Captain’s hook. He had somehow snuck his way to standing directly in front of me without my noticing. 

“Yes, I can see that,” he acknowledged. He removed his hook from my chin, gently moving a stray curl out of my eyes. His eyes had calmed, all traces of red gone. They roamed my face and neck, cool and calculating. 

“Are you ill?” he asked quietly. I swallowed. 

“No, Captain,” I breathed. 

His eyes flicked from my face to my bedroom, and I suddenly realised I’d forgotten to fix the bed. He regarded the rumpled sheets, the pillows with wrinkles from where my hand had crushed the fabric. This late in the day, there were very few excuses for an adult’s bed to look like this…

I saw the exact moment he put it together. 

His eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline, and the corner of his lips quirked up into a smirk. Slowly, without removing his gaze from the bed, he leaned in very close to my ear. A stray curl tickled my cheek, and the ghost of a hot breath on my neck made me shiver. 

“My beauty, had it been any other time, I would have been happy to oblige.”

Oh.

“You are really not helping, Captain,” I moaned. 

“Aren’t I? It seems to me this is exactly the help you need,” he whispered, turning his head to speak against my throat, causing his lips to gently move against the skin. I swallowed a sharp gasp.

“Captain, please -” I begged, not knowing if I wanted him to stop or keep going.

“Such formalities again, Mrs. Beckwith?”

I stiffened. I raised my hands and shoved his chest away from me with all my strength. Caught by surprise, he stumbled backwards with a grunt.

“Don’t. Call. Me. That,” I growled, my shivers of pleasure giving way to trembles of anger. I was embarrassed to feel tears start to burn in my eyes. “My name is Wendy Darling .”

“Well then, Miss Darling ,” Hook sneered sardonically, his bruised ego adding a great deal of scorn to my name. “Kindly return me to my ship - or shall I remain here and have a word with your dear husband?”

“Don’t talk about him!” I shouted through a lump in my throat. “Why do you always bring him up when we’re-”

“When we’re what?” he interrupted. “Enjoying ourselves? I am not free entertainment, madam, and I would appreciate it if you stopped treating me as such -”

“I’m not trying to!” I insisted. “I swear, I don’t see it like that -”

“- and whether you like it or not, you married the man, you bear his name,” he continued loudly. “He is your husband and you are his wife!”

“I am NOT!” I cried desperately. “I don’t belong to him, I don’t love him and I never will! If I could go back in time, I would die before I married him. I would warn myself to stay away, to marry anyone else ! He’s the one who -” I clamped my mouth shut a moment too late.

The damage was done. 

I could only watch as Hook’s glare melted away slowly, leaving a blank face. He blinked. I fought the urge to bolt, either back in through the window or forward off the balcony. 

His shock was quickly replaced by a far more thunderous expression. 

“Finish your sentence, Miss Darling.”

“N-no,” I sobbed, angrily wiping my eyes.

“He’s the one who what? ” he asked sharply. 

“I don’t want to talk about this, Hook,” I hiccoughed, lowering my head to avoid his burning gaze. But he was not easily deterred. 

“Look at me,” he growled, striding forward with purpose and grabbing my chin firmly. He tilted my head up, and I fought not to flinch from the fury in his eyes as they searched mine. “Answer me. Now. ”

“Let me go,” I snapped, shoving at his hand. He did release me, but he did not step away. I vaguely noticed that he was trembling.

“Do you mean to tell me,” he hissed, “that this entire time, it’s been him? The man who is meant to protect you, to care for you - he is the one who has harmed you?”

“This conversation is over,” I muttered, turning to climb back into the house. 

“Oh, far from it, Miss Darling - but this,” he gestured angrily from me to inside and back, “ this is over, indeed.” I flinched as he grabbed my waist and lifted me, not forcefully, but moved me to the side so he could position himself at the window.

“Hook, please-” I rushed forward, raising my hand to grasp his shoulder.

“When he returns, I’m going to tear him apart.” He bucked his shoulder, throwing me off of him as he ducked and raised his foot to place it on the indoor windowsill. I felt my world tilt on its axis.

“No!” I cried. Hook froze mid-step, slowly turning his head to look at me in disbelief. 

“No?” He repeated incredulously. 

“Please don’t kill him,” I whispered. “Please.”

He stared hard at me for a few moments, both of us motionless save for my trembling breaths. Below us, life continued - droning on and on while we remained frozen in time. I didn’t blink, not even as tears threatened to spill across my cheeks. He still had yet to put his foot down, and the silence stretched long enough for me to begin fidgeting anxiously. 

His eyes flicked to my hands, noticing the slight tremor in my fingers as I picked at my robe. 

He closed his eyes slowly, and let out a low breath. 

He removed his left hand from the wall and pinched the bridge of his nose as though he were plagued with a headache. At the same time, he pushed lightly away from the wall with his hook and put his foot back down on the balcony. 

After rubbing his eyes for a few moments, he dropped his hand and looked at me again, seeming much calmer than before. 

Not for the first time, I admired his acting skills. 

“Very well,” he agreed smoothly. “I shall not kill him, if you do not wish it.”

“Promise,” I blurted. He raised his brows and I winced. “Please,” I added softly. 

He stared at me hard for a long beat. But then he took a deep breath and nodded once.

“I swear it.”

I searched his face. There was no hint of mockery, just a sense of overall frustration and defeat. His hand was balled into a fist, and his shoulders were taught with tension, but his posture had slumped and his eyes were honest. I knew then that I believed him, that he would keep his oath.

The relief nearly knocked me over. I released a breath slowly, fumbling with my hand until I felt the cool metal railing, and sagged against it. The cool breeze had been a blessing before, gently soothing the heat in my skin when I had first stepped outside - but now it was making my shaking worse, wracking my frame with tremors. I sank, sitting down with my back against the metal, the cold biting through the material of my rather thin robe. I stared at my hands, watching them tremble, starkly pale against the deep blue fabric.

Something appeared in front of my face and I startled, snapping my gaze back up. The Captain had stepped closer, and was wordlessly holding out his elaborate jacket to me. After a brief hesitation, I reached out and grasped the red brocade fabric, slowly wrapping it around my body and staring down at the floor. He stood still for a moment, before silently moving closer and sitting on my right, the edge of our elbows lightly brushing. His legs stretched out straight in front of him, he crossed his arms, and his head tilted back to rest against the railing tiredly. Neither of us spoke for several more minutes. I occupied myself with a loose button on his coat, lightly stroking the frayed piece of thread that was barely holding onto the gold button. It seemed an eternity later when he eventually spoke.

“You have protected him for so long,” he murmured. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back too, mirroring him.

“He has hurt you, and you are so afraid of him. I can see it. I see it every time he is mentioned, every time you think about him, the way you just… disappear, right in front of me. You do not love him, and he quite obviously does not love you. You are the victim, Miss Darling. Yet still you protect him, you shield him from harm. Why?” he asked quietly.

“I just…” I trailed off, unsure of how to explain it. “I know that it is not what it should be. Things are not the way they were. I married him for my father’s sake, and he was not… like he is now, at least not in the beginning.” Hook was silent, but turned his head towards me so carefully that I was encouraged to continue.

“He was charming,” I smiled sadly. “I’ve never truly loved him, but marrying him was not my worst option. And it’s still not.” I turned towards him, begging him to understand. But his face was tense with doubt, and what looked like concern. 

“I know he’s rough and I know it’s not perfect, but we have a roof, I have a home,” I insisted. “He has a respectable job, the money we get is… sufficient, and I know that one day I’ll figure out how to bring him back to the way he was. If I just learn to shut my mouth and do as I’m told, do everything better , I can fix it and everything will be alright again -”

Hook’s brow furrowed, but I wasn’t looking at him anymore. My eyes wandered back to the floor and started to unfocus as my breathing quickened. I shook my head adamantly and tears made my vision even blurrier.

“I’m always in the way, I keep making mistakes, it’s just a matter of discipline. He’s just trying to make me a better wife, and I should b-be grateful that s-someone loves me enough to fix me because no one is ever going to love me more than he does, he’s r-right,” I sobbed. I felt Hook shift beside me but I couldn’t stop, the words just kept coming out. “I just need to be better , I need t-to be better and then he will love me again, we can try for a family again, everything w-will b-be okay -”

“Wendy.”

The soft call made me look up quickly. Hook had manoeuvred his way to crouching in front of me, bending low to catch my eye. His left hand was gently squeezing my right shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the fabric. He’d used my given name - so casually said, so… normal -sounding. It was the first time he had said it without it being a part of a quip. It sounded better falling from his lips than I’d imagined. I felt a completely unrelated warmth radiate through my chest, less tangible than the jacket but much more effective nonetheless. 

“Stop,” he murmured. 

“But -” I started, and he shushed me quietly.

“You are wrong, Wendy. This is not your fault. You do not deserve anything that he has done to you. There is a difference between discipline and abuse , my beauty,” he said frankly. 

I blinked.

“No, it's just… he’s tough, yes, and it’s frightening, but I cannot just expect to do something wrong and not be reprimanded. He has rules, and when I break them…” I trailed away at the warning look in his eye. 

“You can and should expect to be cared for, no matter what ideals you hold. He should never have gotten the chance to lay his filthy hands on you, Wendy. Someone ought to have cut them off long ago,” he said darkly. “And if you ever release me from this vow of mine, I shall be more than up to that task.”

My lips flickered up in the ghost of a smile, but it didn’t reach my eyes. 

I sniffed, reaching an unsteady hand up to wipe a stray tear away but I was beaten to it - Hook’s warm, calloused hand tentatively reached up and brushed against my cheek, lightly trailing his thumb in a way that made a new type of shiver dance on my skin. 

We paused at the same time. 

I dragged my gaze up to meet his, and the sheer intensity there stole my breath. Something had shifted - gone was the mischievous glint, the coy flirt of a man I’d seen before. This was someone new. His eyes did not spark, his lips did not smirk - his stare was purposeful. Genuine. Steadfast. 

Hypnotising.

I gently bit down on my lower lip - his eyes darted down and locked onto the sight. His hand slowly moved from my cheek to gently cradling the side of my head. I could practically see him weigh the decision before carefully creeping forward. I let my eyes flutter closed, meeting him in the middle and letting our mouths barely touch - his breath tasted of smoked cinnamon as it ghosted across my lips, and I sighed softly, wishing we were back under the covers so I could feel his touch elsewhere too. I pressed my forehead against his, and his fingers tensed briefly against my head.

“James…” I whispered. He stilled, before releasing a shaky breath against my lips. I lifted my hand and gently placed it on the side of his face, screwing up the courage to close the gap -

Distantly, the front door slammed shut. I froze. 

“Wendy!” Daniel shouted from downstairs. 

Both of our eyes snapped open and we stared at each other, still breathing heavily no more than a centimetre apart. His face started to darken in fury, and that was all I needed to see. 

“Go,” I whispered. 

He vanished, leaving me holding nothing but empty air. 

And his coat, which was still draped heavily across my shoulders. Shite. 

I scrambled to my feet, hurriedly folding the jacket as best as I could. I crammed it into the Captain’s corner, a place no one could see from the window. I clambered inside, shutting the window quickly and locking it. I glanced near the door, where the cleaning rag still sat from my efforts to distract myself before. Running out of the room, I whipped my hand out and snagged the rag, holding it tightly as I hurried down the stairs.

“Welcome home, husband,” I said, breathlessly.

“Where were you?” He asked, suspiciously. His eyes flicked between my flushed face and the stairs.

“Cleaning, sir,” I bowed my head, presenting the rag for him to see. 

“Hmph. Good,” he said grumpily, holding out his coat and hat for me. As I put them away dutifully, he turned and pinched my backside hard. I yelped. He chuckled softly, a sound so much more sinister than the Captain’s laugh. 

“I’ve been so lonely on my travels, Wendy,” he murmured, stepping forward to embrace me from behind, burying his face in my neck. I cringed, noting how his touch felt nothing like Hook’s, or even my own. His hips bucked into my backside, and I could already feel the stiffness hidden in his trousers. 

“Come upstairs,” he whispered, kissing my neck softly. “Rest with me.”

I closed my eyes, willing my fantasies of the Captain from earlier to disappear. I couldn’t think of him, not now. I knew that if I kept him in my mind, I would call for him - I would run to the balcony and shout his name, and let him do exactly what I’d made him swear not to. Daniel pressed against me harder, raising a hand to grasp my jaw tightly. I whimpered, the sound making Daniel hum quietly and lick a small stripe up the side of my neck.

“Come, little mouse,” he purred.

There was no fire in my stomach now. My insides were frozen, so cold I started to tremble outwardly. I could tell he was able to feel it; his other hand came up to press against the front of my pelvis, digging his bulge further into my arse.

“You want it,” he whispered. “You’re dying for it.”

I wasn’t. This was not what I wanted. 

“You want to make me happy,” he grinned softly behind me, nipping at my earlobe. “Don’t you, Wendy?”

No, that inner voice shouted, and I felt my hands curl into fists without any conscious directive from my own brain. No, no, no!

I bowed my head, blinking away visions of soft blue eyes and black curls dangling over my face. I shoved away all thoughts of Hook, focusing on Daniel and Daniel alone.

“Yes, sir,” I lied.

He smiled into my throat, releasing my jaw to palm harshly at my breast. There was nothing enjoyable about it now, it was too rough too fast - but I grit my teeth, throwing my hands out to brace myself against the wall as he rocked his hips forward quickly. I kept my eyes trained on the wall as his hands quickly released me, listening to the sounds of his belt unbuckling and his pants unzipping. As his hands roughly pushed up my skirt, I found a small speck on the wall and concentrated hard on it, not letting anything break my focus. It seemed like we wouldn’t be going upstairs after all. But that didn’t matter, did it?

After all, this was my job. It was stupid to think anything else.

Chapter Text

“Mrs. Beckwith. Delighted to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mister Gregor,” I smiled, curtsying smoothly. Mister Gregor smiled, straightening up from his bow to extend a hand towards me.

“Might I trouble you for a dance, my lady?” he asked kindly. A possessive hand wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me flush against another body. Daniel’s friendly voice flooded my ears, his fingers digging into the deep blue fabric of my evening gown.

“I am afraid my wife is spoken for this evening, Erik,” Daniel smiled tightly. I dropped my gaze, nodding politely. Gregor paused, glancing at me, before masterfully crafting a blithe smile.

“Of course,” he bowed. “Another time, then.”

I watched him leave, wishing he had stayed to at least chat with Daniel. Gregor had a kind face and a kinder voice - the gentleman would have been a welcome distraction from my husband’s overwhelming presence. His hand had not left my side, and I winced as his fingers dug even deeper. 

“You look too ravishing tonight,” he said disapprovingly, pulling away to admire my look for the evening. His eyes drank me in hungrily, making me want to flee back to the car; but it had already left the front of the building. I would have to wait until Daniel was finished and ready to retire for the evening. “But it is all for me. No one else.”

“Yes sir,” I murmured. 

“Good mouse,” he whispered, pinching my side once more before relaxing his grip. 

I glanced around the ballroom, hoping to see a familiar face. The gala was held each year for the bank employees, mainly so the clerks could battle for the managers’ attention, hoping to receive a raise or promotion. Every married man had brought his wife, fathers brought any daughters that were of marrying age. Refreshments were laid out on the tables invitingly, and my mouth watered as a tray of small sandwiches passed in the hands of a servant.

“Come, I want to talk to Dalton now,” Daniel hissed, using the hand he’d glued to my waist to steer me towards the other side of the ballroom. I followed where he led, speaking when spoken to and keeping quiet otherwise. I plastered a docile smile on my lips the entire night, averting my eyes and keeping my attention on the ground if at all possible. 

Daniel only broke away from me to imbibe in the alcoholic beverages floating by on trays. Champagne, wine, whiskey, anything that had that sharp bite to it was immediately grabbed and tossed down his throat. By the end of the evening, he was absolutely plastered, just as I’d expected.

“I’ve ordered a car for you,” he slurred, pushing me out the door toward the sidewalk. “Fenwick and I are going to see some friends . I’ll be home late.”

I watched him stagger down the street with Fenwick, arm in arm and warbling some dirty sea shanty as they rounded the corner into the alleyway. I heard the car approach, and the driver hopped out to help me into the backseat. I lifted my skirts with one hand and accepted his offered palm with the other, settling carefully against the cool leather seats.

My mind wandered again to Hook, as it had been all night. What we were involving ourselves in on that damned balcony… it was a dangerous game to keep playing. There was no satisfying outcome for either of us - I was meant to stay here, a dutiful wife. If we were caught, there would be no telling what harm Daniel would cause. 

That was it, then. My mind was made up as we pulled up to the curb in front of my house. The driver helped me exit the car, and I stepped into my home, squaring my shoulders and staring down the stairs just inside the entrance.

This would be the last time I would call him. It had to be.

“Captain,” I said firmly, climbing the steps one at a time. My ascent was measured and deliberate, as I fought to keep myself steady in my decision. I called him a second and third time as I entered the bedroom, crossing immediately to the window. The sooner I got this over with, the better.

I climbed out onto the balcony, creeping over to the Captain’s corner to pick up his jacket before carefully positioning myself at the railing. I took another steadying breath, calming myself before I glanced up at the Star. It shone brightly tonight, a warm and inviting light that almost made me falter. Instead, I closed my eyes, my brow pinching in determination as my lips parted for one last summons.

“Hook,” I whispered. I opened my eyes, seeing the Star wink brighter for a moment, before averting my eyes to look straight ahead. I kept my eyes forward, even as I heard his sharp intake of breath from behind me. I steeled myself and turned around slowly, preparing to say everything I’d rehearsed in my mind during the week.

The look on his face killed the words on my tongue.

“Good evening, Miss Darling,” he said quietly, bending at the waist in a low bow. He straightened up, trailing his gaze from the bottom of my gown up to my face. His expression was not the same hungry look I’d gotten from Daniel - it was different somehow. Reverent.

I tightened my hold on his jacket to strengthen my resolve.

“Captain,” I greeted him stiffly. “We need to talk.”

“Aye, I believe we do,” he agreed. 

“We must stop,” I said firmly.

He paused, blinking once before rearranging his features into his trademark mask of indifference. His head tilted to the right, and his brows lifted in a clear invitation for me to elaborate. 

“We have strayed into dangerous territory, Captain,” I pushed on, clenching my empty fist at my side to anchor myself. I stretched out my other hand, holding his jacket out in front of me. “This was my doing, not yours. But my faithfulness to my husband has been threatened from our meetings, and that is unacceptable. I shall not call you anymore. I cannot.”

My assertion was met with heavy silence. James - the Captain - studied me very closely and said nothing for a time. Slowly, he took one step towards me. Then another. I waited as stoically as I could, unable to retreat due to my back already being pressed against the railing. He stopped an arm’s distance from me, close enough for me to have to look up at him ever so slightly.

“Wendy,” he murmured at last. “Has he done something to you?”

“No,” I said sharply. “This is my choice, Captain.”

“I find it difficult to believe that your… husband has not influenced you in this at all, Miss Darling,” he said. I shook my head firmly.

“No, this… this is not right. I am married, you are from another time - another world -” I protested.

“You are trapped , Miss Darling -”

“This is dangerous , Hook. Not just for the sanctity of my marriage. For me. ” 

“You need not worry about danger here, Wendy, I am more than happy to dispose of -”

“No!” I cried, frustrated. “You swore to me -”

“And I shall keep my oath, Miss Darling, for as long as you continue to hold me to it,” he assured. “But you need only say the word and your worries shall be no more. As for the question of faithfulness ,” he glanced dryly toward the window and back at me. “I doubt gallivanting around brothels exactly counts as fidelity. What we have involved ourselves in, here - you must see that this is different, Wendy.”

“If he discovers us,” I whispered, shaking my head, “I shall not live to call you again.”

Hook stepped forward again, closing the gap between us quicker than I could blink. My arm dropped, my fingers digging into the red brocade of the jacket. He leaned in, close to my face, his features set in stony determination. 

“Oath or not,” he whispered, “he wouldn’t get the chance.”

We stared at each other intensely, and I found my gaze wandering below his eyes to focus on his mouth. Before I registered my own movements, I lifted my free hand and lightly brushed my fingers across his bottom lip. His mouth parted silently, and I shifted my hand to cradle the side of his jaw. My thumb brushed over his lip again, and my palm nestled gently against the rough stubble on his cheek. I glanced up again, and found his eyes had darkened considerably. He watched me from under heavy lids, only moving to rest his hand and hook on the balcony behind me, effectively caging me in with his arms. But I did not feel trapped in the slightest. 

“James, we shouldn’t ,” I breathed. Just like last time, he stilled at the sound of his given name in my voice. He pressed closer to me, but didn’t close the distance fully. 

“It is your choice, Wendy,” he whispered. “It will always be your choice.”

I looked back down to his mouth, so gentle as it waited for me to make my decision. He did not push me any further, but he did not retreat either - not that I wanted him to. I ran my thumb across his lips again, feeling how soft the flesh there was. His eyes had already closed, and I caught a slight upturn of his brows as he waited patiently. I didn’t want to make either of us wait any more.

Slowly, and very cautiously, I closed the distance between us.

And pressed my lips against his.

He was still at first, letting me set the pace. I moved gently and softly, taking my time as I kissed him lightly. He waited so long that I faltered, thinking he had actually changed his mind. But then he started to respond - his lips moved against mine, stronger and more certain, but just as slow and kind. The kiss deepened, and I pressed myself closer to him than I ever felt possible. My right hand slackened, letting the thick fabric of the jacket slip through my fingers to the ground.

My back bent with the effort of keeping our bodies fully connected; his hand released its grip on the railing and instead wrapped around the small of my back, holding me flush against him. I moved my hand away from his face, threading it into his curls and grasping them experimentally at the base.

He groaned into my mouth, kissing me deeper and more desperately. I found that it was no chore to match pace with him, keeping my hand firmly locked in his hair as I melted against him. I thought back to how I’d felt when I was exploring my own body, and decided to reach back to guide his hand to rest on my breast. I pressed down on his hand, and I didn’t need to give him any bigger hint than that - he immediately started to knead the flesh slowly over the fabric of my gown, and now it was my turn to whimper into our kiss.

His hand moved away, and I whined at the loss of contact, but then his fingers deftly unpinned my hair, letting it fall down over my shoulders. He mirrored me, combing his hand through my hair to grasp it at the root, tugging lightly. I broke away with a small oh , and his mouth chased mine to reclaim it. It was like we were starving - starving for each other, needing more, needing to be closer .

I started to feel that heat again - it started to build in my lower belly, white-hot and liquid fire. Without any conscious directive from me, my hips began to press forward, seeking that friction I’d discovered just the other day. As if in answer to my prayers, James sucked my lower lip between his teeth to nip at it lightly, and his knee shifted to press directly in between my legs. I moaned breathlessly, letting myself shift my hips around until I found the perfect spot. I rode his leg slowly, dragging my hips forward and back to stoke the fire inside me. 

I flitted a hand down to palm at his trousers - if the tightness was any indication, there was a fire inside him, too. He jerked, breaking away with a gasp as my finger slightly brushed against the thickest part of the fabric. 

“Wendy,” he gasped hoarsely.

“I want…” I whispered, but his hand lowered to grasp mine, stopping me.

“You are not alone,” he breathed. “If I could… right now…”

He pulled away reluctantly, the gentlest look in his eyes. I felt my heart sink in disappointment, and I averted my gaze to look at our feet instead.

“It is too fast,” I mumbled, embarrassed. “I understand.

“No, not too fast, Wendy,” James assured me, brushing his hand across my cheek. “But it is dangerous for you, you were right. If I am to hold my oath, I must ensure that you are as safe as you can be. I doubt there would be a very pleasant conversation should Mister Beckwith arrive home while we were…”

I swallowed, trying to fight the pinpricks of tears threatening to overtake my vision. “Right. He should be home soon.”

“Are you safe?” Hook asked quietly, his hand falling to hold my shoulder. I still did not look up at him.

“I think so, yes,” I sniffed. He paused, before trying to lean down and catch my elusive eye.

“You do not sound very certain, Wendy,” he pointed out, concerned. I shook my head.

“It is… difficult to tell, when he’s drunk,” I admitted. James straightened, stiffening. “He was already stumbling when we left the gala this evening.”

“Wendy,” James said firmly, “If I have to stand out here just in case -”

“No, James,” I interrupted. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then I expect a call should things turn south, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured.

James paused, and I jumped at the feeling of his fingers softly hooking under my chin. He nudged it up lightly, until I lifted my head and finally got caught in his searching gaze. 

“I will not lie, my beauty,” he murmured softly. “There is a certain pride in my chest, some primal need satisfied, when you use that word to address me. But do not misunderstand - I am not your husband. You do not need to call me sir , Wendy.”

He moved again to hold my cheek softly, his thumb rubbing back and forth across my skin. “I am James . Aye?”

I blinked at him.

“Aye,” I whispered. 

“Good,” his lips twitched up into a fleeting smile, and he leaned in to press a soft kiss in the centre of my forehead. He stilled there, and I could practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He pulled away slowly, stepping back and pacing across the balcony towards the window. He turned to face me, realisation spreading across his face.

“Is this why you could no longer accept the gifts from my library?” He asked quietly.

“...Yes,” I nodded hesitantly. “I hid them for a time, but it was getting too risky. I started neglecting chores in favour of reading instead and that… led to some rules being broken.”

His eyes flashed. “Rules,” he repeated quietly. Without waiting for my response, he turned to the window, lightly dragging the tip of his hook down over the glass. “I should like to break something,” he mused, his hand clenching at his side.

“James -”

“Fret not, Wendy,” he said smoothly. “I promised you.”

I was reminded of the drunk Captain. She promised.  

I sighed, turning my back to him and leaning on my elbows against the metal railing. I lifted one hand, resting my forehead in my palm and staring down at the street below. I heard him shift behind me.

“What is wrong?” He asked. I shook my head slowly.

“I just… feel more uncertain than ever,” I admitted. “There are so many things I don’t know - I barely know you , really. I still don’t completely understand what I’ve been through, as a child or as an adult… I just can no longer make sense of my own world. You have turned it upside down.” I smiled sadly.

He considered this, walking over to stand next to me at the balcony. We leaned into the heavy silence, neither of us willing to break it first. James eventually dropped his head and sighed as well.

“I suppose fair is fair,” he shrugged. “You may ask me one question.”

I turned to look at him, surprised. He seemed calm and casual about it, but I could see it already - his shoulders were taut, and that haunted look was starting to creep into his face. His hand shifted to fidget with his hook again, rubbing the spot where the apparatus connected to the arm. I pursed my lips, and shook my head.

“No.”

He paused, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “No?”

“No,” I echoed firmly. “You are not ready to speak about it, whatever plagues your past. I will not force you to relive it. Not tonight.”

It was as though a switch had been flipped. The barely-visible tension in his stance melted away, and his face cleared, even as his eyebrows jumped slightly in surprise. He tilted his head to the side as a nod of acceptance.

“As you wish,” he said simply. But I could tell that he was relieved behind that mask of his. He stopped fidgeting, folding his arms over themselves as he continued to lean against the railing with me.

“There is something I would like to rectify,” I said carefully. He turned to look at me fully, wary but curious.

“Name it,” he said.

“You have tried to resist my call before,” I reminded him. “I would like to rest easily, knowing that you can fully deny the summons safely , whenever you are otherwise occupied.”

“Is that so?” Hook hummed, considering it. “When do you propose we make the attempt?”

“Tomorrow?” I suggested. “While Daniel is away at work - we would have quite a few hours to work it out.” I reached down and picked up his jacket again, wordlessly presenting it to him. He slowly accepted it, sweeping it around to thread his arms through the sleeves. 

“Aye,” James nodded. “Tis a plan, Miss Darling.”

“Wendy,” I murmured softly before I could stop myself. “I like hearing you call me Wendy.”

His eyes trailed back down to my lips, watching the way they formed the vowels and consonants of my own name. He raised a cool brow, stepping back from the railing so far that I was forced to flip around so I could face him. Here we were again, my back pressing into the cool metal lightly, him stepping forward to run a light finger across my lips.

“Say it again,” he requested, keeping his eyes locked on where his hand rested.

“Wendy,” I whispered, feeling his touch shift as my lips moved. His lips twitched up at the corners.

“Wendy,” he echoed softly.

“James -” I started to plead, but I didn’t have to say anything else. His lips firmly reunited with mine, and I wrapped both arms around the back of his neck to keep myself from tumbling off the balcony. This kiss was already more heated than the last, as though we had just unpaused our desperation from before.

Then his knee was back in that delicious spot, and his lips shifted to move against the side of my throat. He alternated between kissing the flesh and whispering Wendy, Wendy over and over. There was a rasp to his voice that wasn’t normally present, and it had me gripping at the fabric of his shirt so tightly it started to wrinkle. 

“James, please, I need -” I tried to beg, but the words would not leave my mouth.

“Yes, you do need,” he murmured in my ear. “I can feel your heartbeat against my leg, Wendy.”

I whined, bucking my hips against his thigh so strongly that he groaned, pressing closer to me. He started peppering kisses along my neck and cheek, starting to shift his leg back and forth with me.

“Keep moving like that,” he panted between kisses, “And you may just find that release right here and now, pet.”

“Really?” I whimpered. He chuckled darkly and nodded, burying his face back in the hollow of my shoulder.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, his breath hot against my clavicle. I nodded enthusiastically, squeaking out a weak moan. I felt his lips curl up into a grin. “Then do not stop.”

His wish was my command. I pressed against him, the most amazing friction causing me to drop my head against his shoulder with a gasp. His hand shifted to rest between the middle of my back and the railing, ensuring that my spine would not bruise from knocking back into the metal. The heat was nearly there now, it was reaching a peak that was almost painful, I could practically feel my heart start to sing -

James stilled under me.

I didn’t realise at first, still moving myself against him. But after a moment, I noticed, and pulled my head away to catch his eye worriedly.

“What is it?” I panted, searching his face. But he was not looking at me, he was glaring darkly at the street below.

“We have company,” he growled, and I heard the slam of a car door and a faint curse as someone stumbled on the sidewalk in front of the house. I whipped around and caught a glimpse of Daniel staggering towards the door, a light grin still on his face from whatever debauchery he’d gotten involved with tonight. I bit back a squeak as James whisked me away from the edge of the balcony, so we had less of a chance of being discovered.

“His timing is, as always, abysmal,” James muttered, burying his face back in my hair with a newfound tension in his stance. “Must I still be bound in oath to you?”

“Yes,” I hissed, but ran a shaking hand through his curls to try and calm him. “I must send you away now, James.”

“I know,” he mumbled, leaning into me, almost as though he was intoxicated by the smell of my perfume. “I know.”

“James,” I coaxed him, gently rubbing his shoulder until he pulled away enough to look at me. I pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, grimacing at the sound of the front door finally swinging open and hitting the foyer wall. “You must let me go now.”

He did as I asked reluctantly, and I stepped away. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I sent him back while I was locked in his embrace.

“Tomorrow,” I reminded him softly, hearing the sound of shoes clattering to the ground downstairs.

“Tomorrow,” James nodded, glowering darkly at the window behind me.

“Go,” I bid him, and rushed towards the window as the gold faded from the air. I climbed in quickly, throwing my shoes under the bed and scrambling under the covers just as Daniel started to stumble his way up the stairs. I shut my eyes.

Daniel opened the bedroom door much quieter than I’d expected. He chuckled to himself, still humming some cheery little ditty as he walked across the room to his side of the bed. He did not even acknowledge me as he laid his head down on the pillow, mumbling lyrics to a tune I didn’t recognize. Whatever had happened this evening, he was in good spirits. His voice faded away slowly, making way for drunken snores that promised he would be stuck in deep sleep for a time.

I stayed for about a half hour just to be safe, my unblinking eyes staring hard at the clock. The second hand danced around quickly, the minute and hour hands lagging behind it. For once, I cheered on the little metal arms in their race, urging them to move faster. Once I was certain Daniel was truly lost to the realm of dreams, I carefully sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I stood, tiptoeing to grab a nightgown that was hanging near the front of the open closet. I was thankful the door had been left open - it allowed me to creep out of the room silently to go downstairs.

My feet nimbly found the silent spots in the staircase again, sticking to the edges flush against the wall and skipping the creaky fifth stair. As I reached the living room, I paused and cocked my head, listening until I heard Daniel’s snores float down to reach my ears. Satisfied that he was not going to wake up, I quietly stripped out of my evening gown and pulled the soft nightdress over my head. I bit my lip, walking slowly over to the couch to lay down.

Wendy , he had purred in my ear. Over and over, it was all my mind could replay. As my hand once again flitted over my body in the way I’d discovered yesterday, I found that my body was all too-eager to accept my touch again. Flames licked at my heart as I pinched and kneaded anywhere I wanted James to touch, anywhere I wanted to feel his lips move in the shape of my name.

When I finally reached the spot where his knee had pressed against, I had to smother my gasps with my other hand. I pressed hard, needing the friction after what had happened on that balcony - hard, fast, and tight circles until my mouth fell open silently and my eyes fluttered closed. I was running to the edge of the cliff. I was ready to jump -

Do not stop, Wendy. James’ voice echoed in my mind, and I could see his dark eyes staring at me now. My face twisted into a whimper. 

“James,” I breathed, knowing that he would hear the trembling ring in his ear, and hoping that he recognized it for what it was. I hoped that it made his hand start to move too, drifting down to grasp at the front of his trousers - and suddenly, with that image in mind, I had launched myself off of the side of the mountain. He was right, I felt my body start to numb, my heart twisting as if I were about to fall - 

And then, just as he’d told me, I began to fly.

My toes curled, and my back arched off the soft cushions of the couch, and I could not contain the soft cry that left my lips as my muscles all contracted. I didn’t stop, I kept moving my hand in a shaky circle even as my body danced, almost trying to escape my own touch. But I did not stop, I did not stop until my muscles started to relax and it started to hurt to keep going. 

My hand stilled, my chest heaving with raspy breaths as I twitched softly, my mind reeling.

Was that what it was meant to feel like?

My entire body felt flushed, stained red by the echo of my internal flame. It had finally abated now, the tiny dragon in my stomach had curled into a corner and finally gone to sleep. I dissolved into smothered, breathy giggles as I lay there, enjoying the feeling of floating through space and time. The tension had left my entire body, and there was finally peace in my heart for a few brief moments.

When I finally rose on shaky legs, I first went to the washroom to dry myself off. By the time I climbed the stairs again silently, I still had a gentle smile on my lips. I crawled back into bed, not even phased by the presence of another man snoring next to me. I was still wrapped in a blanket of blissful relief, sighing and snuggling into the warmth of my pillow and the comforter. 

I dreamt of nothing but kind fingers combing through my hair, and a gentle voice of velvet whispering my name.

Wendy… 

Wendy…

Wendy…

Chapter Text

“James,” I shouted. He groaned, and I whipped around to see him straining again. His face was pinched, and a bead of sweat rolled down his face as his body flickered in and out of view. I waited, watching as he struggled to take a deep breath and re-center himself.

“You have a safe word,” I reminded him, and he shook his head sharply. 

“No,” he gritted, exhaling harshly through a grimace.

I watched as he flickered more faintly, his body disappearing for longer each time. I did not recall the summons, waiting until he blinked out of existence once more… and did not return. I whooped out a victorious laugh, clapping my hands even though James was not there to celebrate with me. In fact, I cheered because he was not there.

We’d implemented a system - if I gave him a warning ring, that meant that it was time to speak and not resist the next call. He had also made me promise not to release him even if he struggled, leading me to insist on a safe word in case things went south.

“Lighthouse,” he’d said immediately. 

“Very well, then - lighthouse ,” I’d confirmed.

We’d started with gentle calls, easing him into the early summons during his training session. They were less uncomfortable to resist, and after a few tries, he had managed to refuse every single one of my soft summons. Once he’d successfully refused his first call, I had started to vary my timing, trying to catch him unawares. Once or twice, he’d blinked into my world for a heartbeat, grunting in surprise. But it had always been a tiny blip, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it occurrence.

Now I stood alone on the balcony, giving him a moment to breathe back on his ship. He’d been working tirelessly all morning, and we’d officially strayed into the afternoon. He’d had to use his safe word for the more aggressive calls, when the pain had been too much to bear. Countless times, I’d almost released him against his wishes before he’d shouted out a choked LIGHTHOUSE! One particularly bad attempt had made me look away, trying to block his strangled cries from my ears.

“James,” I grinned, turning back around to angle my face to the Star. “James, come back!”

“Ha ha!” he laughed from behind me. I turned and rushed at him, throwing my arms around his neck in celebration. We rocked from side to side, grinning like idiots.

“You did it !” I squealed. “You really did it!”

“That was,” he panted, “likely the most exercise I have had in ages.”

“How did you manage?” I asked, pulling away to comb a sweaty curl away from his forehead. He grimaced lightly.

“It was not easy,” he admitted, “it was painful, but I eventually managed to ground myself back on the ship.”

“Explain,” I demanded.

“Both your world and mine are visible when I am caught between them,” he described slowly. “I started to carefully focus on objects only present in my quarters, trying to ignore what I could see of this place. It worked like a tether to my world, and it was easier to pull myself out of yours.”

“That is…” I breathed. “That is just incredible.”

He grinned, and took a deep breath, dropping to brush a quick kiss against my cheek. He lightly nudged me away and we separated. I watched as he combed his hand through his curls, pushing them all back away from his face, and set his stance.

“Again,” he urged. I giggled, and sent him away for another round.

---------------------------

James collapsed to the ground, panting. We’d gone another hour, and he’d finally reached the point where a soft call was nothing but a tiny nuisance to him, and an aggressive call was manageable. For the last round, I’d tried the most harsh call I could muster, and almost regretted it when he blinked in and out with a cry.

But he’d resisted in the end, and when I’d called him back to speak, I was startled by how pale his face had gotten. I’d quickly rushed over to him, helping him sink to his knees, where he rested now. 

“James,” I called gently. He shut his eyes tightly, breathing heavily. The balcony was starting to feel warmer in the sun, especially since we were approaching closer to Spring every day. I was even feeling a bit heated.

I left his side for a moment to look in at the clock on the mantle. It was barely one in the afternoon - Daniel would still not be home for a few hours. Pursing my lips, I opened the window fully and stepped back over to help James up.

“Come inside, James. You need to rest now,” I ordered firmly, ducking to fit myself under his left arm. He obeyed with shaking limbs, stumbling and catching himself with his hook against the wall. I eventually managed to coax him into the house, letting him flop down with a low groan in the same armchair he’d taken refuge in the week before.

“Stay,” I said, pressing my lips quickly to the crown of his head before quickly exiting the room. I dashed down the stairs, filling up three tall glasses of water - one for me, two for him. I balanced them carefully in my hands, coming back upstairs to see him trying to stand up from the chair. 

“Sit,” I commanded, setting my water glass down on the dresser and bringing him the other two. His eyes were bleary, but he did not take either glass. His hand clenched at his side, and his teeth ground together as he flinched periodically at something I could not see. I studied him with no small amount of worry, before realising that his attention was not focused on me. I could hear it now, sharp in the silence of the room.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“Consider it gone,” I said immediately, putting the two water glasses on the ground before striding over to the mantle. I snatched the offending time piece, sweeping from the room and placing it in Daniel’s office instead. It seemed to tick louder, protesting its mistreatment. Its voice followed me as I closed and locked the door.

Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!

It was enough to make my skin itch.

When I returned, James had slumped back in the chair. The clock’s removal had instantly relieved him, prompting him to close his eyes and lean his head back in an effort to catch his breath. I stepped back over to him; he winked one eye open to watch me as I bent, picking up the glasses.

“Drink,” I said, holding one of them out to him. His hand trembled as he took the glass from me. I kept my hand on top of his, guiding his arm so he wouldn’t spill. He practically inhaled the first glass, the liquid pouring down his throat quicker than I’d ever thought possible. He started to reach for the other, a bit more colour returning to his cheeks, but I stopped him.

“Steady. You cannot drink this one too fast. Do you understand?” I asked. He nodded obediently, and I reluctantly trusted him to hold the second glass on his own. Remembering my orders, he took small, slow sips until his eyes blinked away their glazed look. I left his side for a brief moment, returning with a cool, damp towel from the washroom. 

“You overdid it, hm?” I asked gently, pressing the towel underneath each of his ears. He sighed, closing his eyes again as I shifted to focus on the pulsepoint on the inside of his left wrist. “Well, we are finished now. I am calling it. Lighthouse.”

He snorted weakly, opening his eyes to look at me in amusement. “Is that right?” He smirked.

“Aye,” I said cheekily. “It is.”

I moved back up to pat gently at his neck again, pausing to glance up at the intense stare he’d decided to fix on me. I raised a brow in question.

“What?” I laughed lightly, when he did not respond. He shook his head, reaching his hand up to lightly twirl a lock of my hair around his fingers.

“You look lovely,” he said softly. 

You always look lovely . 

I smiled shyly, dropping my gaze to focus again on cooling him down. I shook my head lightly. “And you are delirious,” I murmured. His hand raised, resting on top of mine and stopping my movements. I stilled, watching him guide my hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist.

“I think you will find me perfectly sane,” he smirked.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever you say, James.”

His smirk widened, and he didn’t mean to cause what happened next. I knew that he tightened his grip briefly, tugging me toward him, in an effort to be coy, flirtatious. And in another life, on another day, perhaps I would have thrown my head back and giggled as he yanked me into his arms. 

But I promptly ruined the moment by flinching away.

His amusement vanished.

I knew he hadn’t meant it. I knew I was safe. But still - I’d locked up, only feeling my husband pulling me on top of him forcefully, my mind freezing and responding automatically to my moment of panic. I’d wrenched my hand out of his in one frantic motion. We stared at each other, the joy in the room fading away with each trembling breath I tried to smother. I pressed my lips together hard, in an effort to calm my racing heart.

His face twisted, pained. I tried to relax my shoulders, tried to ease his worry by appearing nonchalant about it, but I could not. I settled for inhaling slowly, mustering a shaky smile and shaking myself with a slight movement.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, trying and failing to keep my voice light. “It’s not you. I promise. It isn’t you.”

He didn’t answer. He just kept looking at me. I squirmed under his gaze.

James opened his mouth, closing it after a moment - but something in his eyes set, and he tried again.

“Wendy,” he started seriously. “Why don’t you… come with me?”

I froze.

James’ eyes did not waver, piercing straight through to my heart that I’d opened for him myself. I looked down at the towel I still held in my shaking fingers. I did my best to fold it, manipulating the fabric with slow, deliberate motions so I could calm myself. Process what I’d heard. I didn’t offer him an answer as I stepped back, turning and exiting the room to put the towel back in the washroom. I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, taking a steadying breath. 

There was no way that had just happened - he had not asked me to run away with him.

I knew that it came from a place of worry. He did not consider me to be safe here - but from what I’d gathered from our more heated conversations, the Neverland was not necessarily a safe haven either. I glanced down at the wedding ring wrapped tightly around my left ring finger. I brought my right hand up to fidget with it, forcing myself to remember that I was a married woman. 

You’re already having an affair.

That was true, I had to admit to myself. But there was something different about running out on one’s husband, no matter how rocky the relationship, for another suitor. My parents had raised me to act with honour - I was not about to abandon my morals entirely.

Still, I avoided looking in the mirror above the sink, knowing what I would see in my face. The cowardice, the fear. Afraid to run away, afraid to take the leap. I wasn’t clinging to my sense of propriety - I was fighting for my life.

Weak, my mind spat at me. 

But I squared my shoulders and raised my chin, determined. I exited the washroom to see James standing, almost as though he’d been ready to come find me. I breezed past him, fluffing the pillow on the armchair silently.

“Wendy?” he asked quietly. 

“I have cleaning to do,” I responded blankly. “How are you feeling?”

He glanced between me and the pillow I was still plucking at with my hands. His brow furrowed. “Wendy -”

“Better? Good,” I nodded briskly, finally releasing the pillow and crossing to the window. I pushed it open quickly, stepping outside into the sun. James followed me slowly, staying quiet as he watched me cross all the way back to the railing. I turned and smiled tightly. He looked back warily.

“Wendy, I am sorry,” he murmured carefully, and I shoved down the urge to throw myself into his arms again. “I apologise if I offended you -”

“I will not run away,” I said abruptly. “That is all I have to say on the subject, James. I will not run away.”

He searched my face again before nodding slowly in acceptance. I knew my rejection stung, but I could see that he understood my reasoning. His face mellowed into a blank slate, my true James no longer peeking out from behind the wall he’d reconstructed.

“Then I shall leave you to your tasks,” he said goodnaturedly, bowing slightly. I closed my eyes, my right hand raising again to fidget with my wedding ring. I was married. This was right. This was the safe option. I would still see him again, once this silly notion of me running off with him was gone from his mind. It was just the exhaustion, addling his brain.

Still, I sent him away with my eyes closed, avoiding his gaze.

----------------------------------

I winced, staying down on the floor until the angry footsteps had stomped down the stairs and out the door. I heard a car door slam, and an engine rev as the vehicle pulled away. Once the house was silent, I groaned quietly, shifting with a grimace to lay on my back.

I raised my right hand, noting with discomfort how red my wrist already was. I could still see the imprint of fingerprints against my skin, and I knew they would fade to a lovely blue-purple colour by dawn. My cheek was sore - that last backhand had really sent me sprawling. I tasted blood on the inside of my bottom lip, where my teeth had grazed the soft flesh a bit too hard. 

Grunting with the effort, I struggled to sit up. I grasped the comforter on the nearby bed with my hand, hauling myself up until I could lean my head between my knees. I imagined James’ hand on my shoulder again, coaxing me through the dizzy spell until it passed. My vision swam for a moment, but it resolved itself quickly. I looked up, noticing that the window was slightly ajar from when Daniel had stumbled into it, already tipsy. I could see the star peeking through the panes of glass, and I suddenly ached for James to return and sit with me.

“James,” I croaked, realising too late that I’d failed to give him his warnings. I winced, expecting to hear him shout from the balcony - surely I’d called him from something important, surely he would be upset with me for breaking our rule…

But no one came.

I waited, but he did not emerge from the corner beside the window. There was no voice, no sound of brocade fabric rustling in my ears. Just dead silence. 

I stumbled to my feet slowly, shuffling over to the window to peek out. I was right, there was no one there. I frowned.

“James?” I called, slightly louder to the star. I saw it flicker for half a beat, and then it settled. I glanced around the balcony - still empty.

He’d resisted. Twice.

I blinked away tears of disappointment. I’d rejected him this afternoon, after all. It was only natural for him to want to avoid me. I supposed I’d want to avoid me, too. I swallowed hard, reaching up with shaking hands and closing the window tightly, making sure to lock it. I staggered back to the bed, forcing myself to climb under the covers and hide. I let a few tears fall then, listening to them drop onto the pillow with soft plunks . I glanced back up and saw the blurry light from the Star through the window - I had been unable to bear fully drawing the curtains closed. I sniffed, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my head in the comforter.

For the first time in the last couple of months, I once again felt truly alone.

Chapter Text

I yelped as my wrist accidentally bumped against the corner of the dresser. I dropped my rag, rubbing the sharp sting from the flesh gingerly with my left hand. The hand-shaped mark had faded this last week and a half, to a greenish-yellow colour. The swelling in my cheek had gone down, though there was still another sickly-coloured bruise lingering on the outskirts of my eye. I’d kept my head down for ten days, managing to avoid any more ire from my husband. I winced, moving my left hand to lightly massage the irritated flesh of my right palm.

I had been using the rough-textured rag so often lately that it had started to bite at the skin of my hand. My palm and fingers were red and stinging, begging me to stop wiping down every surface in the house. I sighed, deciding to listen to my body, and instead moved to start on the small pile of mending that I’d plopped on the bed earlier that day.

Some of Daniel’s clothes had been torn this week, likely from catching the fabric on rough textures in the alleys he frequented. I picked up the topmost jacket, my eyes drawn to the large tear in his pocket. I threaded my needle, getting to work. As I sewed the hole back together carefully, I could hear Peter’s entreating words again in my head.

You can tuck us in at night, and make pockets for us - Wendy… none of us has any pockets.

The Lost Boys - my brothers , I corrected myself firmly - had been all too happy to hear that I had arrived to sew pockets into their clothes, sing to them, tell them stories. Once we’d arrived back home, I had sewn dutifully until they’d had jackets to wear to the schoolyard with as many pockets as they’d wanted. The memory made my heart ache.

“Ow,” I hissed, looking down at the small dot of red welling up on my fingertip. I’d stabbed myself. I sighed, bringing my finger to my lips and sucking it gently. When sewing, a thimble was usually worn over the fingertip to protect from needle stings like this one. But I hadn’t had the heart to buy another thimble after giving mine to…

Enough. My head was starting to swim with memories, and it was suffocating. I dropped the jacket and stood, pacing absently with my hands on my hips - and blinked when I realised my feet had automatically carried me to the window. I pursed my lips, reaching a hand out and unlocking the latch, hesitating before stepping outside.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was climbing higher in the sky, streaking towards its noon position. It wasn’t quite there yet - the clock had read 10:05 in the morning. A breeze swept past me, blowing my hair to the side and blissfully clearing my mind for a brief moment. I glanced around the balcony, admiring the way the metal railing glinted in the sunshine.

I faltered.

There were too many memories out here too. Memories of clear blue eyes and gentle hands, white poet’s shirts in the rain, lips meeting my own against this very railing -

No.

I turned, frustrated at the lack of peace in my mind, and started to head back towards the window. As my hand reached out to brace myself on the frame, something glinted from the leftmost corner of the balcony, drawing my eye. I stepped over carefully, crouching to reach down and pick it up.

It was a gold button, from James’ jacket.

It must have come off during all the training we’d done with my summons. I recalled the loose button on his jacket, the one I’d fiddled with when I’d finally admitted the truth about my marriage to him. I supposed that the fraying thread must have finally snapped while he flickered between worlds - and it had apparently been trapped in mine.

I held it tenderly in my hand, suddenly aching for James. He had resisted both of my calls a week and a half ago - I doubted that he wanted to see me now. I paced to the opposite side of the balcony, leaning against the wall. 

Even if he didn’t come, I missed him.

“...James,” I murmured tentatively, looking up at the Star. I expected silence, perhaps a slight flicker to show his resistance.

But it flashed immediately.

“I am so sorry,” James said quickly, as though he’d never been gone at all, and my spine tightened like a metal rod. “I am sorry I did not answer you before - my crew and I were tracking Pan through the forest, and we stumbled into a small battle.”

I bit back a curse - I had not thought that he would come.

“My deepest apologies, Wendy,” he said again, and I tensed even more as he took a step towards me. I did not hear him advance further. I held my breath, waiting for him to speak again. 

“Are you alright, Wendy?” he called worriedly.

My mind was conflicted, a fierce battle raging inside me.

Send him away, he’ll see.

He’s here he’s here go with him go now -

“Y-you said there was a battle?” I stammered. I wanted to cry in relief, knowing now that his resistance had not been one of rejection. My heart already was warming, just being able to direct words at him and hear a response. 

“Aye, there was,” he said dismissively. “They got away, the devils. None of my crew was wounded - I bore the brunt of the impact, I believe.”

What??

I whipped around to see what he meant, and stared at his right arm. It was crossed over his chest, in a goddamn sling.

“What happened??” I asked urgently. 

He was fiddling with the end of his hook, lightly poking it with his index finger to make sure it was still sharp. He shook his head casually, raising his head to smile at me reassuringly. “I swear to you, it is not as bad as it… looks…” 

He froze.

His smile slipped away. His eyes scanned my face incredulously, and by the time I remembered why I’d debated on sending him away, he had practically teleported to stand in front of me.

“James,” I said soothingly, but he did not respond to me. His face was taut as he ran a slow hand across my cheek, lightly pressing against the bruise still staining my outer eye. “Ow, James -”

He shifted, sweeping his eyes down my body, looking for any other injuries. He zeroed in on my wrist, wrapping his hand around my arm and raising it to his face. He turned it every possible direction, studying the yellow marks that wrapped around the wrist.

“Aye,” he said darkly. “Aye, I remember those fingerprints.”

“James, I-”

“Was this what you called me for?” he asked suddenly, whipping his head up to stare at me hard. “To stop him? Is this what I ignored?” 

“What? No,” I said quickly. 

He dropped my arm, a cloud of guilt shadowing his face. 

“I did not know,” he muttered. “I abandoned you. I swore to keep you safe and I abandoned you -”

“No, no , you didn’t - I called you after,” I reassured him, reaching my right hand up to touch his cheek soothingly. With lightning speed, his left hand flashed up and snatched my hand before it could make contact.

I froze when I realised my mistake.

“You called me… after ?” he growled, flicking his eyes back up to me angrily. “I instructed you to call me if anything happened, did I not?”

“I can handle it -”

“Obviously not,” he sneered, glancing at my bruised wrist and dropping my arm roughly. “You cannot think this situation is under control, Wendy.”

“It was my fault,” I protested faintly. “I left something out on the ground and he tripped -”

“It is not your fault,” he snarled. “When will you understand that?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child -”

“Then stop acting like one,” James growled, turning and walking away from me. “Use your brain, think ! You must see that it is nonsense for you to stay here.”

“I cannot leave, James,” I insisted, exasperated. “I have hardly any money, my family is all either dead or estranged - just where do you expect me to go?”

“With me!” He whipped around to face me, gesturing roughly to himself.

“James, please, this again?” I cried, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Does the thought of coming with me truly offend you that much?” James gritted. I sighed.

“James, you are a gentleman,” I pleaded. “Surely you of all people should recognize that I am trying to act as an honourable wife.” 

His eyes flashed dangerously.

“And do honourable wives snog other men on their husband’s balcony?” he snapped. I stiffened. 

“How dare you -”

“Are you being a lady by staying, Wendy?” he asked, pointing an accusing finger directly towards me. “Or just a left-handed wife by continuing your affair.”

“Don’t you call me a mistress,” I snarled. “You have no right. Not when you came to me, pissed drunk and stumbling right into my arms practically begging me to take care of you.”

“Do not speak of that night,” James growled. “I have not forgotten the false promise you made me.”

My brow furrowed. “The false -”

With no further warning, James rushed back over to me so quickly I flinched. He grabbed my arm tightly, brandishing it in front of my own face. 

“I wasn’t aware your husband doubles as an ignorant customer at the market,” he spat.

My heart yanked painfully. “James -”

“You swore to me. You swore to me you were content here, that the bruises I have seen marre your skin had been acquired elsewhere.” He grimaced and dropped my arm. “You lied to my face .”

“You would have killed him, James,” I said weakly.

“Aye, I would have,” he confirmed darkly. “I am still dying to - perhaps I shall.”

“You promised,” I pleaded. He sneered at me.

“So did you.”

My stomach dropped. I stared at him, and saw no trace of hesitation in his gaze. If my husband were to come home right now, James would kill him where he stood, oath be damned. 

I scowled up at him.

“A killer through and through, then, are you James?” I mocked. “First the bloodlust for a child and now for my husband? My, my, surely living up to your role as a pirate, aren’t you?”

James’ hand suddenly slammed against the wall next to my head, and I flinched. He bent, leaning his face so close to mine I wanted to melt through the wall. “You do not know anything about my situation, girl, ” he growled. “What that fiend has done to me. To the people I love.”

“What?” I asked bravely. “Sent you away when you started to grow facial hair? Were you jealous of him? Jealous of whatever kept him youthful and joyous? Did you creep up on him in the night, James, and try to kill him? Is that why he cut off your hand?”

James’ face contorted.

“Curb your tongue, lass, before I cut it out,” he thundered, making me squeeze my eyes shut. “Is this how you speak to Mister Beckwith? Do you force his hand? If we’re spitting out wild accusations, that is. Playing the role of the innocent mouse out here with me, perhaps you are not so blameless in your misfortune when I am absent, hm?”

Little mouse.

I seized up in panic. I pressed both hands firmly against his chest, shoving him away with all my strength. “Get away from me,” I cried. As he stumbled back, I glared at him, feeling my anger start to carry me away. 

“Do you know what your issue is, Hook?” I sneered, relishing the way his eyes flashed when I deliberately used his last name. “You’ve latched onto me. I am nothing to you but a warm body, to soothe the ache you feel from your frozen heart. You have always been the villain of my story, and I was a fool to think that it has changed now. You only fancy me because I may be the only thing standing between you and what you always have been doomed to be - Old. Alone. And unloved.”

James stared at me, stunned. The hurt that flashed across his face disappeared quickly, hidden behind the cruel mask I’d come to hate. His eyes sharpened dangerously. His mouth twisted into a bitter scowl, and he started to step towards me again.

“I may be old,” he growled. “And I may indeed be unloved. But at the very least, I am not alone in that . You will never find love from him. You will never ever be loved by that man. Someone who loves you wouldn’t do this, Wendy. ”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. But he was not deterred.

“He has you bound here and will never let you go, not while he has you as a toy to play with. The Devil does not bargain, girl, nothing will change if you stay here. And if you are too daft to understand that -”

“Enough,” I shrieked. “Be gone!”

I opened my eyes to see him vanish mid-sentence, his gaze still burning into mine.

Chapter Text

I collapsed onto the bed with a groan, ready to give up halfway into changing the bedsheets. The linens had somehow shrunk slightly in the wash, and now half of the undersheet was tucked reliably under the mattress while the other half lay rumpled on top. Pulling either side only resulted in the fabric stretching too far and springing back from the opposite end, and I was getting exasperated with walking the same path around the foot of the bed each time.

I moaned again into the mattress, letting my arms and legs stretch out in the shape of a starfish. It was four in the afternoon, and I hadn’t been able to get anything of substance done. Since Daniel had been sent off the work that morning, every chore I’d attempted to conquer had defeated me first. The sink had sprayed far too violently, leaving my entire front side dripping from my hair to my toes. The floor had been too slick after mopping, and I’d ended up falling on my arse. Opening and cleaning the downstairs windows had invited a mischievous breeze in, puppeteering the curtains until they’d wrapped around my arms as I’d flailed around in vexation. And now even the bedsheets were against me. 

I huffed and flipped gracelessly onto my back. The end of a stray curl tickled my eyelash relentlessly until I blew it away in exasperation. Spring sunlight filtered through the curtains into the quiet room, and luckily it was not too warm yet. Nonetheless, I wiped a soft sheen of sweat away from my brow and closed my eyes to breathe deeply. It was just an off day. Everyone had them right? At least the morning had passed without incident - that was certainly cause for relief. 

I scrunched up my face and whined softly at the uncomfortable feeling of scrunched fabric under my spine. I hauled myself into a sitting position, crossing my legs and dropping my head heavily into my hands. The darkness from my palms was like a cool hand against my brain. I could feel my heartbeat slow and my breathing even out. It was like I was sitting snugly in my personal void, far away from anything that may want to vex me. Bliss.

Then I heard two familiar voices bubble up from my memory.

Oh, I wish I could see it!

But you can, Wendy! Close your eyes tight!

On impulse, I lightly pressed my palms against my eyelids. Slowly but surely, faint traces of pinks and greens appeared in hazy patterns behind my hands.

Now, what do you see?

I see a pool of lovely pale colours…

Squeeze them tighter. Tighter!

I pressed a little harder - blues and yellows joined the pinks and greens, and the geometric patterns came into better focus. But I still couldn’t look directly at any of them - I must have looked like a fool moving my eyes around behind my hands, but all I wanted was to capture one of them. They all expertly evaded my gaze.

And the pool will take on a shape… and the colours will become brighter!

Yes…

So bright that in a moment, they’ll go on fire. And in that moment, just before they do…

I waited, but this time no image flashed before my mind. No preview of golden sands and open sea, no glimpse of a lush green mountain peeking above the clouds. All I got was a headache. Sighing, I released the pressure on my eyes. The colours started to fade away, and so did the voices.

I see it, Peter, I see it!

That’s it, Wendy! That’s my island…

I took a deep breath before I completely lowered my hands, blinking hard at the beam of sunlight that had suddenly decided to shoot through the window. Sunsets were still starting early, and the westward-facing glass was a magnifier to any late-afternoon golden rays. I squinted until it faded, sending a silent thanks to whatever cloud had just come to my rescue. 

Defeated, I surveyed the damage around and under me, and came to the conclusion that I simply did not have the strength nor the will to continue fighting the bedspread. Instead, because I was wasting time, I hopped off the bed and padded across to the corner of the room where I had left my pot of sudsy water. I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed the pot, carrying it over to the windowsill. I absently pulled both thin curtains to the side and tied them against the wall, before turning reluctantly to face the window.

Two months.

Two months had passed since I’d sent James away in a burst of anger. He had evaporated from the spot in a flash of gold, still caught in the middle of his sentence. In the split second before he’d disappeared, I’d seen a flicker of betrayal and hurt in his eyes - but they hadn’t turned red. I’d been replaying the argument in my head every time my eyes grazed past the window - no matter how incensed we’d both gotten, his eyes had remained the clear blue they normally were.

Once he’d vanished, I’d stared hard at the spot where his boots had just been, almost daring him to find a way back to finish his thought. I’d almost wanted him to. But he had not reappeared. I’d stood on that balcony for an hour, unsure of what to do - before eventually going back inside, defeated. 

I had locked the window. 

Now I stood in front of it again, and my fingers itched to unlatch the lock and haul myself over the windowsill. Various forms of apologies had been floating around in my brain for weeks, but I wasn’t sure how exactly to call him back yet. Of course, the longer I waited, the more awkward the whole ordeal felt. I stepped forward, letting my hands come up and gently press against the window pane. I leaned forward until my forehead lightly rested against the glass. The sun was much lower already, and soon the stars would be out. 

“What do I do?” I whispered. My breath ghosted the glass in front of me, blurring the view of the sky. As expected, there was no further answer. I sighed, letting the glass fog up even more, before bending to grab the cleaning rag. As I methodically scrubbed the inside of the glass, I debated opening the window to clean the other side, as I undoubtedly should. The latch had already begun collecting dust. But I couldn’t bring myself to unlock it; I knew I would try to speak to him as soon as the air touched my face. 

In the end, it stayed locked. I closed the curtains and deliberately looked away from the stars that were starting to make themselves known. I made myself sit stoically in that odd feeling I’d felt these last two months - the feeling of being out of alignment, the feeling of something just being wrong . The sudsy rag went straight back in the bucket without being used. I turned fully around and stared hard at the bed.

“Alright, dark and sinister bed,” I grumbled. “Have at thee.”

I pounced, and the battle continued.

-----

“This was the best you could do?”

I flinched as the plate hurtled through the air, narrowly missing my face as it smashed against the wall to my right. Bits of food rained down onto the floor and I fought the urge to sidestep as it bounced off of my toes.

“It was all we had, sir -” I started, before ducking to avoid the whiskey glass that was better-aimed. I stayed down, wincing at the raining shards of glass tumbling over my hair, before covering my head with my hands in case fists were next. I didn’t move, not even when his chair scraped harshly against the floor and his footsteps stomped towards the front entrance.

“Count your blessings, I have a prior engagement,” he barked, opening the door roughly. “When I get home…” He left his threat hanging like a sword above my neck, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Only once the house was settled and silent did I lift my head, brushing away the small bits of glass with a shaky hand. I knew exactly what would happen when he got home - and that it would be worse if I did not clean this mess up first.

I let my mind wander as I reached towards the bits of chicken and potatoes that littered the floor, hoping that even a mental distraction would be enough to calm me down. It never proved helpful to panic when he was in a disciplinary mood, it was always best to keep a clear head. It usually felt much shorter that way, anyway. I steered my mind towards old stories I’d told my brothers in the nursery.

Cinderella. The girl who left her home in secret to dance with the prince of her dreams. But when she returned home, her stepmother locked her away, and as the prince married another woman, Cinderella withered away in that attic, begging to be released -

I shook myself, trying another.

Snow White. The girl who escaped the Queen and found seven determined little friends and protectors. But the Queen still found her, she still gave the girl the poisoned apple - and Snow White gave in, taking the bite; and by the time her prince found her, she had fallen to the ground, dead -

No. Another.

Sleeping Beauty. The girl who could not escape her fate, drawn to her own demise by Maleficent’s hands. No amount of pleading from the prince, nor from the three fairies, was enough to break the spell on her mind - and she reached for the spindle, pricking her finger. And when the prince tried to kiss her awake, to save her, she was already gone -

“No,” I moaned, shaking my head. “That’s not right .”

Neither is this.

I groaned, dismayed. I thought I’d crushed that damned voice, but here she was again, rearing her ugly and naive head. 

“This is my place,” I whispered. I winced at a sudden pain in my left thumb, shifting my attention back to the task at hand - and blinked when I realised it was not food I’d been picking up, but glass. It cut into my palms and made pinpricks of burgundy dance across my hands. My stomach lurched.

This is no one’s place.

“Stop,” I whimpered. “Just stop it.”

There is a difference -

“No,” I cried, dropping the glass still in my hands and pressing my palms to my ears in an effort to silence the voice. But it was no use, not even the stinging pressure was enough to mute the sound of my own self-worth mixing with the words of the Captain.

-between discipline and abuse .

“I am not abused, I am not abused, he loves me ,” I sobbed. But even as I said the words, begging them to be true, I knew they were not. My father had loved my mother, more love than I’d ever seen between two people before - or since. And never, not once, had my father raised a hand to her. In what universe would Mary Darling be cowering on the floor, pressing bloodied hands against her ears and nearly drowning in tears? 

That’s right. Get up.

I could practically see her now. The tears made my vision swim, until I could almost see a blurred version of her face inches from mine. She was kneeling next to me on the floor, dressed in the lovely pink gown she’d worn to the party the night I’d flown away as a child. I knew she wasn’t real - none of the blood, tears, or food on the ground stained her dress in the slightest. 

Get up, Wendy. The voice was still mine, but it was inexplicably also hers. Her lips moved with my thoughts, and I could feel that familiar blanket of warmth cover me from her words. Her face was gentle, but there was a hardness I’d rarely seen in her eyes. Her mouth was set firmly, even as her phantom hand reached up towards mine.

I felt no touch from her, but the urge to remove my hands from my ears was so strong that I obeyed. I saw approval in her eyes and fought the urge to throw myself into her arms, knowing I’d fall right through. It was the most realistic psychotic break I’d ever experienced - perhaps it was impressive that it was the only one I’d experienced. 

“I’m afraid,” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to myself or the vision of my mother. Her eyes softened, and her hand reached out towards my chest. Once again, I didn’t feel anything, but on instinct I took a deep, slow breath. It eased some of the knots in my stomach.

It is alright to be afraid, we said. She shook her head, and my heartbeat began to echo in my ears. 

It is not alright to stay and die.

I blinked, and she was gone.

The voice had disappeared as well - no, that wasn’t quite right. It had curled up in a corner of my brain, simmering like an ember in a fireplace that had gone dark ages ago. I looked around at the floor with sharper eyes, suddenly feeling a growing sense of urgency to get out of the room. No, that was wrong again - to get out of the house .

I stood on shaking legs, the pain of glass shards slicing my skin forgotten in the peak of adrenaline. I stumbled out of the dining room, pitching sideways as I rounded the corner towards the stairs. I grasped the railing, bowing my head and taking another steadying breath. I took the stairs a step at a time, forcing myself not to flinch at the creak of the fifth step - it would not matter soon, anyway. 

I would finally be gone.

I walked into the bedroom, making a bee-line for the dresser in the corner. I automatically started to remove the top drawer, before throwing caution to the wind and simply pulling it across the floor. It scraped harshly against the wood, and a thick white scuff mark appeared in its wake - just as I’d always expected would happen. I knelt, uncovering the small hiding hole, removing everything inside. There was enough money in the small stash to last me a few days at least, until I could get far enough away to figure out another plan. 

Struck by sudden genius, I ran out of the bedroom and into Daniel’s office, pulled a loose hair pin from my head and carefully unlocked the top drawer of his desk. Sure enough, a similarly-sized bundle of notes was waiting for me there. It was a dismal amount, but combining it with my own stash would be enough to last at least a week and a half, possibly a whole fortnight. As I left the room, I ducked to the left and grabbed his small portmanteau, the suitcase he always took on his extended business trips.

Running back into the bedroom, I set the suitcase down on the ground and immediately threw the secondary stack of pound notes in first. As I carefully wrapped my father’s cufflinks, my mother’s earrings and the ornament in soft scarves, I looked up at the closed window. This was my last chance, I didn’t know what would happen when I left the house. I’d never tried to call Hook from anywhere other than my room or the balcony - I wasn’t sure it would work otherwise. A part of me wanted to open the window and call him quickly without a warning, not giving him a choice in the matter so I could definitely speak to him. But I knew that wasn’t what I needed to do.

“Hook,” I called, quickly moving on from wrapping the keepsakes, grabbing dresses from the closet to fold and pack. “Hook, I need to talk to you.”

I wasn’t sure how I was going to manage to say everything quickly enough. I needed to apologise and say my farewells, and get the hell out of here. There was no time to be overly sentimental, but the last thing I wanted was for our final meeting to be cold.

“James,” I panted, running and grabbing a pair of shoes to stuff in the suitcase as well. My bare feet thundered across the floor, and I could once again hear my heartbeat dancing. “Please come.”

I finished stuffing as much as I could into the suitcase, before standing and grabbing a thick shawl that tied around the front of my abdomen. I knelt back in front of the suitcase and stared at it. This was it, this was my life in a box that I was about to run away with, unsure of where I was even going. I made sure that the first wad of money was safely tucked away inside the extra pair of shoes, and took a breath. I was finally going to be free. All I needed to do was run downstairs, put on my boots, and run. I raised my hands to close the lid -

“What are you doing. ”

I froze, hands glued to the lid of the portmanteau. My eyes darted to the silver buckle, and my stomach plummeted at the blurry reflection of Daniel leaning against the doorway. How had he entered so quietly? Why was he home so early?

“I asked you a question, little mouse,” he hissed. 

I swallowed, steeling myself before slowly closing the lid and picking up the bag. I stood on shaking legs, forcing my chin to raise as I turned around to face him. He was standing against the door frame, hands in his pockets, head tilted dangerously to the side. I fought to keep my voice steady.

“I am leaving, Daniel.”

His response was slower than I expected. He stood still for a few moments, almost as though he hadn’t heard me. The only warning sign was that small tick in his jaw. Then, slowly, his face broke out into a languid smile. He began to chuckle.

“Oh, Wendy, Wendy,” he laughed easily. “No, you aren’t.”

I swallowed.

“Yes. I am,” I declared, my voice beginning to shake. He kept laughing softly, and pushed away from the wall to wander towards me. I glanced at his feet and zeroed in on a slight stumble in his gait - so he was intoxicated, but not nearly the level he usually got at night. A tipsy Daniel was almost always the most dangerous one. 

I jumped when I realised he was right in front of me. He gave me a very relaxed look up and down, reaching large hands out towards me. I tried to evade him but failed, freezing as he took a loose hold of my shoulders. He leaned his face in so close to mine I could practically taste the booze on his breath. His gaze darkened, morphing into a scowl.

“You. Are. Not.” He enunciated each word carefully, watching in satisfaction how my shoulders hunched and I started to curl in on myself. He smiled again suddenly, reaching one hand up to tap smartly on my cheek twice.

“But now we have to be sure, don’t we, little mouse?” he asked sweetly. 

With lightning speed, he pulled his hand away and reared it back, slamming a fist into my lower abdomen. 

I folded in half, and suddenly there was no sound to my breath beyond a faint whine as my lungs shrivelled in my chest. He held me there, one hand on my shoulder and the other acting as a kickstand against my stomach, holding me partially-upright as my muscles all went limp. I squeezed my eyes shut and my mouth went slack, and as I struggled to inhale, he leaned in to speak lowly in my ear.

“Our lessons haven’t been enough, I see.”

He stepped away and I fully fell to the ground, my chest still spasming as I weakly smacked my hand against the floor. I couldn’t breathe. Rough hands behind me shifted my shawl down and out of the way and took hold of my dress, ripping it down the middle. I flinched as my upper back was bared, finally managing to force my diaphragm to relax enough for little sips of air. I wiggled, trying to find the strength to crawl away but a boot firmly planted itself on the small of my back.

“You made me do this, Wendy,” Daniel sighed above me, and I whimpered at the sound of a buckle unfastening. “And I hate you for that.”

A sharp slice through the air was the only warning I had before pain exploded across my back. 

I croaked out a ragged cry as more strikes rained down, rapid-fire and merciless. By the time I could take a decent breath, my entire upper back felt as though it had been sliced and burned by fire. 

I rolled over, yelping as my lacerated back hit the hardwood floor, and threw my arms up to try and catch the belt as it came down again. The buckle caught my arms instead, ripping the skin until I finally managed to catch it with shaking hands.

The band of the belt suddenly wrapped around my wrists, hauling me up off the floor and flinging me across the room. I crashed into the mirror, moaning as shards of glass shattered and fell around me. Heavy footsteps stalked over to me while I lifted my head, dazed. The window was right there, if I could just -

A hand shot out and harshly wrapped around my wrist. I was pulled up with a shriek, and suddenly I was face-to-face with Daniel again. His eyes were wild, storm clouds that I swore could shoot lightning, and his mouth was twisted into a snarl. He pushed me backwards, and I flailed, thinking that my back would once again be slammed into the floor, but I was instead met with the freshly-made bed.

“You’re never leaving this bed again, Wendy,” he growled. I frantically blew my hair out of my eyes and sobbed as he started to undo his trousers. I tried to clamber off the bed but he launched on top of me, grabbing my hands and pinning them to the pillow. In desperation, I brought my knee up and forced it between my body and his. He released my left hand to push my knee back down, and I reached to the side, fumbling until I found a candlestick wobbling on the nightstand. Without pausing to calculate my movements, I crashed the candlestick into the side of his face with a guttural screech - he toppled off of me, howling and clutching his newly-cut cheek. 

I threw myself into a roll in the opposite direction, hurling myself off the edge of the bed and slamming into the floor. My head spun and my stomach churned, but I strained myself to rotate so I was facing the window. I wheezed in a breath as I crawled desperately across the floor - yelping when Daniel grabbed my ankle in a crushing grip and pulled me back. 

“No, no, dear, you’re not getting out that easy,” he grunted. 

“ Stop - ” I sobbed, having no choice but to roll onto my back and aim my free foot at Daniel’s face. It hit its mark, and Daniel dropped my ankle with a bellow of anger and pain. 

The window the window the window -

Taking advantage of my temporary freedom, I dragged myself back across the room and fumbled with the window lock until it snapped open with a click . I pushed it open with all my strength from my position on the floor. Bloody fingerprints smeared onto the white-painted wood as I attempted to haul myself out onto the balcony.

I struggled to turn my head toward the Star at the same time. I heaved in a huge breath. 

“JA - !”

“Get back here, you bitch ,” Daniel snarled from behind me, tangling his fingers in my hair and wrenching my head back. I was jerked back into him, and thrown unceremoniously face-first back to the ground with a sharp cry. 

I slowly raised my head, blinking hard against blurry vision to locate the Star. Even though I was barely conscious, I had no trouble orienting my face towards that point in the sky. It shone brilliantly against the inky black, seemingly inviting me to just say the word. 

I opened my mouth, but coughed weakly as Daniel landed another kick directly into my ribs.

“You - are - not - leaving - me,” he panted, using rough hands to flip me over onto my back and shake me. “You love me,” he pushed out through grit teeth, and proceeded to pick me up by my shoulders and slam me back into the ground. 

“You love me,” he cried, doing it again. My head knocked into the floorboards and my vision exploded into stars.

Stars?

NOW, Wendy! they shouted.

“James…” I breathed, unable to see straight but turning my face towards the window until something clicked inside my very soul -

Harsh fingers crushed my jaw and turned my face back to look into feral grey eyes. 

“Who are you calling for?” Daniel breathed, inches away from my face. Blood dropped onto my face from the open slash on his cheek, and his nose was starting to purple from my kick. “Another man, hmm? You a cheating whore, Wendy?” He released my chin, and I heard the following crack of a backhand to my cheek more than I felt it. Dazed, I closed my eyes and waited for him to tire out or finally finish it. When his hands reached back around my throat and squeezed, I couldn’t do much more than force my tear-filled eyes to flutter open. Everything sounded like it was underwater now - Daniel was still speaking but I couldn’t distinguish any words. The ticking of the clock couldn’t reach me here. 

Time finally slowed down. 

Eventually, the sluggish noise gave way to a quiet ringing in my ears. My face throbbed painfully, but even the pain was starting to fade. My eyes shuddered, threatening to fall shut permanently. I gave up trying to gulp in any air, it wasn’t doing any use. And I was tired. So tired…

I blinked once more.

A pair of boots had suddenly appeared in front of my eyes. 

I know those boots , I thought numbly, finally letting my eyes slide closed. 

I was floating. Flying again, drifting peacefully on the back of the wind, soaring further and further away from the pain. I could still sense my limbs, like a tether anchoring me to the floor. But I wanted to go wherever the breeze took me. I wanted to follow it, somehow knowing that if I did, my mother would be there. She would be waiting for me, more than just a vision -

My hold on the tether loosened. The wind howled around me. 

Just as I was about to let go entirely, her voice echoed out of the cool night.

No.

I faltered, my soul reaching out and brushing the edge of the abyss. I’m tired, Mother. I want to sleep.

Her voice wrapped around me, liquid silk in the dark.

Stay.

The breeze eased, and I felt the tether grow warm and heavy in my hand.

Why? My soul begged. It would be so easy to let go, to float to her. Why should I?

And then, though I couldn’t see her, she was there. I felt phantom lips brush my temple.

Because to live, she murmured all around me, would be an awfully big adventure, Wendy.

The wind slowed to a stop. And my mother’s presence retreated.

I felt my heart give a slow ka-thunk , the strained beat echoing in my ears. My fingers twitched, a tingling present in each fingertip. I sat in the in-between, torn.

I felt the pressure on my windpipe slowly diminish, until it was gone completely.

My heart choked out another ka-thunk. Softer this time. The tether grew thinner - more fragile in my grip. If I waited much longer, it would dissolve.

Something nudged my face urgently - something hard. A shoe?

And then I felt that voice - though no sound could reach me here, I felt the words pierce through me. Tendrils of velvet brushed against my consciousness. A firm demand.

Breathe, Wendy.

Ka… thunk. The tether was dangerously thin, now. It would break apart any second.

Another nudge. Rougher. More desperate. Then that same voice, inaudible but everywhere at once, commanding my very soul.

Breathe!

I grit my teeth and yanked on the tether.

And then I was falling.

I plummeted through everything and nothing all at once, finally falling back into a world of agony.

Pain, the pain was everywhere . The floor was freezing against my bleeding back. My face was aching. My fingers twitched again, and pain sliced through my palm. My ears were ringing. My throat spasmed. And my chest - my lungs, they burned - air, I needed to breathe -

I screwed up my face and gave in to the overwhelming urge to cough . 

I couldn’t roll over on my side because there was still pressure on my pelvis, but I twisted as best as I could to relieve some of the discomfort as I finally struggled to breathe through my bruised airway. Ungodly strangled coughs erupted from my throat, until I was sure my lungs were somehow inverted, they were so empty. And then finally, I choked out one strained rasp after the other. My hands stretched and squeezed, until the tingling numbness disappeared, unmasking the sharp pain underneath.

My eyes cracked open and I groaned, fighting the urge to slip back into sleep. The world was nothing more than a mass of colours and shadows, but things started sharpening little by little with each breath I managed to take. The high-pitched whine I was hearing started to fade, and a low, muffled sound rocked my very bones instead. Once I could partially make out the wood grain of the floor, I turned my head -

And froze.

James stood in all his glory, arm extended with his pistol resting neatly against Daniel’s temple. He was dressed simply, as though my call had summoned him while he was relaxing in his quarters. His scarlet eyes were locked on me, watching me urgently as I returned to my body. When my eyes finally met his, something akin to relief flashed across his face, before he tore his gaze away. He stood imperiously over Daniel, looking down on my shaking husband with disdain. He remained dangerously still, his flaming eyes the only indication of his fury.

“I rather think I’m being quite clear, Mister Beckwith. Remove yourself from the lady,” James growled, a mountain of composed rage.

“Who the hell are-” Daniel spluttered, but fell silent as James pressed the barrel of the pistol harder against his head.

“Now,” James snarled.

Slowly, with grit teeth, Daniel untangled himself from his straddle position and stood, giving me enough room to inch myself backwards away from him. I struggled to keep my panicked breaths silent as my eyes darted back and forth between the two men.

“Against the wall,” James ordered, and Daniel’s jaw ticked as he reluctantly obeyed. He backed up to stand against the far wall, boring his furious eyes into mine. And I knew in that instant if he ever managed to get his hands on me again…

My trembles worsened.

James followed Daniel to the wall, and stood directly in front of him so I was blocked from his glare. Though Daniel usually towered over me, he still had to lift his chin considerably to look James in the eye. I held my breath as James slowly dragged the barrel of his pistol down Daniel’s cheek, eventually settling it firmly beneath his chin. 

“Do you know why you are still alive, Mister Beckwith?” James asked pleasantly. Daniel’s jaw ticked again, and despite my distance I flinched. He silently gave a minute shake of his head, and James leaned closer to him.

“It is solely because of my oath to your wife,” he whispered. Daniel’s eyes flicked to me for a split second, then back to James. “If she had not made me promise to let you live, you would have been scattered in pieces across this floor before you could blink .”

Daniel’s nostrils flared.

“Now, against my better judgement, I’m going to allow you to leave this house. But hear this - my oath only stands once. If you attempt to look for Miss Darling after tonight, rest assured I will not be so generous. Do you understand, Mister Beckwith?”

Daniel muttered something under his breath, and James stilled.

“Come again?” James breathed, incredulous.

“Her name,” Daniel grumbled loud enough for me to hear, “Is Wendy Beckwith . She is my wife. ”

Without hesitation, James slammed his knee between Daniel’s legs. As Daniel dropped with a howl, James butted him in the back of the head with the gun, sending him sprawling to the floor. I scrambled away quickly until my sore back made contact with the opposite wall, but Daniel did not rush at me. He lay face-down, groaning as James stood calmly above him. His eyes were still scarlet as he wedged his foot under Daniel’s torso and roughly flipped him onto his back. James bent down and grabbed a fistful of Daniel’s shirt, pulling him up so harshly I whimpered. Daniel’s head flopped limply back and to the side, his neck stuck at such an extreme angle that I expected it to break. James did not continue to beat him, but leaned his head in to speak quietly in his ear.

“Choose your next words carefully, sir, or she will be your widow. Her name,” James murmured, “is whatever she wishes it to be. It may trouble you to hear this but she is no longer any of your concern. If you will not take your own leave, allow me to assist you.” 

Without another word, he kept his hold on Daniel’s collar and dragged him across the room to the door. I quickly crawled as far into the corner as I could, eyes locked on my husband’s prone form. His head was still lolling around, eyes fluttering and limbs limp as he was removed from the room. Moments later, I flinched at Daniel’s grunts and cries as James, presumably, casually dragged him head-first down the staircase. I heard the back door open, and all was quiet for a short time. I strained my ears and managed to catch snippets of someone speaking in low tones, but nothing was distinguishable until Daniel managed to shout out.

“You can’t hide that whore from me!”

All that followed was a large crash and the slam of the back door. And then… silence. 

I whimpered, cringing further into my corner as I waited for something to happen - I waited for a gunshot, for more sounds of a struggle, for Daniel to come limping back upstairs to me. But for a good few moments, everything was still.

There was a footstep on the stairs. Then another. Slow, precise, restrained. Even though I knew they were too evenly measured to belong to Daniel, I still sobbed and squeezed my eyes shut. The closer the footsteps came, the quicker and shallower my breaths became.

I whined as the door creaked open softly, bracing myself for the fall of a blow. My hands swung up to guard my head and my knees curled up even farther to protect my abdomen. I grit my teeth and waited.

But nothing came.

I heard the creak of a floorboard as though weight had been shifted carefully.

“Wendy,” James called softly.

Startled, I raised my head quickly to look. Just as the footsteps had suggested, it was only James. He was down on one knee, making himself smaller than I was used to. He wasn’t wearing any of his regalia - no brocade ensemble, no intimidating hat. His hook was hidden behind his back, and his hand was raised in surrender. When I sought out his eyes, they had returned to their regular sapphire shade.

Just James.

“Wendy, it’s alright,” he murmured. He kept perfectly still as my eyes darted from him to the door.

“Where -” I started to ask but was cut off by a minor coughing fit, a reward for trying to speak with a bruised windpipe - and probably injured ribs. 

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” he said quietly. “It’s over.” I shook my head slowly, keeping my eyes trained on the door. Any moment he’d be back. Any second now.

“He’ll find me,” I whispered, embarrassed to feel tears come to my eyes once more. I quickly wiped them away and averted my gaze. “He always does.”

James was silent for a moment, then slowly bent further down to catch my eye.

“Wendy, he -” he paused here and took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes to hide the flicker of red I saw appear. “He will not find you. If he ever attempts to, I meant what I said. My oath has been fulfilled. The next time I see him, he will not survive. I swear it,” he promised. He opened his eyes again and held my gaze steadily - and how easy it still was to get lost in that gaze. 

A sudden thought occurred to me, and my brow furrowed.

“You came,” I croaked. He nodded solemnly.

“You called.”

I faltered, unsure of what to say.

“But I was so…” I stumbled my way towards an apology, but James waved it off immediately.

“So was I,” he admitted. 

I started to respond, but a sudden sharp pain on my shoulder blade cut me off before I could form the words. Wincing, I tried to shift my weight to alleviate some of the discomfort on my back, but this was the wrong decision - I gasped in pain and slumped further against the wall, holding an arm across my stomach with a quiet groan.

In a flash, James was next to me. Too fast - I flinched instinctively and babbled, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Wendy, shh, I’ll not harm you,” he assured gently. 

But it was too late. The events of the evening finally caught up to me and I began to completely break down - I started to hyperventilate as great gasping sobs tore through my abused throat. Frantic, I reached up with trembling hands and tangled my fingers in my hair and pulled , trying to shock my system back into normalcy. I cringed when larger calloused fingers carefully pried my hands loose and pulled them away from my head.

“Wendy, you need to breathe.”

“I can’t -” I gasped.

“Yes, you can. You are safe. You are protected. No one shall ever harm you again,” he said firmly. I shook my head, my chest still heaving.

“I - I need,” I struggled, breathless.

“What do you need, Wendy?” James asked softly.

“Please just-” I reached my trembling hands out and weakly grasped at his poet shirt. Not needing to be told twice, James slowly moved closer and put his arms around me carefully. As soon as his arms closed in around me, I stiffened despite my overwhelming desire to be held. Even though it was what I wanted, every part of my brain was screaming for me to break away and run . My breaths tumbled out from clenched teeth, short and shallow, as I fought with my instincts.

“I am here,” James whispered next to my ear. And with those three simple words, the spell was broken.

I let out a long wail, sinking into James’ arms. I finally let myself pour my grief, rage and fear into my sobs, burying my face in his chest. I grasped his shirt so tightly I was sure he’d never get the wrinkles out. He moved his hand to softly cradle the back of my head.

I cried for what felt like hours - James let me bawl into his shoulder when I needed to grieve, he let me beat against his chest with my fists when I needed to fight , all the while gently whispering words of comfort in my ear. I couldn’t register anything he was saying, but the timbre of his voice was like a balm for my broken soul. Eventually, after I had exhausted my body and my voice was nearly spent, I managed to slow my cries to hiccoughs… then sniffles… then silence.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into his shoulder. He must have shaken his head, because I felt his curls lightly move back and forth across my ear. 

“Stop apologising, Wendy.”

We sat in silence for a while, neither of us wanting to let go of the other. I was surprised to find myself relaxing into his arms - until he moved his hand to gently rub my back and I hissed. He stilled. 

“Let me take a look at you,” he coaxed. I shook my head stubbornly, and tried to burrow myself further into his chest. He pulled back enough to take one of my hands, prying it away from his shirt collar. He lifted it to his lips, and I stilled as he lightly brushed his lips over my knuckles and looked back down at me.

“Please, my beauty,” he murmured.

After a moment’s hesitation, I reluctantly pulled away from his embrace and fully released his shirt. In thanks, he kissed my hand again, almost erasing all of my worry with just one action - until he stood slowly and walked around to stand behind me. I fidgeted with my skirt, glancing out of the corner of my eye to watch him crouch down at my back. He waited, sensing my unease, until I turned my head and focused intently on the pattern of the floor’s wood grain. 

“May I?” he requested quietly. I nodded, allowing myself to slip into a numb state. It would be over soon. I jumped as a tender hand carefully moved my shawl to look at the state of my back. 

After a moment of frosty silence, the hand retreated. James slowly walked in front of me, and I closed my eyes while he examined the less-immodest areas of my face, neck, legs and arms. I could almost hear him becoming more and more tense as he went, but the never-wavering kindness of his touch kept me from becoming too anxious. When he was done, I felt the warmth of his fingers tuck under my chin and tilt my head back. I opened my eyes tentatively, and was surprised to see how well he was containing the flashes of red in his eyes.

“Wendy, we need to take a closer look at that,” he said carefully. I nodded, reluctant to admit that he was right. He hesitated briefly, and I could practically see our prior argument flashing before his eyes. Something crossed his face quickly, an emotion I couldn’t place in time - and he steeled himself to continue. 

“Come with me.”

I opened my mouth to refuse his offer, but stopped when he shook his head. 

“There is nothing for you here, my beauty,” he whispered. His thumb lightly traced the contour of my bottom lip. “Nothing but pain and grief. If…” he paused, “...if after you recover you should choose to return to this place, you would be free to do so. I cannot keep you prisoner, Wendy. But you can not… I can not allow you to stay here while you are vulnerable. It is not safe for you.”

Conflicted, I reached up and took hold of his hand to lower it. I looked away, hoping the empty room would offer me an easy solution. My eyes wandered back to the clock on the mantel, continuing to tick and tock my life away. I watched the second hand make its rotation again, holding my breath in wait as I had so many times before. James cast a concerned glance over his shoulder, trying to determine what I was staring at. I knew when his eyes landed on the same clock - his hand squeezed mine even as he stiffened, and I could feel the slightest tremor in his grip. He and I watched the seconds tick past, James seeming to understand it was exactly what I needed.

11:54:50…

11:54:55…

I sat up straighter. I clasped James hand and prayed for time to finally be on my side. This had always been my home, and if time could just do me this one favour, I would feel secure enough to stay. To tough it out. I could handle the heartbreak if time would just let me breathe .

11:54:58…

11:54:59…

11:55:00…

Please.

…11:55:01.

James turned his head to me slowly, and I struggled not to burst back into tears. I cleared my throat firmly, blinking away the wetness in my eyes. I had cried enough over time. This whole world had abandoned me - and it was finally dead to me. 

While I composed myself, I cast my eyes downward to my hands and fidgeted with the rings on James’ fingers. I stared at the glinting metal and forced myself to spit out my confession.

“I’m afraid, James.”

He waited, squeezing my fingers gently when I did not immediately continue. I swallowed.

“What if I can’t come with you?” I whispered. “I don’t want to get my hopes up just to have them dashed when you disappear and I’m… still trapped. Here.”

There was a pregnant pause as I waited for James to say something. When he didn’t respond, I glanced up curiously and blushed at his perfectly-raised brow. 

“Wendy, you have more power than you know,” James asserted. “If you can send the fearsome Captain James Hook back and forth across time and space with naught but a whim, there’s no doubt in my mind you can tag along.” 

“You… really think so?” I mumbled. He took a moment to look me up and down, as though sizing me up. He looked back up at me and though his brow was still raised, there was nothing mocking about his stare. He cocked his head to the side.

“Do you want to come with me?” He asked simply.

I blinked.

Yes, my soul sang. Yes yes yes yes -

“Yes,” I breathed. 

His eyes searched mine for a moment longer, before he nodded to himself and slowly climbed to his feet. As I looked up at him from the floor, he wordlessly reached out his left hand and a bent right elbow. I slowly accepted his support with trembling fingers and let him carefully help me to my feet. I grit my teeth, managing to keep myself from yelping but unable to suppress a harsh grimace. 

We paused once my feet were safely under me, and James could trust me to stand with minimal support. He kept my hand in his, and waited while I lightly rested my head against his chest with my eyes closed. I could see the stars behind my eyelids again - they were dancing, almost with joy. How strange.

I waited until they faded away before I separated myself from his chest, turning towards the window. It was still open, the curtains softly swishing across the floor with a breeze that hadn’t been there before. I could feel a tingle in the air, a whisper of excitement in the wind. 

I took a step forward.

Then another.

I reached the window, jumping when James suddenly appeared next to me. He put a soothing hand on my shoulder, and gracefully pulled himself through the window first. I barely noticed one of the curtains beginning to lightly graze my ankle. Once James was settled on the balcony, he turned back around to me. He didn’t reach out or pressure me to keep moving - he simply stood there watching me. 

I struggled to summon the courage to reach my hand out for help through the window, but I couldn’t. Instead, I turned away and crossed my arms over my chest, starting to shiver from the cold air moving into the room. The curtains were fluttering in earnest now, and I swore I could see the occasional spark just out of the corner of my eyes. I scanned the room, trying to cram every detail into my memory while I still could. I wanted nothing more than to clean the place up before I left, repair every hole and sweep up every bit of broken glass. But I knew that I would end up losing my courage to leave - and fixing a house can not fix a husband. 

Still, I couldn’t help looking once more at that damned clock. Oh yes, it was still going. I’d lost four more minutes of my life already, still in this room. I stared at it, the sight of the never-ceasing second hand filling me with enough spite to keep me from crawling back into bed and sending James away on his own.

11:59:01…

11:59:02…

I had to brush hair away from my eyes, trying and failing to keep my hair from getting swept up in the breeze. Hadn’t it been much gentler before? The curtains had truly started swelling, waving around the room while I tracked the time.

11:59:10…

11:59:11…

“Wendy,” James murmured softly.

My only response was a quiet sigh, but I knew he understood. I could see our shadows casting onto the floor - and so I did not flinch when he crouched on the windowsill and placed his hand on my shoulder. He leaned in towards my ear, and I heard his words clearly over the sound of the wind and flapping curtains. 

“Come with me, Wendy,” he whispered. “Forget him. Forget this place. Come with me where you’ll never have to worry about him again.”

My eyes slid shut, a sad smile playing on my lips. With those words, those oh-so-familiar words, I was almost back in the nursery. I could taste starlight on my lips. I heard a laugh in the back of my mind but it was no longer that of a young boy. It was a warm laugh, deep and rich and safe . I opened my eyes.

11:59:30…

11:59:31…

11:59:32…

I turned, looking James directly in the eye. Whatever glinted in my gaze was enough for him to raise his brows in a clear question. 

My answer, after all these years, had not changed.

“Never is an awfully long time.”

We broke out into slow smiles together, neither of us fazed by the frigid wind pouring in through the window. Our hair whipped around our faces but our gaze never broke. He reached out his hand at the same time that I reached out mine. The curtains were billowing so hard that they practically helped push me up and out onto the balcony. 

11:59:50…

11:59:51…

We stood in the freezing whirlwind without feeling it. Warm tingles danced across my skin. I stepped closer to James, wrapping my arms around his middle. His right arm carefully crossed over my back, but the sting was barely noticeable. His left hand came up and softly rested on the back of my head. The stars were practically vibrating in the sky. 

I turned my head and found the Second Star to the Right, a blinding beacon against the inky black.

Home, the voice in my mind murmured. Go home.

11:59:58…

11:59:59…

I closed my eyes.

When Daniel eventually stumbled back up the stairs three hours later, the window was still wide open. The curtains were utterly still, and the night was calm. Outside, the balcony was completely empty. He stared hard at two sets of footprints - one had been in larger boots. The others were smaller, made with bare feet flecked with blood. Their path went straight from the windowsill to the centre of the balcony. And from there, their creators had simply… vanished. Blinked out of existence. 

Hidden in the corner of the room’s mantel, a clock had gone silent and still at last.

12:00:00.

Chapter Text

---The Neverland / 𝞘𝟅𝞷𝞗 ---

Imagine plummeting from a twenty-story building. 

Close your eyes, and try to recreate the feeling of your stomach falling out from under you. Feel your heart twist and your mind reel, your entire body erupt into tingles of panic. 

Magnify it by fifty. 

Now imagine that feeling covering your entire body. Every nerve twisting and dropping out from under you, the panic of your entire body squished into every single cell, your mind completely going blank as the world turns inside out and upside down. 

That is what it felt like to evaporate from my balcony and travel to another world - all within less than a second. But it felt like a lifetime, tumbling through space and time in a way that my body never was constructed to do. By the time I opened my mouth to scream -

My feet slammed into the ground, and the sensation disappeared as quickly as it had begun. I stumbled, only aware of my head spinning and my feet suddenly freezing , before two strong arms caught me carefully around the middle. 

“Easy,” James grunted. “It can take some getting used to.”

“Is th-that what that feels like??” I cried weakly, still unable to open my eyes quite yet. My teeth started chattering, a deep chill burying itself in my bones. “It’s s-so cold.”

“Aye,” he said. “You usually return me to my quarters, I am not sure why we landed here. Can you get us closer?”

I nodded, screwing up my face and concentrating on moving us onto the ship. I pictured what I remembered of his cabin, thinking hard about every detail… but nothing happened. We didn’t move.

“It isn’t w-working,” I shivered.

“Are you sure?”

“I am trying, but nothing’s happening,” I shook my head. “Take us back to the ship.”

Nothing.

“James’ quarters,” I grit out. “The Jolly Roger. I want to go to the ship, please.”

There was no response beyond the whistling wind in my ears.

I felt him take a deep breath.

“That is alright, Wendy. The ship is not too far. Can you walk?”

“Yes, I think… so…” I managed to crack open my eyes, trailing away when I saw where we had landed. 

At some point in time, this place had been a beach. Now it was a frozen wasteland, the ice covering every inch of the ground, trees and rocks. Where there should have been warm sand, my feet were instead partially-buried in thick snow - so cold it started to burn like fire. I dragged my eyes up and stared dumbly at the lagoon, completely frozen over. The waves had stilled in place, the edges of the crests sharp as knives. Lodged into the ice about seventy-five yards away was the Jolly Roger. 

She was just as magnificent as I’d remembered, towering over the surface of the lagoon. She was still heeling over from whatever force had blown through the island, her port side sticking further up out of the ice than the starboard. Her sails were raised and furled, and a thick layer of frost covered her from bow to stern. 

A large gust of wind barreled towards us from the lagoon, and I heard a low creak from the ship right before the freezing air blasted directly into James and me. I grimaced, raising my left arm in front of my face to shield my eyes. Flurries had been kicked up; the entire landscape blurred as the snow danced.

“Here,” James said suddenly, and I looked over to see that he had removed his boots. He knelt next to me, nudging at my bare feet until I raised them. He brushed the snow from my skin quickly, expertly sliding each boot on immediately after. My feet were still cold, but the sting had lessened considerably.

“J-James, you are only in socks,” I protested.

“Better socks than nothing,” he said grimly. “I only apologize for not being able to lend you my coat.”

“It’s alright,” I shivered, turning to focus again on the ship. “What now?”

He stepped forward onto the ice, and I waited for a giant crack to break the calm of the air - but nothing happened. He bounced lightly twice, showing me that it was indeed thick enough to bear our weight. 

Turning back to me, he extended his left hand in invitation.

“We walk.”

My hand trembled as I reached out and took his hand, and as soon as I was next to him, he wrapped his left arm carefully around my shoulders and urged me forward. Because the lagoon had not been stagnant when it was frozen, the surface was not smooth. We had to pick across tiny ridges and large hills in the ice, trying not to trip. James, to his credit, did not slip in his socks. I, on the other hand, stumbled quite a few times before I got the hang of it. Our movement was less a walk and more so a shuffle - I slid my feet forward and planted them, synchronizing my motions with James. Left, right, left, right. I kept my eyes down to track the texture of the ice, and that’s when I noticed it.

Beneath the white film of ice on the surface, the water was darker than I’d ever seen it, almost an inky black. Very little light permeated beyond a foot below the ice. It was like walking on a giant pit, ominous and terrifying. I was idly wondering what lurked beneath, when all of a sudden -

I saw something move.

There was a flash under the water, right where my eyes had just passed by. I dismissed it for a reflection of light on the ice, but then I saw it again - pale blue scales skimming up at the very border between my feet and the abyss. Familiar scales.

I gasped, nearly jumping out of James’ grasp.

“Are those the mermaids?” I asked in horror. 

“Aye,” James gritted. “Do not worry yourself. They cannot break the surface.”

“They’re trapped,” I whispered, forcing my feet to move forward again. I yelped as a skeletal webbed hand scrabbled wildly underneath me, the tips of her fingers squeaking painfully against the ice. For a sad moment, I thought she might be in distress - until I saw a flash of her face as she swooped up and away. 

Black, ravenous eyes locked with mine for a terrifying moment, and then she was gone. A muffled, hissing shriek echoed below the surface, and I paled as an unholy chorus of squeals answered. The sound seemed to emanate from all around us, covering the entire lagoon. They were starving, and could probably smell the blood from my wounds through the ice.

My trembling wasn’t just from the cold anymore.

“Tis as I told you,” he grunted. “The Neverland is completely frozen. It happens every time.”

“I just… I never knew…”

“I know.”

We were more than halfway to the ship now, and I fought to keep my balance while refraining from looking too closely at the water. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the flash of scales every now and again - there were more mermaids underneath us now, ready to sweetly drown us should there be a gap in the ice. It was becoming harder to move, almost as though the frost was creeping into my muscles. I felt like a figurine in a music box, slowly winding down without any way to start myself back up again. 

“Nearly there,” James panted. “Just a bit further, Wendy.”

“Alright,” I breathed, trying to keep my eyes open. It would be so easy, so easy to just lay down on the ice and fall asleep. I could just curl up like a bear and wait for Spring to return, wait for Peter to come back. “Tired.”

“Do not fall asleep, Miss Darling,” he commanded roughly. “That is an order. Do you understand?”

“Aye,” I mumbled.

“Aye, aye,” he urged. 

“What’s the difference,” I furrowed my brow, the correction rousing me slightly as I tried to puzzle out what I’d missed. 

“Your first aye is a sign that you have heard me,” James explained, tightening his hold as I stumbled slightly. We were very close now. “Your second aye is a pledge to carry out my order.”

“Oh,” I said, blinking hard and shaking my head sharply to stay alert. “Aye, aye.”

“Good,” he huffed. We finally had reached the ship - we were about thirty feet away from the hull, and I had to tilt my head back to take in the sheer size of her. The wood groaned deeply as bouts of wind swept past, and a large hunk of hard snow tumbled off the taffrail high above us. We narrowly dodged it, stepping to the side before it smacked against the ground and scattered in every direction. 

“Ahoy!” James shouted. “Smee!”

Now that we had stopped, it was much harder to stay on my feet. Every cell in my body was urging me to relax into the cold. My knees buckled, and I vaguely heard James grunt in surprise as he swung around in front of me, catching me quickly under the arms. I dangled there for a moment, trying to slide my feet back under me.

“Wendy!” He barked, but it was muffled. I was so tired.

“Aye,” I groaned.

“Blast it - Smee!”

“Smee,” I breathed, intending to call out with him, but my voice had started to fade. I sank completely, only halfway feeling the sting of the ice on my legs as James was forced to fully lower me to the ground. I heard my heartbeat in my ears again, a dull thump thump that lined up with my shallow breaths. Inhale - thump thump. Exhale - thump thump. There was no abyss this time, no supernatural tether - but I had seconds before I passed out on the ice.

“Wendy,” James called - when had my eyes closed? I could feel the ice vibrating underneath me, as though someone were running across the lagoon. “Damn it. Get her covered…”

James’ voice faded in and out. I was thrown back and forth between bliss and agony - each time I thought I’d sunk into oblivion for good, something brought me careening back to a world of cold and pain. Someone tapped my cheek and I flinched, instinctively curling in on myself to get away. The sudden spike in adrenaline brought me mostly back to clarity, and I groaned.

“Wendy, we must get you onto the ship,” James said loudly. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m here,” I croaked.

“The tackle is frozen solid, Cap’n,” someone said.

“Damn it - help me get her up the ladder,” James said.

“Help her up, aye, Cap’n,” the other voice responded, and I winced as I was hauled upwards. My feet were unsteady underneath me, but I was held fast against a broad chest until I could support myself shakily. My eyes fluttered, trying to open, but I only caught a glimpse of a blue striped shirt to my left before they fell shut again.

“Smee,” I whispered.

“That’s right,” the second voice said cheerfully. I could tell the pep in his voice was false, solely designed to keep me invested in the conversation so I would stay awake. “Nice to see you again, Miss Darling.”

“Hello,” I smiled weakly.

“Follow Smee, Wendy,” James urged. 

I breathed deeply, squeezing my eyes shut tightly before forcing them open with determination. It was shaky determination at best, but it allowed me to register that Smee truly had not aged a day. His smile was grim, but it was still a smile - he reached out to me and I transferred my grip from James’ shoulders to Smee’s hands. 

What a picture we made. Smee was toddling backwards, both my trembling hands in his, guiding me towards the Jacob’s ladder that had been lowered for us. James kept a steady hand on my back, watching me from behind. Someone had draped a soft blanket over my shoulders - the fabric minorly irritated the lacerated skin on my back, but the cold had mostly numbed me to any discomfort from my flesh wounds. We eventually reached the ladder, and Smee turned to start hauling himself up slowly.  

“Climb with caution, Wendy,” James warned me from behind. “I will wait on the ground in case you fall. Go slowly, carefully.”

“Aye, aye, James,” I said, feeling his hand squeeze my shoulder in encouragement. Now that I had momentum again, it was a little easier to keep my head from toppling off my shoulders. I followed behind Smee up the ladder, one step after another, keeping the same slow pace as the bo’sun. Smee had his head twisted to the right and kept watching me over his shoulder, making sure my eyes stayed open while we climbed. 

“Just a few more steps, Miss Darling,” he called. I grit my teeth, the effort of hoisting myself up over and over again proving to be exhausting. Finally, just when I worried that I wouldn’t be able to tolerate any more, Smee’s hands were outstretched in front of my face. 

I looked up to see that I had reached the edge of the taffrail, and Smee was ready to fully help me up. There was another pair of hands there too, another pirate ready to assist. I balanced myself carefully, reaching up one hand to be clasped by both of Smee’s. Once I was almost over, I reached the other hand up to the waiting pirate, and both of them pulled me up and over the side.

I staggered, and two pairs of hands planted themselves on my shoulders to keep me upright. I turned, panting heavily, and stared at the face of the other pirate that had helped me. I remembered him from last time, I knew him -

“Starkey?” I murmured. His eyes lit up.

“She remembers me!” He exclaimed, grinning at Smee. “That’s right, Miss Red-Handed Jill, ma’am. Starkey’s the name.”

“Wendy,” I huffed, my lips twitching up into a shaky smile. “Please call me Wendy.”

“Yes ma’am, Miss Wendy ma’am,” he nodded. The ladder clacked against the hull behind me, but Smee stopped me before I could turn around.

“Don’t dizzy yourself, Miss Darling,” he insisted. “Tis only the Cap’n joining us on deck.”

“James,” I breathed, closing my eyes and wishing he were already here. “I’d like to see James.”

“Aye, he’ll be along shortly,” Smee assured me. “He’s almost - ooh, careful, Miss Darling.”

I’d pitched to the side abruptly, my inertia vanishing as I started to crash again. My eyelids were made of stone, impossible to open - and the dark was creeping in faster now, I could feel it. Before I could fully collapse into it, I yelped as I was suddenly lifted and tilted backwards. My arms flailed slightly, locking automatically around someone’s neck. I panicked for a split second before the scent of smoked cinnamon washed over me. I relaxed into James’ arms, feeling his hold tighten as he started to walk up the stairs to our left.

“Is she -” someone asked.

“Back to work,” James growled in response. 

There was a hesitant murmur from somewhere behind us, but it was drowned out by the creaking of door hinges. There was an abrupt change in temperature - it was still drafty, but the bite of the wind was absent here. The lighting had changed too - I sighed in relief as the harsh blues, silvers and whites of the snow were replaced with warm ambers and gold. Another door squeaked, and the next thing I knew, I was laying on a cloud. 

“Wendy,” James called quietly, laying his chilled hand against my cheek. “Wendy, can you hear me?”

“Mmmmaye,” I mumbled, leaning into his touch. His thumb rubbed back and forth against my skin softly, and tapped me three times.

“We need to clean your wounds.”

“Mmmm?” I breathed, my brow creasing in confusion. Wounds? What wounds? I felt fit as a fiddle.

“Your wounds are full of glass, Wendy,” he said carefully. “We must clean them before you can sleep.”

His words must have registered with my tear ducts before they reached my brain. 

My face twisted into a soft sob, and a heavy tear rolled down my cheek and onto the pillow. His hand shifted from my right cheek to my left, gently wiping the wetness away from my skin with the back of his fingers.

“It will be quick, my beauty. Then I will let you sleep.”

“You promise,” I whispered. He reached up to comb a soothing hand through my snowflake-filled hair.

“I promise,” he said firmly. I felt him twist around. “Smee -”

“No,” I whimpered, throwing my hand up to grapple at his shirt. He caught my hand in his, holding it tightly as I felt him shift back to looking at me. “Just you. Just James.”

He paused for a moment, and I felt him shift again, like he was waving something away. The door creaked shut, and I realized that Smee must have been waiting in the entryway to help. He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles softly.

“Very well, then. Just me, Wendy.”

I relaxed my grip, and he carefully placed my hand down by my side. My fingers swept over the bed, feeling silk sheets underneath me. James pulled the blanket away from my body, and started with my arms. Smee had apparently left a bucket of warm water and a rag - I grit my teeth as James methodically scoured every inch of my exposed skin, shifting my arm to rest on his right forearm when he needed to remove a piece of glass. He picked up a pair of tweezers, carefully digging until each shard was gone. Then the rag would come - the soft fibers still catching on the skin just enough to make me groan.

“I know. I am sorry,” he would whisper every time. 

Once he was done with my arms and hands, he moved on to my legs. There was less to clean on my lower body, but he took just as much time assessing the damage. The worst bit was the soles of my feet, but he kept murmuring encouragements and apologies through all of my grimaces. He poked and prodded lightly at my toes and feet.

“You do not have frostbite,” he said quietly. “You may experience some irritation, and there are a few blisters - but everything is superficial. You will be fine.”

I nodded to show I understood. Once everything on the front half of my body was clean, he applied some sort of salve and bandages around the worst welts and cuts.

“Halfway finished, Wendy,” he said quietly, setting the supplies out of the way to run his hand through my hair again. “Take a breath. Rest a moment…”

He trailed off, his hand slowing to a stop. His fingers pulled out of my hair carefully, and I heard the plink of another piece of glass hitting the discard bucket.

“May I lift and move you, Wendy?” James asked finally. I hesitated, but nodded slowly.

His arms carefully slid under the blanket I was still laying on top of, hoisting me up carefully and turning me perpendicular to my original position. I moaned, the burning pain reminding me of just how damaged my back was. When I was fully laid down, the crown of my head was on the very edge of the side of the bed, my hair hanging off the side. There was a slight scrape as the bucket was moved closer, and then James’ hand was in my hair again. He lightly buried his hand up to the root of the hair, shaking his hand back and forth gently.

Plink, plink, plink…

Stray chips of glass fell out of my hair and into the bucket, more and more becoming dislodged as James moved his hand around my head. Eventually, they slowed, and he brushed any stragglers out by combing his fingers down the entire length of my locks. 

“There,” he said, satisfied. “Now this will be the hard part, Wendy.”

“I know,” I whispered, managing to crack my eyes open enough to see him kneeling on the floor next to my head, still running his fingers across my scalp. “I can do it.”

“Aye, you can,” he agreed. “And then you can sleep.”

And then he helped me turn over onto my stomach, and he pulled the blanket away.

Suddenly, I was transported elsewhere. I was no longer lying on James’ bed, but I was back on my bedroom floor, my dress ripped open down the middle. I started to breathe faster, and I could see Daniel’s shadow on the ground in front of me as he raised his arm, I heard the fwip of the leather belt as it came cracking down -

“Wendy.”

The blanket was over my back again, and James was sitting right in front of my face, eyes wide with worry. His hand was on the peak of my shoulder, not squeezing too tightly but just firmly enough to rouse me from my flashback. But I could still see it, I could still see both realities at once - Daniel was still beating me, but James was also with me. He was here.

“I see it,” I whispered tearfully, unable to explain any other way. “I can hear it. It’s happening again, it won’t stop.”

My words, vague as they were, clicked in James’ mind, and I could see the understanding dawn in his eyes.

“You must let it play out, Wendy,” he said softly. “But focus on where you are now. It will help. Here, give me your hand.”

I pulled out my freshly-treated right hand, and James lifted the silk sheet, placing it in my grasp. I rubbed the fabric slowly between the pads of my fingers, focusing on the soft texture to ground me in reality. I could still see the scene playing out, but it was contained within my mind's eye, and it was easier to tune some of it out.

“Speak to me,” James suggested. “About anything.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered, still fidgeting with the sheet. 

“Tell me a story.”

“I told you I don’t do that anymore.”

“You needn’t invent a new work of fiction. Tell me about your first visit to this place.”

I paused, thinking the request to be a bit odd. James and I had met during my childhood adventure, surely he did not expect me to recount everything I’d experienced in his presence? I shifted my eyes to the left, keeping them open so I had a visual link to the real world and wouldn’t be overwhelmed by my mental imagery. I wracked my brain for details I hadn’t spoken about with him, trying to drown out the sounds of a buckle clinking as it flew through the air.

“I flew over London,” I whispered. “I almost flew into Big Ben.”

James snorted softly, but did not interrupt. 

“And when we arrived… we were separated. Long Tom, you had them fire Long Tom and I was thrown off into the air.”

James’ hand covered mine in a silent apology, and I softly smiled at him in reassurance.

“Tinkerbell had the Lost Boys try to shoot me - well, Tootles did shoot me, with an arrow,” I continued. James’ hand tightened over mine.

“I was alright,” I assured him, and he relaxed. “I’m not sure how I didn’t die at any point along the way, truthfully. I was shot at, the mermaids nearly drowned me, I fought a crew of experienced pirates… it’s a wonder I’m even here.”

“I am not surprised,” James said firmly. 

“I remember seeing you for the first time,” I said quietly. He swept his thumb across my knuckles. 

“I regret that night,” he murmured. “The manipulation, the lies -”

“No,” I interrupted. “It was before your crew brought me to the ship.”

His hand stilled. 

“Explain,” he said eventually. 

“At the Black Castle,” I whispered, seeing a third reality materialize within my mind's eye. “Peter left me on the ramparts and I called out -”

“That was you,” he breathed. I nodded sheepishly. 

“Yes. And you heard me, of course - I’m not sure how you did not see me hiding, your eyes swept right over me. I was frozen, I couldn’t do anything but stare at you.”

“I was frightening, then.”

“No,” I whispered. “I was not afraid. I was entranced.”

I saw it clear as day - James standing not twenty feet away, a firm hold on his firearm as his icy eyes narrowed, scanning the seemingly-deserted area of the castle. The sea breeze whipped through his hair, and he stilled as the blade of my sword clinked softly against the stone. His jaw ticked, he snapped his hook up to latch onto the gun, and turned directly towards me - and I felt his eyes bore into my very soul without him ever noticing that I was there. 

I blinked, and the memory faded. Here in reality, James had gone quiet - in fact, I was surprised to notice that the rest of my brain had finally gone quiet as well. There was no more Daniel, no more cracks of leather against skin. 

“It’s done,” I sighed in relief. 

“Good. Keep talking,” James said, slowly reaching over and uncovering my back once more. I flinched as the air hit my exposed skin, expecting to see it all happen over again - but the memory did not return. 

“There is not much else you don’t already know,” I winced, gritting my teeth as he set to work. He hummed softly, keeping his hand steady as he picked carefully through the deeper cuts. 

“Then tell me something I know,” he said simply. “Anything will do.”

I lay quietly for a while, grunting occasionally if James’ ministrations stung too harshly. I fumbled for something more to say, something that would not upset either of us too much.

“I really did want to join,” I eventually whispered. He stilled, already halfway down my back.

“Join?”

“Your crew,” I clarified. “I know the offer was not genuine then, but if it had been…”

“Wendy,” he hesitated. “It would have been genuine if you had been willing to switch sides. Not that I should have coerced you to do so, that was bad form - but if you had truly changed allegiances and seen what Pan was, you would have been welcomed as a true member of the crew.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised to feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. 

“I swear it,” he said, resuming his work. 

“What about now?” I asked.

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know what to think about Peter,” I whispered, wincing as he pulled the last piece of glass from my back and cleaned the cut. “I want to stay here, with you… but I still don’t understand everything.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and I kept breathing deeply as he applied the salve and bandages carefully. 

“At this moment in time,” James eventually said. “You are neither my crew member nor my enemy. You are my guest, and you have time to make your own decision regarding Pan. For now, and for as long as you need, you are simply Wendy Darling.”

“That’s… something I have not been in a long time,” I said softly, blinking hard to keep from crying. 

“It is who you are,” he said firmly. “No one has the right to try to take that away from you. You will have my protection for as long as you desire it - just swear to me you will endeavor to keep an open mind about Pan.”

“I swear it,” I nodded. “Will you tell me more about him?”

“Not now,” he soothed. “Another time, I promise I shall tell you all. It is a dark tale of much woe, and it will be taxing for both of us. I should like to wait until I know we can both handle the conversation - do you understand?”

“...Yes,” I relented. I winced as he placed the final bandage, moving his hand up to gently comb through my hair again.

“It is finished, Wendy,” James murmured. “You did wonderfully. Can you do two more things for me before you sleep?”

“Mhm,” I sniffed. His hand rubbed my shoulder soothingly.

“I should like you to change,” he said. “And then I shall check your abdomen for tenderness.”

“But I have no clothes,” I said. “I left the portmanteau behind.”

“You have clothes here,” he said simply. I was confused.

“What?”

But James said nothing further, so I watched him walk over to the door. When it opened, I could see a pile of fabric stacked upon his desk. James sifted through the mound carefully, looking for something specific. He found what he was looking for, and pulled out -

Was that… my childhood nightgown?

No. No, upon closer inspection, it was different. It was larger, and the pattern wasn’t exactly the same. It had lantern sleeves instead of cuffs, and the neckline was a much softer cut. It was still a soft cream color, but the fabric already looked smoother than the dress I’d worn as a child. 

James walked back into the bedchamber, draping the dress on the edge of the bed. With his help, I managed to roll over and sit up with a grimace. 

“Do you require any assistance?” He asked carefully. 

“No,” I shook my head quickly, blushing. “No, not with this.”

“Very well,” James nodded. “I shall be on the other side of this wall should you need anything.”

“Okay,” I nodded, my eyes following him as he walked out of the room, shutting the door quietly. I took a deep breath, and started to peel my dress carefully off my shoulders. Since it was ripped so far down the back, it was relatively easy to shimmy it down to my hips. I braced myself on the edge of the bed and carefully stood, hunching over the bed as I pulled the fabric the rest of the way down. 

I pushed the blanket I’d been wrapped in off the bed, careful not to catch myself on any stray shards of glass hiding in the folds of the fabric. I managed to slide the nightgown over my head, pulling it down until the end of the skirt trailed along the tops of my feet. 

“I’m decent,” I called, sitting back on the bed. James entered promptly, giving me a once-over with approving eyes. I fidgeted with my right sleeve. “Where did you get this?”

“Smee wanted to make sure should anything happen, you would be decently equipped on board.”

“Smee made this?” I asked, surprised. “It’s lovely. It reminds me…”

“Aye,” James nodded. “He attempted to recreate your old frock, the one you wore during your last visit.”

“He succeeded, I think,” I mused. “In fact, it’s an improvement.”

“He shall be thrilled,” James snorted, stepping over to the bed. He sat next to me, and glanced down at my stomach. He looked back up and raised his brows in question. “May I?”

I nodded hesitantly, tracking his hand as it reached out to gently press against my abdomen. I winced, but said nothing as he prodded the front and sides of my torso, taking note of what was tender and what wasn’t.

“Bruised, likely,” he declared, pulling away. “But not broken.”

“Good,” I whispered. He ran his hand through my hair again, and I could feel the exhaustion creeping back in. I yawned, closing my eyes as he massaged my scalp gently. 

“You did perfectly, Wendy,” he murmured. “You may sleep now.”

He helped me lay on my side, brushing my hair away from my face so it fanned out across the pillow instead. He unfolded the comforter from the foot of the bed, draping it over me carefully. I hummed contentedly, already feeling myself drift away.

“Sleep,” James whispered, running a hand along my cheek once more.

“Aye, aye,” I breathed, and obeyed.

Chapter Text

I was too exhausted to dream. 

Perhaps that was a good thing - my dreams were often odd at the very least on a good day; who knows what my brain would have conjured during my first few hours of freedom. I sat in the void comfortably, enjoying the complete absence of any stimulation. I couldn’t even hear my heartbeat in my ears - I was merely carried away on a gentle current, as though I were floating through the night sky. 

As I floated, I eventually became aware of something draped over my body. Something plush and soft, keeping me wrapped securely in a bundle of warmth. Soft noises started to echo around in the darkness - low creaks of wood, a distant wind whistling past. I felt myself settle, sinking back into consciousness, slowly feeling my body regain its usual weight. The return of gravity was not stifling - it was soothing. I experimentally twitched my fingers and toes, taking stock of how it felt to be back in reality.

My first true observation was that my nose was cold.

In fact, as I slipped further and further into awareness, I realized my face and upper neck were the only parts of me that were chilly. Everything else was still warm, and I felt silk under my calves as I slowly slid my legs back and forth. 

My bedsheets aren’t silk, I thought, my brow pinching slightly.

I peeled my eyes open, squinting against the light of a candle flickering nearby. My sight was bleary, so I blinked hard a few times to try and focus. The creaking was louder now, and though the wind was still muffled, the shrill blasts sounded much clearer. Once I managed to keep my eyes open for longer than a moment, I was able to look around.

I was in a small room - lying on an ornate four poster bed, with red and gold sheets and intricately carved wooden posts. A few feet away, a small desk sat in the nearest corner, with a long thin candle burning steadily. There was a small antique dresser with some things scattered across the top of it, baubles and papers. A bathtub sat in the far corner, empty. Across the room was a tall mirror with a gold border, and I could see the very top of my head peeking out from underneath the thick comforter. 

Other than that, there wasn’t really much else to the chamber. A small set of windows lined the other wall, frosted over so badly that it was difficult to see anything. Even if they hadn’t been frosted, the sky still looked dark from what I could tell, so there was little visibility anyway. 

I shifted, rolling towards my left side, and paused as something crinkled under my weight. There was a small piece of paper next to me, with a short message inscribed in neat cursive.

Wendy,

In the event that you should wake and I am absent, do not fear. I shall never be farther than the deck. Should you need anything, I shall return periodically to check on you. Rest soundly.

- James

I reread the letter for a while, wondering how long I had been asleep. Either not very long or longer than a day, judging by the dark skies outside the windows. My fingers reached up to slowly trace the way he’d signed his name at the bottom - the J large and looping, the top of it sharp and curved like his hook.

My stomach growled, startling me out of my reverie. I carefully folded the letter and tucked it under the pillow, tossing back the comforter. The nightgown did little to lessen the bite of the draft from the endless winter outside, but it was not as bad as I’d imagined. I glanced in the mirror, only letting myself see a flash of the bandages that were scattered along my forearms, legs and feet. I averted my eyes before I could see the traces of bruising along my face and throat - maybe I could convince James to get a cover for this mirror, too.

I rose slowly, wincing as the floor chilled my feet even through the layers of bandages. The pain was manageable, so I padded my way over to the only door in the room. I took a moment to stand in front of it, staring at the wood and coming to terms with the fact that this was really happening. I was aboard the Jolly Roger for the third time in my life, and I was here to stay for quite some time. On the other side of this door waited a handful of pirates, characters I’d demonized with words as a child. Characters I’d fought in battle, our blades crossing under these very sails. 

And now I was to be a part of their side.

Letting out a low exhale, I placed my hand on the handle and pulled.

I stepped into James’ quarters, sighing in relief when I saw that I was alone. I took my time, turning around myself slowly to observe everything. It was just as I remembered it, red and gold embellishments on the most lavish cabin I’d ever laid eyes on. There was still a harpsichord in the corner, and a memory flashed through my mind of James playing me a tune when I’d first visited him.

Under much different circumstances.

Turning, I caught sight of the larger work desk, still laden with a sizable pile of clothing that Smee had apparently created for me in the case of an emergency. I stepped over and started peeling back layers of fabric, glancing through the wardrobe options with surprise.

There seemed to be two of everything - a thinner pair of trousers for warmer afternoons aboard the ship, with a thicker pair for winter days such as this. There was a loose white poet’s shirt of my own, and a more structured top with a corset attachment. There were two skirts - one breezy and light, the other warm and insulated. The nightgown I wore appeared to be the only full dress he’d fashioned, but he’d thought to provide a couple of traditional shifts to wear under my clothing if need be. Two pairs of thick socks rested on top of a pair of boots made from some kind of leathered animal skin. A deep blue jacket, similar in style to the red brocade James usually wore, was draped across the back of the desk chair. 

Speechless, I simply stared at the selection for a moment. I had an idea of how long this had to have taken Smee, especially considering his other duties as bo’sun. I would have to pull him aside and thank him.

Eventually, I reached out and grabbed a handful of garments. I went back to the bedchamber and changed quickly, firmly facing away from the mirror, as usual. I donned a shift first and followed it with the poet’s shirt and thicker skirt. I pulled the socks carefully over my feet and calves, slipping my feet into the boots - they were slightly too big for me, but they didn’t slip off, so it was of no consequence. I shrugged the coat over my shoulders, marveling at the plushness of the fabric and realizing a small pair of gloves was tucked into the front right pocket. They were made of the same material as the boots, fitting snugly around my sore palms and fingers. 

As an afterthought, I combed my gloved fingers through my hair to make sure it wasn’t too tangled. Somehow, between James’ careful treatment during the glass removal and the fact that his sheets were all silk, my hair was actually in decent condition. I folded the nightgown I’d worn and turned, reopening the door to the main cabin.

“Oh,” I jumped. 

At some point while I had been changing, James had reentered his cabin. He stood next to the desk, thick flakes of snow caught in his hat and on his shoulders. He paused in the middle of removing his coat to look up at me quickly.

“Hello,” I whispered timidly.

“You are awake,” he observed, slowly peeling his coat fully away from his shoulders and removing his hat. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I said, unsure of what else there really was to say. “How long was I asleep?”

“Naught but two hours,” he said, starting to walk over to me. “You should have rested for longer.”

“I feel very awake,” I insisted. 

He merely hummed in response, stopping an arm’s distance away to size me up. “Your new attire suits you. Does everything fit you well?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It’s all lovely.”

“Those boots could be taken in a bit, perhaps,” he mused, glancing down at my feet. “But the rest will do for now. It is very late, Wendy - we have strayed into the wee hours of the morning. Where were you planning on going?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Out on deck? I was coming to look for you, I suppose.”

“Well, I am here,” he said, spreading his arms out in invitation. “How can I be of assistance?”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I fumbled for something to say.

“What am I meant to do while I’m here?” I blurted. He cocked a questioning brow, and I flushed. “That is… I fear I will be dreadfully useless and a burden to your crew if I do not have any duties.”

“Your duty is to rest,” James said sternly. “I told you, you are not required to report to me as a member of my crew. You have been here naught but a few hours, surely you are not already feeling bored?”

“No!” I said adamantly. “No, I am not bored. I just -”

Something scuffed quietly against the door.

Both of us paused, turning to stare at the entrance to the cabin. Now that I was listening intently, I could make out hushed, agitated whispers just on the other side of the wood. A shadow quickly dashed across the gap just above the floorboards. 

“Idiots,” James muttered, quickly striding over to the door and throwing it open. 

It seemed that the entire crew had been crowding around the door, clambering on top of each other to try and listen to what was being said. Having been found out, they all scrambled to separate, flushing and ducking their heads in embarrassment. 

“And what is the meaning of this?” James hissed dangerously. They glanced nervously at each other.

“Well, Cap’n,” Starkey began hesitantly. “We was just wondering if Miss Wendy -“

“You will address her correctly,” James interrupted, his voice cold. 

Starkey swallowed. “- if Miss Darling was awake yet - she was in rather rough shape, is all, and -”

“I’d noticed,” James gritted. “I apparently failed to notice which part of the situation was your business, Mister Starkey.”

“Begging your pardon, Cap’n.” Starkey bowed his head, taking a nervous step backwards and bumping into a man with reversed hands - Noodler. 

“I ought to toss the lot of you over into the ice for such blatant insubordination,” James said. The crew flinched slightly, skittish under the ire of their captain. It has been quite some time since I’d seen the fearsome Captain Hook in front of me - stiff back, cruel eyes. 

I did not enjoy the sight.

I crept forward carefully, walking over until I was standing directly behind James.

“If any of you dare to eavesdrop on your captain again,” he growled to the cowering group, “there shall be hell to pay.”

I bit my lip, not wanting to risk speaking and undermining his authority in front of his crew. Instead, I placed a tentative hand against his left shoulder blade. He stilled, turning his head slightly to the left to observe me out of the corner of his eye. I squeezed his shoulder lightly, rubbing my thumb back and forth until he took a silent breath and relented. 

He turned back to the crew, and I could tell just by their expressions that his face was as fierce as it had been before.

“You are all in luck - Miss Darling is far more forgiving than I. You are all to act with honor - do not dare to disgrace me again. Is that understood?” He barked, his body jerking under my hand with the force of his threat. I repressed the urge to jump.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” the crew chorused.

After another moment, James slowly stepped to the right and turned his head towards me, prompting me to peek around his left arm.

The crew perked up hesitantly, all eyes locking on me as I raised a hand in a self-conscious wave.

“Hello,” I smiled faintly.

The crew responded with cautious murmurs of Good evening, Miss Darling. 

“Are you better, Miss Darling?” An uncertain voice piped up from near the back of the group. I glanced around to see who had asked, and I eventually saw Cookson poking his head out from behind a curious-eyed Italian man - Cecco, I recalled dimly.

“Yes, Cookson,” I nodded softly. His eyes brightened at the sound of his name. “Your Captain saw to my wounds wonderfully.”

“If ye feel better later on, Miss Darling,” another voice mumbled. I searched the group until I saw Bill Jukes averting his eyes, staring down at the ground and fiddling with tattooed fingers. “Would ye be able to tell us a story? Like the last time you was here?”

I faltered, and my small smile melted away. More crew members had perked up at the question, expectant eyes watching me hopefully. I could feel one more pair of shrewd eyes fixed on me, studying my reaction.

A story. I hadn’t - not since -

“I -” I stammered, taking a tiny step backwards. “I don’t -”

“That is enough,” James said abruptly, swooping back in to plant himself firmly in front of me. “There will be no more badgering questions. You will allow Miss Darling to rest, and you will return to your duties. Immediately.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” the crew said in unison. 

I listened to the sounds of them dispersing, assumedly returning to whatever stagnant position they’d been in when I’d arrived. I couldn’t see much for them to do around the ship while we were frozen in place like this, and I regretted sending them away without any sort of reprieve from the boredom. It had been an innocent enough question, and I’d certainly built quite the reputation of a storyteller when I’d visited as a child - I couldn’t exactly blame them for asking. 

But memories flashed past my eyes, of the last time I’d almost left that house -

James shut the door quietly, letting out an irritated sigh. I focused on the sound, shoving the memories back to the corner of my mind. 

“They are rather sweet, at least,” I mumbled.

“Aye. There is none their equal in the entire world,” James said sarcastically. “Blithering idiots. I apologize, Wendy.”

“No, really,” I insisted. “It’s fine. They meant no harm.”

“You truly should rest more,” he said, turning to look at me carefully. “It is obvious you are exhausted.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I said quickly. He paused. I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I was fortunate enough to rest a while without dreams. I do not know if I will be so lucky a second time.”

“…I see,” James said carefully. “Perhaps sitting down would suffice?”

I glanced over to the red seashell chaise, and realized that he was right. My body ached, and I could feel myself already starting to crash from the small adrenaline rush of meeting the crew. I walked over slowly, wincing as I bent carefully and sat myself down on the plush seat. James did not sit next to me, but instead walked over and leaned back against the desk casually. 

“Is it strange?” He asked quietly. “Returning to this place?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Very strange. The last time I was here… it was so different. Everything is different now.”

“Indeed.”

“Do you remember that first night I was here?” I asked, glancing over to the harpsichord in the corner, vividly remembering him sitting on the bench with a cunning smirk on his lips. “I still remember the song you sang.”

“That was a ridiculous little ditty,” he snorted. “I wish you had forgotten it.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” I laughed lightly. “Even when my memories would fade, there would be these odd little notes I would hum for no reason at all.”

He huffed out a laugh, walking over to the harpsichord and dropping his fingers to trail lightly along the keys. 

“To tooral looral lo,” he smirked softly, coaxing a soft trill of notes out of the instrument. “Twas a foolish attempt to ease your nerves. To seem… nonthreatening.”

“I’m not sure it worked as well as you’d hoped,” I winced.

“Aye, I am sure it didn’t,” he grimaced, easing himself down to sit on the bench. His fingers pressed more firmly now, playing a series of low chords. His hook lifted and disappeared behind the right cheek of the harpsichord, and plucked out a quiet melody on the higher keys. His foot worked the pedals, smoothing out the notes so it was almost unnoticeable that he could only play one treble note at a time. I listened for a moment, propping my left arm up on the pillow that was tucked into the hollow of the golden seashell. I leaned my chin onto my fist, tilting my head and trying to place the tune he was playing. The composition style was familiar. 

“Handel?” I guessed. He nodded once, darting his eyes up to me and back down to the keyboard.

“Good,” he praised, impressed. “Key?”

I listened again, closing my eyes and trying to sort the flowing notes into a staff in my mind’s eye.

“...D minor.”

“Mhm.” He affirmed, and I repositioned myself to be more comfortable on the chaise, tucking my feet up onto the cushion as well. He continued playing softly. “It is a Suite. Do you know the movement?”

“Ohh…” I sighed, releasing my arm and letting the side of my face rest instead on the pillow, tucking my hand underneath. I listened to the soft glide of the melody. “The… the first one. The Alle… Allem…”

“The Allemande,” he supplied, amused. “Aye, very good.”

“Before you ask,” I yawned. “I have no idea what number it is.”

He chuckled softly, a warm sound that complimented the harpsichord’s tone. “It is number fifteen.”

“Oh,” I murmured, too far gone to feel silly. If I had been more alert, I likely would have been able to place it. It sounded familiar - I was sure my mother must have played it in the parlor before. Perhaps I’d learned it as a girl - and perhaps my fingers would pick it up once more. But for now, the notes blended together into a cloud of deep blues and magentas, enveloping me as I snuggled closer to the pillow. Hadn’t I just told him I wasn’t tired? It was too late to change my course now. 

Whatever dreams the Neverland had in store for me, I would have to face them head-on tonight.

My dream was hazy at first. I was sitting in a waist-deep red pool, a shallower version of the same red pool I’d dreamed about months ago back in London. On the shore, blurry figures winked in and out of view - like ghosts wandering the edge of my oasis. Men and women, children and adults, animals.

One animal in particular caught my eye - a bear-like creature, its eyes a warm brown despite the cool transparency of its hulking body. Its paws were huge upon the ground, its tail long and full as it trailed behind its hind legs. It was gazing at me where I rested in the water, such kindness in its eyes that I almost reached out for it. 

But then the creature nodded to my left, and I obediently shifted my gaze.

I was immediately drawn to one of the humanoid ghosts - a man with a hook in place of his right hand. He reminded me of someone, but with my mind trapped within the logic of dreams, I could not place him. As I studied the spectre, his form became more solid; he was still a phantom, translucent to the eye, but he grew brighter and stayed present. A long coat and a feathered hat materialized onto him. 

He turned to look at me. Red pin pricks, like the water, pointed directly at me. It should have been frightening, but it wasn’t - all I wanted to do was get up and follow him. He turned around, taking a step away from the pool, and I stood slowly.

He did not turn to see if I was following, but continued to walk into the darkness. I swallowed, lifting my right foot out of the water and placing it on the shore. Drops of water clung to my skin, the scarlet contrasting sharply with the green of the grass. The water did not run off my skin, but instead stayed in place, like jewels glued to my legs and feet. I looked up to see the man already many paces ahead of me, and I jogged past the other illusory beings to catch up.

As I walked, I kept my eyes trained on him. I was too afraid to let my focus drift to another ghost, because somehow I knew that if I did, I would lose this one. As we walked, the man began to change. The hat faded away, revealing curly locks slicked back into a low ponytail. The coat soon followed, leaving him in a simple ensemble of trousers and a poet’s shirt. My eye was drawn down to the hook, and it glinted once before vanishing. After a moment, a right hand materialized, a gleaming sword held tightly in his grasp. 

That is when the most peculiar shift happened.

His hair started to shrink - no, not just his hair. He was getting shorter, his figure becoming more juvenile until he was slightly shorter than I was. His shoulders hunched, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his blade. 

The hand started to shrink - no, he was shrinking again - and the metal sword dulled to one made of wood. His poet’s shirt and trousers changed to a long sleep shirt, the lower hem reaching down to his ankles, as the now-young boy toddled in front of me.

He stopped abruptly, and I barely managed not to trample him. We stood still for a moment, having wandered deep into the darkness far away from the other ghosts. It was cold here - I shivered, wishing we could turn around and go back to the pool. The spots of water on my skin, the little liquid rubies that still clung to my limbs, were the only source of warmth here.

But the boy did not seem to have any desire to go back. I stared down at him, this little boy that could not be any older than six or seven. He had a mop of unruly curls, and though there was no wind in the frigid abyss, his hair were suddenly tousled and blown forward by an invisible breeze from behind. 

I saw something swoop past out of the corner of my eye - a ghost had followed us into the darkness, and a whisper of unease stirred in my chest. The little boy turned around, staring up at me. The red pin pricks were gone, replaced by bright blue orbs that were blank with wonder. He reached a tiny hand out to me and I instinctively reached down to grasp his fingers in mine, not sure why I was so keen to whisk him away from this place. Before our fingers could meet, a new blurry hand passed through my chest and grabbed the little boy tightly by the wrist. 

I gasped, feeling the unease bloom into fear as I realized the boy was not staring at me, but through me. He smiled dazedly, letting himself be pulled up into the air, and phased through my body as well. I groaned, collapsing to my knees as I turned to see the boy being led through the air by something with no form, something inhuman. A roiling cloud of ghostly smoke, an entity that seemed to be keeping the little boy absolutely enthralled. I felt the urge to call out to the child but I couldn’t make a sound - 

I didn’t know how I knew it, but the spirit turned to me. 

This time, I could feel the difference - it was not looking through me as the boy had. It was looking at me. The little boy floated away, and the smoke moved towards me, growing darker and more opaque like a thunder cloud. Flashes of green lightning crackled through it, and a tendril reached out towards me. The red droplets still sitting on my skin started to expand, covering more and more of my skin like an expanding suit of liquid armor. I felt the warmth envelop me little by little, a layer of protection from the cold air around me. My right hand lifted against my will, feeling something inside stir at the familiarity of the spectre. I tried not to, but I reached towards the cloud -

Until I was yanked downwards, plunging into the red pool. It was deep once more, and I looked up to see the smoke darting around angrily above the water, skimming the surface, unable to break through the barrier. I felt a presence beneath me - and I looked down to see the little boy from before, swimming up determinedly. He started to revert to his original form as I watched him, growing older and older with each passing moment. His hand vanished, and the hook returned, and he was back in his coat and hat. A man once more, his eyes turned red as he darted past me, rearing back his hook and slicing at the surface of the water with a muffled zing. 

His momentum carried him up into the air even as he left the safety of the pool, and the cloud slithered up after him quickly. As they flew higher, almost out of my view, the cloud morphed into a long shape with a tapered end. It kept molding itself until it was almost reptilian, with a giant maw that snapped open, catching the man between its teeth -

I gasped, popping open my eyes. 

I promptly groaned, my vision being assaulted by a light that was far too bright after the darkness of my dream. It pierced my eyes even through my lids, and I turned to bury my face firmly in the pillow. A soft weight was draped over me, and I wrapped clumsy fingers around woven fabric and pulled it over my head.

“Good morning,” a voice said dryly. 

“Hngh…”

“Or good afternoon, rather.”

“Hnnmmmm?”

“Quite articulate today, I see.”

My brow furrowed, and I risked opening one eye. Under the blanket, the rays of the (apparently) afternoon sun were softer, allowing me to blink away the lingering touch of sleep. 

“Wendy?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you going to come out?”

“Mhm.”

“I look forward to it.”

I shook my head, trying to remember what I had just been dreaming about. There had been a boy, a sweet little thing that I had wanted to pick up and vanish with. But it was all slipping away so fast; my brain grasped at the dream, but it slithered through the cracks like smoke. It blew away until all I could remember was the color red, and the feeling of my heart being punctured by a cold wind.

I shivered.

My ears pricked up at the sound of fabric rustling. I tugged the blanket off of my head, the fabric tousling my hair enough for a few stray locks to drape over my face. I huffed, blowing harshly to try and move them away. When I eventually could see again, I took a bleary look around. 

The cabin was brighter than I’d ever seen it. The light was not exactly warm - it was a piercing blue-white light, its hue cooled by the grey clouds and blinding snow that still plagued the island. The red and gold of the room might have been reduced to shades of purple and bronze, if not for the candle flames flickering around the room.

James was shrugging on his coat again, and something about the sight made me reach again for the dream, but it was a futile effort. I tried to forget about it instead.

“How are you feeling?” James asked, glancing at me with thinly veiled concern.

“Fine - where are you going?” I asked, my voice rough with sleep.

“I am still the Captain of this ship, Wendy.” He turned to look at me fully, smirking at the tangled mop of hair on my head. “You will find that I tend to travel frequently between the deck and my quarters. I must leave you now. I shall return in the evening for dinner.”

“Do I -” I paused, clearing my throat. “Do I have to stay in the cabin?”

James paused, considering my question.

“No,” he said slowly. “I suppose you do not. You are free to explore the ship if you wish it - provided you stay with Smee and you do not pull the crew away from their duties.”

“Stay with Smee, don’t distract. I can do that.”

“Very well then,” he bowed his head, before striding over to the door and pulling it open. I winced at the blast of cold air that swept through the room, threatening to extinguish the candles. But the flames held strong, whipping around their wicks without fizzling out. “I shall keep an eye out for you on deck.”

And then he was gone. 

I stayed for a moment, listening for any sign of activity on the other side of the door. I could hear muffled voices; nothing frenzied, but it seemed that the crew was more active during the day. I glanced down, staring in confusion at the blanket I was wrapped in. I swore I had not been covered when I’d drifted off.

I sat up, noticing that my shoes had been removed and placed to the side of the chaise. I was still wearing the rest of my ensemble, including my coat - but my hands had been stripped of their gloves, which were resting on the top of the boots. 

After stretching my limbs thoroughly and making sure I was awake enough to venture outside, I stood and donned the boots and gloves. I followed in James’ footsteps, walking over to the door and opening it slowly.

I was expecting the cold this time. It was easier to stand, and I was thankful that it was at least not actively snowing. I gazed around the ship, watching crew members move around the deck efficiently. Some were checking supplies, some were running integrity checks on equipment like the cannons. There was a crew member on the port side and another on the starboard, keeping watch on the ice below - presumably for mermaids looking to stir up trouble.

“Pleased to see you again, Miss Darling!” A kind voice said suddenly. I looked to see that Smee had been waiting outside the door - something told me that James had gone to Smee immediately, instructing him to watch me carefully. 

“Hello, Mister Smee,” I greeted him with a smile of my own. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your duties.”

“Oh, no, Miss Darling. This is my duty this afternoon,” he assured me. “Where would you like to start, then?”

Smee took me around the whole ship. I walked with him past the abandoned helm, stepping carefully down the stairs and trying not to slip on the ice. We passed by some familiar faces - Alf Mason, Albino, Cookson, Skylights, Whibbles. I looked around and saw that almost everyone was still here. The large dark pirate I’d never been introduced to, a pirate only able to move the left side of his lips, a shrewd-eyed Alsatian man - everyone paused in the middle of their tasks to nod in greeting. Their eyes followed me, and I resisted the urge to scramble back upstairs into the cabin. I told myself that it was a novelty for them to have a woman on board, especially one they’d encountered before as a girl. It made me feel more at ease and less squeamish under the attention. 

We went below deck, and I kept quiet, letting Smee explain everything as we went. We passed through the crew’s quarters, and I discovered that what James had said was true; the area was closed off enough to hold a bit of warmth, but it was still rather drafty. Thankfully, each crew member seemed to have blankets thick enough to stave off any large breezes. Still, I tucked the information away for later, wondering if there was a way to ease the crew’s discomfort even more.

I was startled out of my reverie when I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh, I’m sorry -” I started, but quickly faltered.

His face was unfamiliar, and his eyes were cold. He was young, maybe a few years younger than I was, and yet his hulking form towered over me. His mouth, partially hidden by a thick brown beard, was set in a firm scowl. He crossed tanned arms over his chest, looking me up and down derisively.

“Ye should be,” he muttered, a thick Scottish accent rolling off his tongue. I bristled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I smiled tightly, trying to save the situation. I extended a hand for him to shake. “My name is Wendy.”

He stared down at my hand, raising a brow. His eyes flicked back up to mine, and he sneered.

“Oh I ken all about ye, Miss Darling.” He turned to continue with his task, checking through a set of barrels and noting the stock levels of whatever was stored inside. “Dinnae bother yerself. I willnae shake hands wi’ a Pan-lover.”

I stilled, slowly lowering my hand back to my side before it could start trembling visibly. I fumbled for something to say, not sure if I should be apologetic or vengeful, but a calloused hand settled protectively on my shoulder at the same moment.

“Best be getting you back, Miss Darling,” Smee said quietly from behind me, and I could hear a note of warning in his voice directed at the rude crew member. “Come, now.”

I said nothing, but let Smee lead me back through the crew’s quarters and up onto the deck. As we climbed the stairs, I looked back to see that the young pirate had been joined by another unfamiliar man, of similar age and stature. He had a thick beard as well, though his was made of coarse red hair instead of brown. They muttered in hushed tones, and two pairs of suspicious brown eyes tracked me as I disappeared from their view.

I didn’t pay attention to the crew members I knew this time. Cecco called something to me, his lilting Italian accent washing over my ears without sticking in my brain, and there was a general laugh from the working pirates. Smee said something back jovially, causing more chuckles to ripple through the ship. Absently, I registered that there was no malicious intent in their words or laughter, but my encounter below deck had shaken me to the point where I just wanted to go back to the comfort of the chaise lounge.

As we approached the stairs that led up to the cabin, I glanced up to see James standing at the helm, staring down at me intently. He had adopted his infamously formidable air of indifference, but I could see his eyes narrow as he scanned my face. I tried to smile up at him in reassurance, but it was shaky at best, and I only succeeded in drawing his brow down into a frown.

Smee and I climbed the stairs, and I averted my eyes as we passed by James. I was thankful that he did not try to speak to me as I entered the room, followed closely by Smee. He shut the door and shivered once, the more-insulated cabin a welcome shock to both of our systems.

“Right, then,” he said happily. “I hope you enjoyed the tour - there’s plenty more to learn, if you’ve the stomach for it.”

“I’d like that,” I nodded with a small smile. “Thank you, Mister Smee.”

“You can just call me Smee, Miss Darling,” he bustled around, walking quickly over to the stack of clothes that was still piled on the main desk.

“Only if you call me Wendy,” I said. I shrugged off my thick jacket, laying it over the back of one of the dining chairs. I moved to the chaise lounge, sinking onto the cushion with a sigh of relief.

“Very well, Miss Wendy.”

I shook my head in exasperation, choosing not to push the issue. I watched as he pulled something off the very top of the pile and held it up -

“Is that my shawl?” I asked suddenly.

“Aye,” he said, bringing it over to me and wrapping it neatly around my shoulders. “I made sure it was clean for you, Miss Wendy. It will take a bit longer to mend the dress you arrived in, but -”

“Don’t bother,” I said quietly. “Don’t even bother with that dress, Smee.”

“But it’s so lovely, Miss Wendy. I hate to see it go to waste -”

“Feel free to toss it to the mermaids,” I said bitterly. “Perhaps they can make use of it.”

There was a heavy silence, and I took a moment to sigh softly.

“I’m sorry, Smee,” I said. “I don’t mean to be so callous. That dress just… it holds memories I would rather leave behind if it’s all the same.”

“Aye,” Smee said softly. He sat down gingerly next to me on the chaise. “Don’t give it another thought, my dear. Consider it gone.”

“Thank you.”

We sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the cabin after the wind had bit our noses red outside. After a bit, I noticed that Smee was fidgeting awkwardly out of the corner of my eye.

“What is it, Smee?” I asked softly.

“Well, Miss Wendy, the Cap’n requested that I help you with your dressings - if that’s alright with you, that is.”

I blinked, and almost told him no. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to lay their hands on my bare skin again if I could help it - but then I thought about how much worse it would be if one of my wounds were to seep and get infected. I winced.

“Alright,” I said with uncertainty, removing the shawl and setting it to the side. “Where should we start?”

“I think hands and feet are as good a place as any,” he said, suddenly all business. I took a steadying breath and nodded, grateful that he was starting with the least offensive parts of the body first. He took my hands, carefully peeling back the bandages to look at my skin.

I saw the moment when the gravity of my situation hit him. He kept the small smile glued to his face, but I saw his chest puff out with a barely-noticeable sharp inhale. He gave a tiny shake of his head, setting to work.

“I will not pry into your private affairs, Miss Wendy,” he said quietly. “But I will say I am glad you came here when you did.”

I said nothing, letting him continue with his work. My hands were satisfactory, and my feet were as well. We moved to my arms and legs, changing a dressing here and there when he noticed a welt seeping or that the bandage had been stained with too much blood to leave it in place. 

After a while, sensing my discomfort, Smee began to talk about anything and everything to keep my mind off the task at hand. He told me what to expect when the island thawed - how the ship would shake as it settled back into the lagoon, how the sun would turn his face on us and melt the frost, sending water raining down onto the deck from the masts and sails. He talked about the different duties people had aboard the ship, walking me through some of his tasks as the bo’sun. We ran through the names of the crew members; some I remembered, some I hadn’t bothered to learn during my first visit.

Starkey, Cookson, Albino, Bill Jukes, Noodler, Alf Mason, Cecco, Skylights, Whibbles. Ali, the huge dark skinned man who towered over everyone. Chay Turley, who had been slashed across the right side of his lips, rendering half of his mouth inoperable. Foggerty, the Alsatian. 

Running through crew member names made me pause, asking a burning question I’d had from before.

“Who were the two men below deck? I’d never seen them before.”

“Ah,” Smee said knowingly. “Kennan and Marcas. Don’t you worry yourself about them, my dear - they joined the crew after your first visit here, they just need a chance to get to know ye. They are… a bit quick to suspect any outsiders.”

“The one I spoke to,” I clarified. “That was…?”

“That would be Kennan. His brother, Marcas - he’s a bit quieter about it, but he still will have his doubts. Best to have me or the Cap’n with you if you’re alone with them, just in case.”

“Right,” I said quietly. “What do you mean, they joined after my first visit? Where did they come from?”

“The Cap’n has always had a habit for picking up strays, you see,” Smee said with a sly smirk. “He’s been that way for a long time, ever since I met him all those years ago.”

“You two must have been in the Neverland for quite a while,” I guessed. He nodded.

“Aye, we have,” he said, removing a bandage from my calf and cleaning the wound carefully. “But he was the same even before we settled here.”

“You knew James in the Mainland?” I asked, surprised.

“I’ve known the Cap’n since he was nothin’ but a little fiery lad from Essex,” Smee chuckled softly. “Aye, I knew him back home. And I knew him here on the island.”

“I don’t understand.”

But Smee did not elaborate further. He merely glanced up and winked a twinkling eye at me conspiratorially, before continuing with his work. I stared at him hard, willing for him to say anything more. When he stayed silent, I sighed in frustration.

“I have been trying to get James to tell me something - anything - about what’s happening here,” I said quietly. “It seems like I’ll never know anything of substance.”

Smee sobered, his smile dimming as he moved to check my abdomen for tenderness.

“There are reasons you do not know everything yet, Miss Darling,” he said softly. “My only advice is to be patient - the answers will come when the time is right.”

“Something here is scaring you. All of you,” I insisted, reaching down and grasping his large hands with my own. He flicked his eyes up to meet mine, the twinkle gone from his iris. “And that scares me.”

“It should,” he said simply. I blinked, and suddenly he switched to grasp my hands with his instead. His grip was firm but not unkind, and there was an urgency hidden in his voice. “It’s good to be afraid, Miss Darling. Fear keeps you alive.”

“Even blind fear?” I murmured.

“Aye, it will have to do for now,” he nodded. “Just stick with the Cap’n and he’ll see that you’re safe.”

“I think I would be safer if he would just tell me what it is I’m meant to be afraid of in the first place,” I grumbled. Smee smiled softly, and the twinkle appeared back in his eye. 

“Trust me, my dear, you’re never safer than you are when the Cap’n is near.” He patted my hands twice, moving to check the bruising around my face and throat. His eyes narrowed at the damage, his fingers hesitant around the strangulation marks. “I’ve never seen him quite that way with anyone, even his own crew. Hellbent on making sure you was safe, he was.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, curious how much of my situation had been divulged to the bo’sun. 

“Well, he would not mention many details, ye see.” He pulled my hair back and turned my shoulders to the left, encouraging me to turn around so he could check the back of my neck. “But he was insistent that precautions be made in case he had to get you out. Had to coax him out of a few nasty rages on some occasions, I did - whatever you went through there, Miss Wendy, it was weighing mighty heavy on his soul.”

“Oh,” was all I could muster. We fell into a deep silence again, and Smee eventually was finished with everything except my back. 

I pulled my shirt over my head while he turned away respectfully. I carefully slipped my arms out of the sleeves of my shift, letting it pool around my hips and clutching the blouse to my chest to preserve my modesty. 

When he turned around, the silence became much colder. I kept still, waiting for his hands to start their inspection, but nothing happened. I closed my eyes. 

“Please can we just finish, Smee?” I murmured. Slowly, very slowly, he complied. He checked each wound thoroughly, replacing more dressings than he’d done anywhere else on my body. He did not speak, and I wondered if his hands were unsteady from the cold or something else. 

“Thank you for the clothes,” I finally said, grappling for a distraction. “They are lovely, I can’t believe you did all that work.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Wendy,” he said. “I was happy to do so, I was. Besides, the Cap’n was a fine helper, bringing me materials and ideas and the like.”

I twisted, trying to look at him in surprise. “James helped with the clothes?”

“Aye, he had plenty of advice about fabrics and styles he thought would suit ye.”

I didn’t respond, content with sitting quietly with my new discovery. Every new fact I learned, no matter what it was, was gathered into a small space in my mind for me to guard fondly. Any sliver of information was a kindness, and this conversation would likely have to be enough to satisfy my curiosity for some time. 

“Are you alright, Miss Wendy?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m sorry - just thinking.”

He hummed in response, finishing up my lower back. It was difficult for me to feel his touch around that specific area without flinching, and he paused when I winced in pain. 

“Has the Cap’n ever told you about our very own Mister Starkey and his inability to stay clothed during a fight?” He said. Despite the pain, I barked out a laugh. 

“Yes,” I giggled. “I have heard that story, once - on the balcony.”

“Ye have, have ye?” He chuckled. “Well, how about poor Noodler trying to relearn how to shoot with backwards hands?”

“No,” I grinned. “But I’d love to hear it.”

“Oh ho, well let me tell you…”

-------------------

Smee turned out to be quite the storyteller of his own. He distracted me with funny tales about the crew’s antics, keeping me smiling as he finished his work. He continued even after we were done, until I had laughed myself breathless. 

“So this - what was his name? Pete?” I giggled. Smee nodded through his own laughter. “This Pete fellow - he just falls overboard during a nap and instead of helping him, everyone just leans over to have a casual conversation with the man?”

“Oh aye,” Smee chortled. “Our first crew was nothing if not a sarcastic lot, so long as there was no immediate danger.”

“Your first crew - in the Mainland?” I asked, catching the slip. 

“Aye.”

“I’d love to hear more about them. What were their -” 

The door swung open, and I paused. James had returned, his mustache frosted over with flakes of ice from the winter air. He looked back and forth between the two of us, lounging happily on the chaise together, our cheeks red with mirth instead of cold. 

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” He asked, raising his brow. We flushed, straightening up and trying to seem a bit more professional. 

“Mister Smee has been telling me the most amusing stories,” I said. 

James glanced at Smee, a clear warning in his eyes. “Has he now? And did Mister Smee happen to notice what hour it was?”

Smee and I turned to glance out the window, and I was surprised to see that it had grown rather dark already. Smee clambered to his feet, scurrying out the door past James, apologizing profusely. The door shut quickly behind him, and James and I were left alone. 

“I didn’t mean to keep him from his tasks,” I said sheepishly. “He was trying to cheer me up, and we both just… lost track of time.”

“I noticed,” he said simply. He shrugged off his coat, knocking his boots against the wall to shake snow off his shoes. He said nothing more as he walked over to the dining table, sitting in the chair I had not marked with my own coat. 

I stared at him, but he didn’t offer any explanation for his sour mood. On instinct, I kept quiet and watched for any warning signs that his temperament was worsening. Thankfully, he seemed content to stay in stony silence, his ire neither growing nor dissipating. 

I jumped as the door swung open again, and Smee was back - with trays of food, followed by Cookson who was balancing a platter of drinks. They set everything down quickly on the table, their movements practiced and efficient. Once everything had been settled, they left hurriedly and shut the door quietly behind them.

James did not reach for the food right away.

“Come and eat something, Wendy,” he said quietly. 

I hesitated, rising and walking over to sit cautiously in the other chair. Only once I finally reached for food to fill my plate did he move, grasping a goblet from the tray while I reached for the fish. We ate and drank in silence - there had been a lot of that today. So much time had been spent being quiet, tip-toeing around what each of us wanted to ask the other. In the end, it was James who broke the silence again.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

I looked up, pausing with my fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“What happened when Smee took you below deck?”

I stilled, dropping my fork back to my plate slowly. I wasn’t sure how to tell him- I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, especially not for simply being protective of their crewmates and ship. I decided not to fully lie to him.

“I met your two newest crew members,” I said. “Kennan and Mar…”

“Marcas.”

“Yes, Kennan and Marcas,” I nodded. “Well, I suppose I only actually met Kennan - they were just a little cautious is all, they aren’t exactly familiar with me yet. Nothing happened.”

“Did they say anything inappropriate?”

“…No,” I said, not sure if it was a lie or not. “No, I just may have to prove to them that they can trust me.”

“If I brought you aboard my own ship,” James muttered, “then you are trustworthy. And they would do well to remember that my word as Captain is law.”

“I do not fault them for it, James. It will work out fine, I know it.”

He seemed to accept my explanation, and we returned to our meals, the air between us clearer than it had been before. I hid my disquiet - I did not, in fact, know how things would go with the two Scottish brothers. 

I did not know at all.

-------------------

James left again immediately after the meal, and I elected to stay inside the cabin for the night. He ensured before he left that I knew that the bed was mine to sleep in - when I tried to refuse, he shook his head and reiterated his ‘offer’ firmly.

“Believe me, Wendy - I barely sleep anyway, I shall not miss the mattress.”

“If you say so,” I muttered. He reached out to tap my shoulder encouragingly as he walked towards the door.

“I do say so,” he said over his shoulder. “I shall not be long.” 

And yet again, I found myself alone. 

Sticking with my decision to stay put this evening, I went back into the bedchamber to change into my nightgown. I re-wrapped the shawl around my shoulders and reentered the main cabin. I decided to take my time alone to explore the cabin more. I trailed a finger along the keys of the harpsichord, missing the evenings when my mother would play and my father would sing. 

There was a large yellowed globe in the room, and I gave it an experimental spin, pleased when it whipped around smoothly. I glanced around it, noting with interest that the world had certainly changed since the globe had been manufactured. Australia was still labeled as New Holland, and the Soviet city of Leningrad was still marked St. Petersburg, Russia. Perhaps it was an antique. 

No. I frowned. James had been here for far longer than I’d known before our balcony meetings. He’d said some things in London, given me a hint of his age -

I have not needed to speak the truth about the Neverland in over a century, he’d said furiously, the impending storm crackling over our heads. I shall not start again now.

Over a century. 

“I wish you would tell me more, James,” I whispered to the empty air, running a sad finger along the surface of the old globe once more, before turning away. 

There was more furniture in the room - another dresser, another small table with all sorts of knick knacks on it. A large wooden case sat near the dresser, and I wondered what was inside. Paintings and ornate gold pieces decorated the walls, and I idly wondered where he’d bought - or stolen, more likely - each one. 

My eye was drawn to one in particular - a portrait of a young woman, her hazel eyes staring kindly at me from behind a curtain of pale blonde hair. The painting had aged, of course - but it might very well have been the most well-kept piece of art in the whole cabin. I stared at her for a time, as though she could possibly answer my questions from the world of paint and canvas. But she stayed silent, her soft smile unchanging. 

I sighed. 

I looked to the left side of the cabin, and my heart lifted. I crossed the room and looked up in awe. 

This must have been where he’d picked my books from.

Five giant floor-to-ceiling bookshelves towered over me, laden with books of all different shapes and sizes - some bigger than my own head, some narrower than my pinky finger. I raised my hand, trailing my fingers along the spines of one of the shelves near my face, wondering how long it would take to get through them all -

The door creaked open and I jumped, scuttling away from the shelves guiltily. True to his word, James had returned quickly. He darted his eyes between me and the shelves, and I swallowed nervously. This was it, he’d caught me snooping in his private quarters, he wasn’t going to let me stay -

“Did you find anything to read?” He asked simply, closing the door and removing his coat. I blinked.

“Pardon?”

“Did you choose a book?” He rephrased, plopping his coat and hat down easily on the chaise. “Surely you cannot have already read every novel in my possession.”

“No, I…” I faltered, confused. “I’m sorry. They are your books, I shouldn’t have…”

He looked up then, fixing me with a firm but kind stare. 

“Wendy,” he said quietly. “You are free to peruse my library as you wish.”

“I… really?” I asked.

“Aye, it is yours as well as mine,” he nodded. “I would not have brought you those books back in London if I did not wish you to touch them. Go on. Choose something.”

I searched his face, looking for any sign that he was lying. There was nothing in his eyes to tell me that I was in danger - no cruel anticipation, no spark of mischief. Nothing but clear blue, simple and steady. I felt my heartbeat slow from a sprint to a jog, and the tension in my shoulders lessened. 

I still hesitated before taking an experimental step towards the shelves. I waited for him to admonish me, but he simply continued to watch me expectantly. Slowly, using my peripheral vision to keep an eye out for any movement from him, I approached the books - and quickly picked the closest one to my face. I held it up with a fleeting smile.

“Thank you,” I said quickly. He cocked a brow.

“That is what you wish to read?” He asked.

“Mhm,” I nodded.

He hummed, smirking, darting his eyes down to the book and back up to mine.

“Architectura Navalis Mercatoria,” he mused. “The Classic of Eighteenth-Century Naval Architecture. Fredrik Henrik af Chapman. Aye, very exciting indeed for a devout lover of fiction.”

I flushed, looking down to see that he was right - I’d chosen an educational book from the mid-to-late 1700s, the sketch of a ship on the cover hinting at the sort of content I’d see inside. I swallowed nervously, looking up and smiling tightly.

“I - I happen to be fascinated with naval architecture, thank you.” I wasn’t exactly lying - though it would not have been my first choice.

“Indeed,” James bit back a chuckle. He casually stepped forward, not commenting when I quickly hopped to the side. Instead, he walked over to the shelves himself, arms crossed over his chest as he searched for something. 

“I was always partial to Gulliver’s Travels in my youth,” he said finally. He reached out and brushed his index finger down the spine of a particular book just above his head. “I assume you have read it.”

“Actually, no,” I admitted. He glanced at me, brow raised again.

“I must say I am surprised at you, Wendy.”

“I have read bits and pieces - but not the entire work, no,” I said, blushing. I’d always felt like a bit of an imposter, being an avid lover of literature without having read the classic before.

“Well, then,” he said simply. He plucked the book from the shelves, holding it out to me. “If you are to stay on my ship, we must remedy that.”

Wordlessly, I took the offered book and tucked it on top of the first volume. Nodding once in satisfaction, James turned and walked back to the bedchamber. 

“I apologize for leaving you alone all day,” he said over his shoulder, stepping up to the smaller, personal desk and opening the top drawer. He extracted a large book - the same ledger he’d been working from during our third encounter on the balcony. “There were a great many things to attend to, and I regret having to neglect you in the process, Wendy.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. I watched him through the doorway as he sat down at the desk, opening the book to where he’d last stopped. “That’s alright. I was fine.”

“Did Smee help you check your wounds?”

“Yes, he was a great help.” My mind flashed back to my earlier conversation with the bo’sun, and I found my questions from earlier burning at my lips. I toyed with what to ask him first, but ended up playing it safe just in case. “It seems he has known you for a long time.”

James paused, straightening and turning to face me carefully.

“Aye,” he said finally. “We met when I was… quite young.”

“Hook and Smee,” I smiled softly. “I’m sure you were quite the duo even then.”

“You could say that,” James nodded, and I swore I saw the flicker of a smirk back on his lips. “Though I will not lie and say we were amiable with each other right away.”

“No?”

“No, indeed.”

I waited for more, but it appeared that was all he was going to say on the matter. He turned back to his ledger, picking up a quill from its stand on the corner of the desk. 

“I shall not be more than a moment,” he said, dipping the nub into a pot of ink and setting to work. “I simply need to finish a few tasks - I shan’t invade your space for longer than is necessary.”

“It is your space, James,” I said, but I was ignored. Feeling my earlier nervousness return, I quietly padded into the bedchamber and sat stiffly on the bed. I pulled my legs up, sitting stoically on top of the covers. James did not glance in my direction - he was extremely focused on his current task, and I got the feeling that I should not interrupt him. So, without another word, I set the naval architecture book to the side and picked up Gulliver’s Travels.

The book had obviously been well-loved - the edges of the binding were frayed and the spine was wrinkled, and some of the lettering on the front had lost its shine. He had not lied when he’d said he had read it often; it truly was a well-loved book. I opened the cover and turned to the first page, to words that were already familiar. I had read the beginning, and bits and pieces throughout the story; but I still dutifully read every word, not willing to miss anything. 

Except as time went on, the scratching of the quill against parchment started to stick out more and more in my mind. I had read a few chapters by this point, but it was becoming harder to process the words in front of my eyes as my thoughts strayed back to James. I trusted him - I had allowed his hands to flit across my body, searching for glass and broken skin. I had already slept in his bed once, and I had dined with him. Not to mention the other… activities we’d explored on that London balcony. But for some reason I could not pinpoint, his presence in the cabin was making me extremely anxious.

I listened to him write, wondering why I felt this way. I knew that the closer he was, the more safe from any outside threat I certainly would be. And deep in my soul, I knew that he truly was a man of honor, and no harm from his own hand (or hook) would befall me while I rested in this bed. He was going to keep his word and sleep elsewhere, he would never push anything - so why was I so nervous?

“There are dictionaries in the library if you require one,” he said abruptly, and I jumped.

“What?”

“You have been staring at the same word for seven minutes now.”

I blinked.

“Oh,” I said dumbly. “Yes, I - I was just…”

I trailed away, not sure how to explain myself. I watched him write for a brief moment, my eyes tracking his quill until it reached the end of the page. When he reached his stopping point, he stood carefully and lifted the open ledger, careful not to close the pages and smear the ink before it was dry. He said nothing as he carried it out of the bedchamber and around the corner.

I sat still as a statue, listening intently to him move around the main quarters. He passed by the doorway twice, clearly on some sort of mission. Eventually, he came back into the room, moving the still-burning candle from the desk to the top of the dresser. He stepped out, gathering the bundle of clothes from the main work desk and bringing them into the bedchamber, placing them carefully on the top of the small desk.

“I mean what I say, Wendy,” he said finally. “No harm shall come to you. I should have done my work elsewhere, I did not intend to make you uncomfortable.”

“I -” I started, but he held up his hand and I quieted.

“I shall finish my task in the main cabin,” he said firmly. “I will keep a close watch whilst I work - nothing will have the chance to frighten you in the sanctuary of these quarters.”

He reached into his coat pocket then, and pulled out a small iron key. He offered it to me steadily.

“Including me.”

My brow furrowed as my eyes darted between his face and the key. 

“I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

“This key locks the door to this bedchamber,” he said simply. “You may use it to ensure that even I cannot sneak inside.”

“...James,” I said carefully. “It is not that I do not trust you, and I am not afraid of you, I just…”

“Wendy, I would be concerned if you did not feel this way.” He shook the key once. “Trauma forces our bodies and minds to act strangely. For the moment, you should listen to your instincts.”

“What if you need to get inside?”

“I assure you, I would be able to enter if you were in distress,” he smirked lightly. “But no matter how quickly I am able to break the door down, my efforts will not be silent if the door is locked.”

I understood then. This was not a way to absolutely keep him out no matter what - but I would have ample warning if he were to try and enter for whatever reason. I hesitated, but eventually reached out and accepted the key. I tossed it in my hand twice, focusing on the slight weight and chill of the metal. After studying it for a moment, I placed it on the closest corner of the desk, easily within reach should I need it.

“Good evening, Wendy,” he gave a tiny bow, before exiting the room. I rose slowly, following him to the door and watching him settle with his ledger at the bigger desk. 

“Good night, James,” I murmured, closing the door quietly.

I stood there for a moment, pressing my head against the wood. It was thick enough that the gentle scratch of his quill was silenced, and all I was left with was the sound of the wind whistling past the window pane. The room felt colder without him, and I could not tell yet if his absence was enough to put my mind at ease. 

I stepped away from the door, occupying my body by pulling back the covers of the bed and fluffing the pillows. I reached over for the books next. The pages of Gulliver’s Travels had been creased at the corners many times before - likely from a young James not yet understanding the negative impact of dog-earing his pages as a bookmarking method. The thought made me wince, and instead of re-creasing the page I was on, I memorized the number and simply closed the book. I stacked both volumes on top of each other and set them on the desk, to the left of my pile of clothes. 

Cleaning. Cleaning always helped to dampen the nerves, cleaning was always a safe use of my time. After five years, it was all I knew how to do when I felt like this. I fluffed the pillows, I smoothed the bedcovers - a clean space meant one less bruise, one less insult -

I paused, pulling my hands away from the items on the desk and holding them in front of me. There was a light tremor to my fingers, and I pressed two of them against my throat slowly. My heartbeat was more hurried than usual - and I suddenly felt the telltale lump in my throat, and my eyes started to sting. I forced myself to take a deep breath, telling myself that I was safe, that I was far away from those who would want to hurt me - but something still made me eye the door nervously. 

Biting my lip, I grabbed the little iron key and walked over to the door, locking it as quietly as possible. 

I swore I could feel a pause from the other side of the wood, a new heaviness to the silence that had not been there before. 

But then it eased, mostly dissipating as I padded back to the bed. I crawled under the covers slowly, sliding my body down until my head rested carefully against the plush pillow. As I pulled the covers up to meet my chin, I stared at the door silently. 

This was the first moment I’d had alone where I was not sleeping, eating, or exploring. It was the quietest the ship had been since I’d arrived, and yet my mind was oh so loud. Thoughts warred with each other - memories of Daniel were interwoven with snippets of conversations on the balcony, and I felt like suspicious eyes from below deck were still trained on me even now. The desire to fling open the door and call James back inside was overwhelming, but so was the irrational fear of something happening if I did. The Neverland was not an entirely unfamiliar place to me and yet… 

I still felt just as lost as I had back in London. 

I let out a stifled sob, sniffing and wiping a stray tear away before it could plop onto the pillow. It was followed, however, by more tears that I could not stop - and before I knew it, I was burying my face into the silk pillowcase to muffle myself as I cried myself to sleep. 

-------------------

It felt like only a moment before I startled awake again. The room was nearly pitch black, the only light coming from the muted starlight outside the window. My head felt like it had been stuffed to the brim with cotton - a steady throb pulsed from behind my eyes, and my mouth was painfully dry. 

Groaning, I sat up slowly and blinked hard to try and clear some of the cobwebs around my mind. The water was out in the main cabin, so if I wanted a drink, I unfortunately had to brave the chill that waited outside of the bed. 

My brow furrowed. Something had crinkled as I’d risen, something beneath the pillow. I reached under it to check -

And found James’ note from the night before. 

I reread it as best I could in the darkness, my bleary eyes softening. I wondered if he was sitting out in the main cabin still, pouring over his ledger in the candlelight. I didn’t want to disturb him - but gods, I needed water. 

I sighed, swinging my legs out and over the side, rising with a wince. I grabbed my shawl from the pile of clothes, wrapping it firmly around my shoulders and cursing when it did next to nothing to help. I fumbled in the dark until my fingers closed around the key to the door, finally creeping over to unlock it quietly. 

I pulled it open with caution, thankful that it didn’t creak and disturb the quiet. I was surprised to see the main cabin was nearly as dark as the bedchamber - I took note of three separate candleholders crowded on the desk, all of which had burned their way into extinction. All was silent, and James was nowhere to be found.

I took a step out, glancing around the wall to my left. When I still did not see him, I turned my head to the right and jumped. 

James was sitting on the floor, slumped against the wall next to the door. He must have gotten tired - how long had he tried to keep himself awake? Three thick books surrounded him, and a fourth lay open in his lap. His head had fallen to the side, and I marveled at his ability to sleep in such a position without snoring. 

My eyes flicked to his hand and I took a breath. He was gripping his sword in his sleep, letting it lie harmlessly on the floor but ready in case there was any trouble. As I watched him, he inhaled sharply and mumbled something too low for me to hear, turning his head to the other side and settling back into his slumber. 

I crept away from him carefully, thankful for my years of having to walk silently. He did not stir again as I crossed the room and filled the palm of my hand with water, drinking quietly. Once I felt I had quenched my thirst enough, I debated on what to do about the unconscious pirate captain that had fallen asleep while guarding my room. 

I glanced around until I saw the chaise, noting a little folded square of fabric tucked behind the pillow. I pulled it out and was relieved to find that it was the blanket I’d woken up with that afternoon, not too thick but soft enough. I carried it over and was about to carefully drape it over the front of him, when I paused. I looked between him and the bedchamber, and the corner of my mouth lifted softly. 

When I shut the door and crawled back into bed shortly after, I could feel my heart beating faster like before. But I pushed it down, happy to find that my comfort with James was winning over the anxiety. I closed my eyes, snuggling back under the comforter that smelled deeply of cinnamon and cloves. I let myself drift away, comfortable in the knowledge that James would not have the chance to dog-ear the book he’d been reading. I’d trusted him with a rather sturdy bookmark. 

Under the cover of the blanket, his page was neatly marked with a small iron key.

Chapter Text

Day by day, staying on the ship got easier.

I stayed in the Captain’s quarters the entire time, too nervous to encounter the steely eyes of Kennan and Marcas again. Each day was a variation of the last - wake, bathe, dress, read, eat, sleep. I started to make a rather sizable dent in the contents of James’ bookshelves, running through fiction and nonfiction volumes alike. James was often absent during the hours of the day, attending to duties around the ship - and, I suspect, keeping himself from overwhelming me while I acclimated to life aboard. 

I’d settled today on the chaise, the secondary blanket draped over me as my eyes scanned the last few lines of the chapter. The door opened quietly, and the blast of outside air made the candlelight dim for a moment. I looked up to see James returning for dinner, brushing off his coat and hat at the other end of the room.

“Welcome back,” I said. He bowed his head softly.

“Good evening,” he replied simply. 

We’d settled into a routine with each other for the time being - he would leave me to my own devices until mealtimes, we would dine together, and then he would leave again. My wounds had been healing far faster than I’d expected, and redressing was no longer necessary. Each night, he still insisted on leaving the key to the bedchamber with me while he set up work at the main desk. 

And each night I left the key untouched on the dresser. 

“How are you enjoying The New Atalantis?” He asked, settling in his chair at the table. I shrugged and rose to my feet. I used the corner of the blanket to mark my page, making my way over to join him.

“I’m typically not enthusiastic about political satire,” I said. “And some of the material is a bit dark - but I can appreciate the story, and I’ll finish it soon.”

“Then that shall have to be enough for now,” he nodded. Right on cue, there was a polite knock at the door. I fiddled with the hem of my sleeve, listening as the door opened slowly - and looked up when I heard a grunt of discomfort. 

Smee was struggling to enter, holding two trays instead of one. Both were full of food and drink, and I jumped up to hurry over to his side.

“No, no, Miss Wendy, I have it under control -” he panted.

“Oh, let me take that one,” I insisted, using my foot as a kickstand to hold the door open while I firmly snatched one of the two trays. With his load lessened, Smee sighed in relief and hurried to place the first tray down on the table. 

“Where is Cookson?” I asked, following him over. Smee grimaced.

“Cookson is… indisposed at the moment, Miss Wendy,” he said carefully. I frowned.

“Indisposed?”

“He’s caught a chill, nothing more - but the risk of him handling your and the Captain’s food -”

“A chill? He’s sick?” I pursed my lips. “Where is he now?”

“Below deck, we managed to get him into his bunk without much fuss -”

“I’ll be back,” I said to James, who watched me with a raised brow. I set my own tray down on the table, lifting my tea cup and the kettle to pour a generous amount. I let it stay on the table for a moment while I walked into the bedchamber, taking one of the layers of bedding off and folding it carefully. I picked the teacup up again as I walked to the door to don my coat and boots. “You needn’t wait for me, James, eat - I won’t be long.”

“Miss Wendy, tis not your duty to -”

“Come along, Smee,” I interrupted, not unkindly. “I’ve been meaning to get a better look at your quarters anyway, there has to be a way to insulate them better somehow.”

Without waiting for a reply from either man, I bustled out the door. 

The evening wind was certainly brutal, chilling me even through my coat as I crossed the deck. The stairs offered a bit of relief, a physical barrier from the bite of the gusts, but it was still rather frigid as I descended to the bunks. 

I rounded the corner, following the voices of the crew. As I entered, they all paused. Two sets of eyes locked on me threateningly, but the overall response from the rest of the crew was much kinder.

“Good evening, Miss Darling,” they said respectfully, some of them standing hurriedly and abandoning their meals to greet me.

“Good evening,” I smiled, motioning for Starkey, Alf and Bill to sit and eat. “I’ve come to see Cookson?”

“He’s just there, Miss Darling,” Noodler said helpfully around a mouthful of food, pointing to one of the bunks on the other side of the room. “Got him to eat somethin’, we did.”

“Thank you,” I said, walking over to see Cookson curled up in his bunk, his blanket wrapped around him tightly as he shivered. “Cookson?”

He perked up slightly, trying to stand and only managing to sit up with a groan. I sat next to him and placed the hot teacup snugly in his calloused hands. Now that my hands were free, I used the back of my fingers to lightly press against his forehead and cheeks.

“You have a bit of a fever,” I frowned. “Does anything hurt?”

“Me head, Miss Darling,” he said, his voice rough. “But ‘s not so bad.”

“No, you’ll be fine,” I agreed. “But we are going to make sure of that, aren’t we? You’re going to be taking care of yourself and resting for a while.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Drink,” I urged, gesturing down to the cup still in his hand. He obeyed, quickly downing the tea without complaint. It seemed to hit the spot, easing his trembles slightly as his face relaxed. I draped the blanket I’d brought over him and took the cup, helping him lay back on his side. 

“Givin’ orders now, are ye, Miss Darling?” A derisive voice asked quietly.

“No, Mister Kennan,” I said calmly. “Not orders. This is not my ship.”

“Too right, it isnae.”

“Oi, lay off,” Jukes grumbled from his spot. “She ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”

“She hasnae had a chance to, Jukes. We’ll see where her loyalties lie when her friend comes flying back, aye?”

I stood, turning to firmly fix my eyes on him. My body was begging to race back up the stairs, but I felt secure enough in the room with the rest of the crew able to intervene.

“I am loyal to whatever is right,” I said as sternly as I could muster. “Your Captain has been truly kind to me, and I intend to honor that. I’m not sure why you have condemned me without cause.”

“Without cause,” he echoed, lip curling up into a sneer.

“I suppose they had to replace the parrot with someone,” I said simply. 

His nostrils flared and he stood, not making it two steps before the rest of the crew shot up themselves. 

Everyone paused, no weapons drawn or fists cocked back - but there was a clear ring in the air, sparks threatening to ignite at the first move. It was at that moment that Smee finally bustled down the staircase, stilling at the sight.

“What’s this now?” He asked. His voice was more severe than I’d heard it before, and the crew shuffled uneasily under the authority of the bo’sun. “Sit back down, the lot of you.”

“I’m curious, Miss Darling,” Kennan gritted out. He stayed still, standing firm despite Marcas’ hand on his shoulder, but did not attempt to move toward me. “How much of yer time in that cozy cabin has been spent in our Captain’s bed?”

The sparks erupted.

Starkey was first to jump over the table, followed by Noodler. Smee yelled out, but it was no use - I backed over to the wall, frantically tracking everyone’s movement as Marcas planted himself in front of his brother -

A piercing shriek from below was enough to make everyone stop. The commotion had drawn the mermaids back to circle beneath the ship, hoping violence would bring blood. I winced and covered my ears as high-pitched scratches rang out under my feet - their hunger was intense enough for them to literally claw at the wood they could reach under the ice.

“If you idiots stop this now,” Smee said darkly, “they will leave.”

Slowly, the men separated and settled on opposite sides of the room - Kennan and Marcas stood against the far wall, and the rest of the crew stood with their backs to me. All eyes in the room were glaring at someone else - even Cookson had sat up in bed as best he could. I took a silent breath to steady myself, willing my hands to stop trembling.

The shrieking paused, and then picked up again louder than before. There was a different energy to the sound now, but I couldn’t place what the shift had been. The scratching ceased, and the wails of the mermaids started to dissipate as some of them swam away.

“There now,” Smee said quietly. He took a step into the room, headed towards me with a hand outstretched. “Wendy, we’d best get ye back up to -”

He stopped dead as a low growl reverberated up to us, the echo of its timbre making the very wood around us vibrate quietly.

I felt like a bucket of icy water had been dumped over me, even worse than the chill of the air. I’d heard that exact growl before, the promise of soulless black eyes and a gaping gullet with razor teeth. The sound trailed away, and the mermaids fully left, plunging all of us into a frozen silence. 

The quiet was so thick, you could slash it in half. 

Everyone avoided each other’s eyes, trying our best to look calm - even though we all knew it was a charade as we held our breath, waiting for another rumble from below the ship. Every low creak from the hull made us stiffen, bracing ourselves before we realized that no sound the ship made could possibly compare to the sound we’d heard from the deep. 

After a time, I couldn’t take the tension anymore. 

“That wasn’t…” I whispered. Smee shook his head emphatically. 

“No,” he said, his voice steady and firm. “No, it could not have been.”

“Right,” I said faintly. 

No one seemed to believe Smee’s declaration, including Smee himself - but it was enough to thin the air a bit, as though the entire cabin around us had finally taken a deep breath. Cookson suddenly let out a sharp cough, and I snapped fully back to reality.

“Lie down, Cookson,” I said quietly, gently pushing against his shoulder until he was horizontal once more. He was already starting to drift off again, and I tucked the blankets up to his chin to help keep him warm while he slept. The crew started to slowly move about once more, tentatively returning to their meal. No one seemed to want to touch their food. I brushed a hair away from Cookson’s eyes, combing a soothing hand through his straw-thin locks. He relaxed, sniffing once before letting out a content sigh.

“Albino,” I said, waiting until the pale pirate turned to look at me. “Will you keep a bit of an eye on him? If he gets worse while I’m gone, come get me?”

“Aye,” Albino nodded once, reclining on his own bunk but keeping himself turned towards Cookson’s bed. 

Satisfied, I stood and smoothed my shirt, preparing to go back up to the Captain’s quarters. I heard Cookson shift under the blanket behind me. 

“Miss Red-Handed Jill,” he suddenly mumbled, “Have ye come back to be our Mother again?”

For the second time in five minutes, I froze. He’d said it under his breath, soft enough that no one else in the cabin had seemed to notice. I turned slowly, relieved to see that his eyes were still shut and that he probably wouldn’t remember the interaction. 

“No, Cookson,” I murmured anyway. His brow furrowed sleepily. “I’m no one’s mother.”

My right hand strayed to my stomach absently, and I reached out to smooth his hair back once more with my left. 

“Is it enough to just be a friend?”

In answer, his face relaxed, and his breathing evened out again. I lingered for a moment, letting my mind wander to memories from three years ago, memories I was still trying to forget. The last time I’d tried to leave -

I blinked, feeling eyes on me. I glanced over and saw Kennan sitting not too far away, scowling at his food. Marcas was standing in front of him as protection, watching me unabashedly. His gaze was locked calmly on my left hand, which had not yet left Cookson’s head. 

I slowly retracted my arm, straightening up and squaring my shoulders confidently. Nodding once to Smee and ignoring the steady stare of the burly Scotsman, I quietly walked up the stairs and out of the crew quarters. 

The deck above was mostly abandoned - a quick glance up revealed a pair of boots hanging over the edge of the crow’s nest. Other than the poor soul who’d been stationed at the watch - Skylights, I realized, as he’d been the only one absent below deck - I walked across the deck to the cabin alone. A strong gust of wind swept across the ship, biting sharply at my eyes as I fumbled for the door handle. 

I hurried inside, shivering and shaking my head firmly to dislodge any snowflakes that had caught in my hair. As I swiped at my eyes, I heard a quiet click. I paused at the sound, finally looking around the room. 

James sat at his desk, spine ramrod straight and face pale. 

My eyes darted down and zeroed in on the flintlock pistol gripped tightly in his left hand. He’d already lowered it back down to rest on the desk, and the click I’d heard must have been him returning the hammer to half-cocked. A glance to the right of his hand revealed the remaining torn edge of a paper cartridge and traces of gunpowder - proving my suspicions that the pistol was indeed loaded. 

I swallowed. 

“…James?” I said tentatively. 

“You have returned,” he said simply, his jaw tight. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

He gave an almost-imperceptible shake of his head, not blinking once. “Worry not.”

I bit my lip nervously, studying him until I realized his unwavering glare was not fixed on me, but the door behind me. His grip on the pistol had not loosened, and a steady thumb was poised at the hammer, ready to cock the weapon if needed. 

I crept to the left, nervous about being down range of his weapon - whether it was prepped to be fired or not. I eventually settled behind him, standing just off his right shoulder. Now that I had a different view, I could see just how steady his left hand was on the gun. But a glance down showed the quick bounce of his right leg under the desk. 

“James, I… I’m sure it was nothing,” I said quietly. He was silent. “Another creak of the ship, a groan from the ice - that’s all it could have been.” 

I knew he wasn’t the only one I was trying to convince. 

“Quite right, of course,” he deadpanned. His leg had not stilled. I bit my lip. I looked over at the table and noticed that both trays had been left untouched.

“You didn’t eat.”

“No,” he confirmed. “Neither did you.”

The request in his voice was clear, but the thought of eating anything on that table made my head swim.

“I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“Then we are of one mind.”

“And stomach,” I said wryly, satisfied to see his leg pause its movements as he snorted softly. The bouncing resumed, but slower this time - and his thumb moved away from the hammer absently. He did not let go of the gun, but I watched his shoulders rise and fall in a steadying breath.

Since I was certain he wouldn’t feel ready to stand near the door, I walked over carefully and locked it. When I turned, he had dropped his head and closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. 

“I’m sure we’re safe, James,” I murmured. He nodded softly, not looking thoroughly convinced. “Unless the Natives have found their way across the ice, nothing is going to open that door.”

“We have nothing to fear from them,” James said tiredly. He finally placed the gun down and raised his hand to rub gingerly at the bridge of his nose. “Not while Pan is away.”

“Well, I suppose with the risk of freezing to death, they can’t come all the way out here.”

“They very well can, Wendy. But they won’t.”

I frowned, confused.

“Why not?”

“There is much you still do not understand,” James sighed. My shoulders slumped, tired of hearing the same thing from everyone. “The tribe is… not as hostile to my crew as you may remember.”

“But…” I shook my head. “I met them. I spent time with them, with Tiger Lily, I saw you capture her -”

“The princess had no reason to fear me, Wendy. Why do you think you never saw the warriors of her tribe charging the ship?”

“I thought… I mean, they may not have known you’d taken her.”

“Oh, they would have known,” James smiled grimly. “The princess is highly protected and loved among her people. At the first whisper of her disappearance, we would have had twenty men bearing down on us from the tree line. So why didn’t we?”

I fumbled for an explanation, realizing that it didn’t make sense. James watched me expectantly, waiting for me to puzzle it out for myself. As though there was a block on my mind I had to remove before he could explain. 

“But Peter said the Indians -”

“They are not Indians, Wendy.”

I blinked.

“They… what?”

James pursed his lips, debating his next words. He thought for a moment more before sighing, standing slowly from his seat. He walked over to the yellow globe, and beckoned me to follow him. As I approached, he reached out with a large hand and turned the globe carefully, stopping with his finger resting firmly on the Americas.

“This is where the Indians of your stories came from, yes?” He asked. I nodded. “You were beguiled in your youth with tales of adventure from the West, of savages and settlers fighting for dominion over the land. Is that right?”

“Well… yes,” I muttered, embarrassed. “Of course I know now that the stories weren’t exactly accurate… but what does this -”

“And this is where access to the Neverland is found,” he continued smoothly, moving the globe to point to England. “Pan told you personally that he ran away as a boy to Hyde Park - forgive me, Kensington Gardens - where he met his fairy, correct?”

“Yes, he did say that - how did you… yes. Yes, Kensington Gardens, he said.”

“All the children that come here are brought from England.”

“Is that right?” I frowned, surprised. 

“Think of the brood your family adopted,” James reminded me. I considered this and realized he was right - all of the Lost Boys had been English, or at least from somewhere in Great Britain. 

“But then how…” I trailed away, moving forward to place my own hand on the globe in place of James’. I spun it softly, pointing at the Americas with my left hand and England with my right.

“Do you understand what I’m saying now, Wendy?” James said quietly. His voice was gentle, searching. Hopeful. He wanted me to figure this out. My head started to hurt trying to reason through it. “How could the Indians from your stories have traveled to England to reach the Neverland?”

“Maybe they…” I trailed away, stumped. “I mean, I’m sure they had methods of travel that could -”

“Perhaps.” James admitted, murmuring close to my ear. “But come now, Wendy, you are such a clever woman - does that really seem reasonable to you?”

I sat in silence for a moment, eyes darting between the two continents, trying to make sense of it all. I turned away from the globe and paced across the room. James watched me, letting me reach my own conclusions.

“But they were exactly like my stories,” I whispered. “Like my stories had come to life.”

“Yes, exactly like your stories,” James confirmed. “The exact descriptions you used, inaccuracies and all.”

“If they’re not Indians, what are they?” I turned back to him.

“The Neverland was home to life before Pan, Wendy,” James reminded me. “Fae creatures of the air and water, both of which you’ve met.”

“The fairies and mermaids,” I nodded.

James tilted his head, staring at me with the oddest spark in his eyes. There was that hope again, that glimmer of pride hidden in his gaze. Come on, it said. You are so close. “Would it be so outlandish for there to be a third species in between?”

“You mean… a creature of the land?” I asked slowly. 

“Of sorts, yes.”

“But why did they look like…”

James moved towards me, guiding me to sit down at the desk. He fished a key from his pocket and bent to open a drawer near the bottom. I peeked over his shoulder, watching him look through a mound of papers before uncovering a small black book. He pulled it out, rifling through the pages carefully, and set it down in front of me. Together, we leaned over the book, and my mouth parted in surprise.

“Did you draw these?”

“I felt it was my duty to record all I’d discovered here,” James confirmed quietly. “Not that it matters much now.”

“Who are all these people?”

“These are the Ayreli.”

“The what?” I shook my head. That couldn’t have been what I’d heard him say, it wasn’t a word. 

“The Ayreli,” he repeated patiently. As if he’d expected this resistance, this disbelief. 

“I don’t understand,” I said for what felt like the upteenth time. I glanced around at all the sketches, turning the page and finding more. Each person he’d drawn was different from the last - different skin types, hair styles, clothing. “I recognize all of these cultures.”

“Aye, you would.” James pointed at the first image, a sketch of a pale man with the appearance of the legendary Norse Vikings. “He is Ayreli.” 

He moved to a thick-haired woman dressed in a Greek peplos, an olive sprig tucked into her curls. “She is Ayreli.” 

The next page depicted a man in something akin to traditional Incan attire. “He is Ayreli.” 

Finally, he gestured to a sketch that looked familiar to me personally - a young Indian girl, feathers and all. “And she is Ayreli.”

“They cannot all be of the same tribe,” I protested. James smirked, and turned one more page. I stared.

This was no culture, nor creature, I recognized. 

The features were humanoid, but they looked closer to wood nymphs of legend. Their eyes were bigger and their faces were sharp, pointed ears tucked beneath dark hair. I did not recognize the style of clothing they wore, but the long spear-like weapon was easy enough to figure out.

“This is what the Ayreli truly are,” James explained. “Nymphs that have been here far longer than I have - longer than Pan himself. They can shift, you see - their features are mutable to an extent. Eye shape, skin color, their clothing and living space - the Ayreli are masters of creating glamours.”

“So… they can look like this,” I pointed to the nymph-like creature, “one moment, and then like this,” I flipped to the Viking man, “the next?”

“Essentially, yes.”

I sat in silent disbelief, my mind turning. This was the biggest piece of information I’d been given since arriving in the Neverland - it was truly bewildering. Everything had seemed so real when I had last visited, how could I not have noticed something was wrong?

“I never saw it,” I murmured. “How could I not have seen this?”

“Wendy,” James closed the book quietly and bent to look me in the eye. “You were not blind to the truth because you did not wish to see it - it was because you were not meant to see it.”

“So the Natives - Ayreli,” I corrected myself. “The Ayreli aren’t locked in some sort of feud with you and your crew?”

“On the contrary,” James said. “The Ayreli are our allies.”

“Allies?”

“My crew and I are not the only ones under duress from the Pan.”

“What do you mean?”

But I was not about to get any more information from James this evening. His eyes were once more locked on the door, his face set deep in thought. He wordlessly returned the small book to its drawer and locked it, pocketing the key. He picked up his pistol and holstered it, walking over to the door and putting on his coat and boots. 

“James?” I asked.

“If I heard what I believe I heard,” he said quietly. “If we all heard what I believe we did - then the Neverland is nowhere near as safe as I believed it to be when I brought you here.”

“But you killed it,” I whispered. “You said you killed it, you watched it die.”

“I watched it vanish,” he said, placing his hat firmly on his head. “The body disappeared in front of my eyes.”

“Then it is gone,” I said weakly. “It must be.”

“Precautions must nevertheless be taken,” he said. I admired the shift in his demeanor since I’d entered the cabin - grim determination was all I could see now in his stance. “Do not wait for my return. Rest.”

“James,” I called, but it was no use. He bowed once before unlocking the door, leaving me alone with much more than just my books to occupy my thoughts. 

I glanced at The New Atalantis, unsure that I would ever be able to sit and finish it now - all I wanted to get my hands on was the tiny black notebook, safely tucked away again in the locked drawer to my left. What else was recorded on those pages? What else had he seen? Up til now I’d been relatively content with waiting for information to come from James himself. But if he was right, if the beast was back again… 

Then maybe it was no longer safe for me to wait.

No. James trusts you, let’s not break that now.

I sighed, my mind battling with itself, eventually deciding to just turn in for the night. Once again, I didn’t lock the door - I simply closed it before crawling into the bed, slightly colder without one of the layers of blankets. 

I fell into a fitful sleep, my dreams filled with shapeshifting nymphs and cold black eyes under the waves.

------------

My world suddenly pitched. 

I startled awake, the brightness of the sun through the small window enough to make me wince. I was not able to rub my eyes for long, before the ship tilted alarmingly once more. I reached out with both hands and held onto the bedposts, crying out as the bed slid to the left a few inches. 

There was a loud snapping sound, like the sound of a tree falling but deeper and louder. Booming CRACKS assaulted my ears, and I felt a brief wave of warmth wash over me despite the abandoned blankets. 

My eyes snapped open. From outside the room I could hear the faint sounds of pounding footsteps, voices shouting harshly on deck. 

The air was warming. 

The ice was breaking.

Peter was home.

Chapter Text

The next lurch of the ship sent me sprawling off the bed, slamming onto the floor with a yelp. I groaned as I sat up, already reaching desperately for my shawl on top of the desk. I wrapped it hastily around my shoulders while I clambered to my feet, rushing through the door into the main cabin.

Unsurprisingly, it was already empty - James had likely been on deck for quite some time if the time of day was any indication. He had probably been out of the cabin at the very moment that Pan broke through the atmosphere. I hurried to the door, sliding my feet into boots. I opened the door, debating on donning my coat, before I felt the rush of warmth slap me in the face. A part of me felt unbridled relief at the feeling of the sun turning his face back onto the ship.

The relief did not, however, dislodge my heart from my throat. 

The chaos was immediate. The crew members were all rushing around the ship, manning lines and prepping the cannons - it was as though the ship had finally been woken from a deep slumber. I looked up in awe, realizing that Smee’s description had been accurate - the frost that had formed along the masts and sails was melting now, and it was almost like we were caught in our own private rain storm in the middle of the brightest sunlight I’d seen in years. 

“Blast it all, FIND HIM!”

I jumped at the roar, turning to see James stalking along the deck. He was pointing furiously with his hand, barking orders and looming over everyone else like a dark cloud. On instinct, I joined the pirates in searching the skies, looking for any sign of a lithe body zipping through the dissipating clouds -

There!

I saw a small form dart out from behind one cloud and settle atop another, mostly covered by the fluffy peaks except for a head of tousled hair. The boy turned and beckoned jovially, and two more bodies followed his lead. I squinted, realizing that there were two young boys with him, already skillful in flight as they reached the cloud and hid with their guide.

I remembered what their view must have looked like - years ago, my brothers and I had joined Peter on a cloud remarkably like this one, looking down on all the pirates from my stories. I was caught in yet another parallel.

I was starting to find it rather disconcerting, consistently finding myself on the opposite side of my youth.

James yelled again and I startled, turning to see everyone still preparing the ship for normal operations. I debated on fleeing back into the cabin, nervous to be caught between anything ugly. I looked off the port side, inhaling sharply at the sight of a tail flipping out of the water before disappearing back under the waves. The mermaids were rejoicing in the return of their freedom, their waters warm and open once more.

I backed away from the port side of the ship subconsciously, not looking where I was going - and abruptly bumped into someone. I turned to apologize, and froze. 

Just like when I’d run into his brother for the first time, Marcas towered over me intimidatingly. His dark eyes fixed themselves on me from under thick red brows, silent but heavy with warning. He held a line in his hand, mid-task, but he halted to study me carefully.

I clenched my jaw, staring back at him hard. I would not give him any more reasons not to trust me, all I had to do was step back carefully and re-enter the cabin. I took two paces back, still locked in on his gaze. On the third step, there was a slight movement from above us, and like an idiot, I glanced up for a split second. 

When my eyes darted back down, there was a glint of victory in Marcas’ eyes.

“Don’t,” I whispered. But it was no use. He placed two fingers in his mouth and gave a loud whistle, drawing the eye of everyone on the ship. He then turned away from me, raising the same hand like an executioner’s axe, pointing firmly up at the cloud that had stolen my attention for a moment.

“There,” he said shortly. It was the first time I’d heard him speak since I boarded. He may have been a man of few words, but it only took one for the crew to spring to action.

“Fetch Long Tom,” James ordered suddenly, eyes locked on the cloud where Peter and the boys were hiding. Jukes immediately sprinted, the first to follow the order as Master Gunner. As the rest of the pirates obeyed with calls of Long Tom, aye!, I became paralyzed with fear. I remembered exactly how it had felt the last time I’d seen Long Tom fired from this ship - how I’d been launched aimlessly off the cloud, separated from Peter and my brothers, shot at by the Lost Boys -

No. That would not happen this time.

I glared at Marcas a last time and pushed past him, rushing down the stairs towards James. I had to fight through clumps of bodies that were rushing this way and that, bumping into me with mutters of excuse me, Miss Darling. I eventually muscled my way through to James, where he stood imperiously in the middle of the deck.

“James,” I said breathlessly, placing a hand on his arm. “James, please, don’t -”

“Not now, Wendy,” he brushed me off. “Go back into the cabin.”

“No, James, there has to be a better way,” I pleaded, following after him as he stalked away. “Peter has seen you use Long Tom before, it’s something he knows how to avoid.”

But James was not listening to me. He was deep in concentration, staring up at the sky while throwing orders over his shoulder at the men who were preparing the cannon. I felt my heart seize in panic.

“There are children with him, James,” I begged. “Innocent children, you cannot -”

“FIRE!”

I shrieked as the BOOM rang through the air, crouching down with my hands over my ears before lifting my head quickly to look. The cannonball streaked through the sky towards the cloud, perfectly aimed, and I braced myself to see one of the boys hurtle away into the distance - but neither of them did. All three of the bodies miraculously dodged the cannonball, letting it punch a hole in the cloud that they had just been hiding behind. One of the bodies, his flight pattern the most consistent, swooped down towards the ship.

A smug rooster crow pierced the air, raising goosebumps on my arms.

Peter zoomed towards the ship, pulling up at the last second to circle the mizzen mast. James bellowed out an order, and everyone started to work to frantically turn Long Tom around. I stumbled away, running towards the port side of the ship and keeping my eyes locked on Peter. He landed nimbly on the mast, planting his hands on his hips and laughing. It was a colder sound than I remembered, and I shivered despite the heat of the air.

My mouth opened without any directive from my brain, and I shouted out before I realized what I was doing.

“Peter!”

He paused, turning and looking around for who had called out. I felt his eyes zero in on me before he launched off the mast again, darting down and practically materializing right in front of my face. 

I stared, speechless.

His face was harsher than I remembered - gone was the cheerful grin and the rosy cheeks; his lip was curled and his cheeks were sallower. The sparkle of his green gaze was replaced by a cold glint, but that wasn’t the only thing different about his eyes - I felt my stomach lurch when I saw no recognition in them.

“You know me,” he said curiously, tilting his head and studying me closely. I swallowed.

“I do,” I confirmed breathlessly. “It’s me, Peter, it’s Wendy - don’t you remember me?”

“I don’t know you,” he said. His voice was sharp, his words quick and precise.

“Yes you do,” I pleaded. “You must -”

“Pirate,” he growled.

“Peter, I’m Wendy,” I cried. I’d known, of course, that he didn’t remember me - I’d felt it for a long time, and James had confirmed it on the balcony, but surely seeing me would jog his memory? I reached out to him desperately, and his eyes tracked my movement.

In a flash, he drew the dagger at his waist and held it in front of him threateningly. I staggered backwards with a whimper, my stomach turning with hurt and disappointment. Behind me, Long Tom had gotten caught mid-turn and was stuck - after a moment of struggle, the crew decided to abandon the cannon and instead charge over to the port side. 

Peter’s focus was pulled from me, and I watched him debate whether he wanted to flee or stay to fight. An odd movement caught my eye, and my gaze darted down to where his shadow was being cast onto the wooden deck. 

I blinked dumbly. 

The shadow had disconnected from Peter’s movements; the only thing still attached were their feet, the shadow’s arms tugging desperately at its ankles. But the shadow was unable to separate fully, and so turned to reach a dark arm towards me. The limb stretched across the wooden deck, nearly brushing the toes of my boots. I should have been more frightened, but the gesture felt less like a threat and more like a plea. 

On instinct, I reached down to touch it.

It was at that moment that Peter made his decision. I managed to narrowly avoid a wicked swipe of his dagger before he launched into the air, rocketing himself away from the ship. He was halted mid-air, however, by the shadow trying desperately to zip back towards me. 

They struggled awkwardly in the air for a moment, before Peter snarled and used his shadow’s momentum to fly back towards the mizzen mast. Like a gymnast, his hands extended and locked around the wooden mast, yanking himself around in a tight circle. The sharp movement was enough to snap his shadow back into conformity. After an experimental wiggle of his fingers and wag of his feet, he glanced at me once more, and careened off towards the island. The two boys descended from the skies to follow him.

I staggered to the left as a broad shoulder pushed past me. James had joined me at the railing, pistol raised in front of him. I followed his aim with my eyes - the barrel was pointed directly at Peter and the boys. His finger moved to press against the trigger -

“No!” I yelled desperately, knocking his arm to the right. 

The gun fired, but the bullet zipped into the water and out of sight. I looked up, feeling sufficiently frazzled, and tracked the boys’ movements as they disappeared into the tree line. The mermaids squealed once more off the port side of the ship, before swimming away. There was one more muffled crow from the forest, carried by the wind, and then all was still.

I was very suddenly aware of the silence that surrounded me.

I slowly looked to my right. James was towering over me, chest heaving as he stared at me furiously. His gun was still smoking, held in a hand that shook with anger. His eyes were flickering between red and blue, his restraint threatening to snap. 

I swallowed nervously. 

I glanced around at the crew and felt my heart sink at the uncertain expressions on the crew’s faces. Alf had his arms crossed firmly over his chest, and Cecco studied me with narrowed eyes. Even Smee had his lips pursed in disapproval. The only somewhat positive reaction came, not surprisingly, from Kennan and Marcas. Kennan especially was smirking smugly, and though Marcas’ face was more composed, his eyes mocked me in silence.

I looked away from the crew, focusing solely on the scowl etched into James’ face. He took a slow step forward, prompting me to step back quickly. He did not change his pace, taking measured steps towards me while I backed away towards the stairs. The crew was silent, watching us move in synchronization. We ascended together, neither of us saying a word as we stared at each other, and I scrambled into the cabin as the only viable escape.

I expected to hear an order to the crew from James before he entered, but I did not. He opened the door shortly after I’d closed it, locking furious eyes with me as I pressed against the wall on the other side of the room. The door slammed shut with a finality that made me tremble, but he stopped his advance at the threshold of the cabin. 

“This is my ship,” he said quietly. “My word on this ship is law.”

“James -”

“And what just happened out on the deck of my ship was unacceptable,” he gritted out, interrupting me.

“They’re just children -”

“I only saw two children in the air,” he said coldly. “Two children who are well on their way to being brainwashed by the most dangerous creature in the Neverland.”

“Peter is just a boy,” I whispered, shaking my head. “He came here as a boy, he isn’t a creature -”

“Pan has not been just a boy for a long time, Wendy.”

“Then. What. Is. He.” I struggled to sharpen my voice, squeezing my hand into a fist at my side to stop it from trembling so hard.

“In the future, when battle occurs, you are to remain in the cabin,” he growled, avoiding the blatant question. My stomach twisted. “The situation is much more delicate than you realize. I understand that you are still ignorant of many things -”

“That is not my fault, James,” I bristled. “I have had no shortage of questions, none of which you have answered - if my ignorance is hurting you now, you have only yourself to blame.”

“Oh, be honest with me, Wendy - the few things I have revealed to you have been met with such resistance.” He threw his hat roughly onto the coat rack, starting to pace back and forth in front of the door. “You cling desperately to your memories, you are terrified to think anything different. I see it each time we speak of this place, each time you ask about Pan.”

“If you don’t answer any of my questions,” I muttered angrily, “then I’m afraid my behavior won’t change on your ship, Captain.”

James’ eyes flashed dangerously. 

“Answering your questions might very well be your undoing - as well as my own,” he hissed, stepping toward me again. I managed not to retreat, holding my ground. Nevertheless, James forced himself to halt, standing stiffly in the middle of the cabin. “Everything you knew, everything you saw, was a lie. I know what your first visit to this place means to you - how the memories of your adventures saved you, kept you from breaking in that godforsaken house.”

He stared at me hard for a long beat, before turning away from me. “Am I meant to take all of that away from you at once?”

“You swore that you would protect me,” I begged. “These endless riddles - this is not protecting me, James. I need the truth.”

“I have been trying to make you see the truth yourself,” he said angrily, immediately turning to fully face me again. “Do you have any idea how painful it would be for me to relive everything you wish to know about?”

He stepped forward, and the frustration etched in his face threatened to crack. 

“Haven’t I given you enough material to make your own inferences about this world?” He muttered, almost pleading. 

“No, James,” I whispered. His face hardened, and he turned to resume his pacing. “I have bits and pieces of the puzzle, but they are useless when I cannot see the full picture. I need more.”

“It would forever change you,” he said over his shoulder.

“If I wanted to stay the same, I would not have left London to be with you.”

“You came with me because you trusted me,” he growled. “Can you not simply continue to trust that I know what is best?”

“No. I am not a member of your crew, James,” I reminded him. “You told me that for now, all I had to be was myself. That means no one, including you, gets to take my agency from me. I will find out everything there is to know, even if I have to go out and ask Peter myself.”

He whipped around, glaring.

“If you do such a thing,” he said darkly. “You will never return to the ship.”

“Because you would banish me?” I asked, hurt. His eyes shuttered, a flash of sharp pain lancing through them.

“Because you would die.”

“Peter would not kill me,” I whispered. His gaze sparked.

“Oh no? The dagger he aimed at you was pure décor, was it?”

“He just… he didn’t recognize me, I know if I spoke to him -”

“If you go to him,” James snarled, advancing another step. “He will turn you against me. He will use you to get to me, he will use you as bait. And when you have fulfilled your purpose, he will kill you.”

“You speak so certainly -”

“I will not allow you to leave this ship,” he spat.

“So I am a prisoner after all, am I?” I cried. “Nothing ever changes, does it? I’ve exchanged one jailer for another!”

“Not a jailer,” he snarled, taking another step towards me. All that separated us at this point was the width of the desk. “A protector. Don’t you ever compare me to the swine you left behind in London.”

“If you will not strike me,” I challenged bravely, “then there is nothing keeping me in this room, is there?”

With my chin raised, I managed five steps toward the door. Before I could blink, James had appeared next to me to lock his arm around my middle.

“Aye, I shall not strike you,” he gritted out. “The day I do you harm shall be the day I lose my life, I promise you that. But I have no qualms about locking you in that room for your own safety. I will protect you, even from yourself.”

“I am more capable than you realize,” I growled, forcibly removing his arm from my body. “Both in strength and mind. You say I am a clever woman - if I know all of the facts, perhaps I can actually help you find a solution!”

“The answers have been right in front of you this entire time, Wendy,” he snapped. “If you wanted to believe the truth, you would have put it all together by now.”

“All I know is that those little boys are on their way to the Hideout, if they aren’t there already. If what you have told me is true, then they will age and Peter will punish them - if they are in danger, James, we must help them.”

“Those two lads won’t be innocent much longer, Wendy,” he said bitterly. “Their true selves have likely been lost to this world already.”

“That didn’t happen to me,” I reminded him, desperate. “I remembered -”

“You were older,” he dismissed me. “And you were different. I have seen many lady birds brought here, and none of them ever escaped unaided like you did. I will confess I do not know what changed, what made you special, but I know you still heard all the things Pan has said before. One girl is worth more than twenty boys. He will be the Father, provided you are the Mother. You don’t want to grow up, go to school, wear a tie - stay here. Dance with the fairies, stay young forever. Here’s how to fight anyone who tries to turn you into a grown up.”

“Spying on children now, are you, James?” I asked, aghast.

“I have no need to spy on them,” he shouted. “Think, woman! I have all but given you the answer!”

“Peter said that to me - one girl is worth more than twenty boys - in the Bloomsbury nursery,” I frowned, staring hard at him and noting that his chest had started to heave, his hand had started to shake. “There is no possible way you could know that.”

“You are not the only one to hear that phrase - I have heard it from his own lips.”

“And he trained us in private,” I protested. “Unless you have ears in the Hideout -”

“He uses the same script each time,” James spat. “And all of you always believe it.”

He very abruptly turned away, stalking for the bedchamber door. “And this conversation is over.”

“No,” I snapped loudly, throwing a hand out and latching onto his arm. He made a sound like a caged animal, tearing away. “You can’t run away from me forever, James, tell me how you know all of this.”

“I have no duty to explain myself to you,” he snarled wildly. 

“Oh, yes you do,” I shouted. “I am sick of this. I want the answer, right now.”

“I cannot -” he squeezed his eyes shut, but I didn’t stop.

“Yes you can - and you will,” I insisted angrily. “How do you know the things you know? How can you be so sure -”

“Confound it, woman - because I was ONE OF YOU!”

His roar echoed around the cabin, plunging us into a frosty silence. 

I stopped mid-sentence, my jaw audibly snapping shut. His glare was pained now, as though those nine words had already pierced through his heart and opened something unbearable. 

I fumbled for words, eventually only able to blurt out -

“You what?”

“Do not ask me to repeat myself,” he breathed. Begging.

“You…”

I stared at him, furious with myself that I had not immediately seen it. Everything started clicking into place - he’d known far too much to have been anything but a -

“You were a Lost Boy,” I whispered. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily through his nose, turning away. “James, I should have… I’m so sorry...”

“I kept waiting for you to understand,” he muttered. “I thought, if I was lucky, if I gave you the right hints, I would not need to -” 

He cut himself short, dropping his head. 

“You don’t…” I faltered. “You don’t have to tell me right now. This is… so much bigger than I imagined. I won’t ask anymore -”

But James held up an unsteady hand, and I fell silent. He took a shuddering breath, struggling to speak without exploding. 

“I have already begun the tale.” He shook his head, moving to sit slowly at the desk. I mirrored him, sinking nervously onto the chaise. “It is only right to finish it.”

And just like that, I settled in to listen to the man who once was the villain of my stories; his eyes haunted, his face pale and gaunt -

About to become a storyteller of his own.

Chapter Text

------ Essex / Mid-March, 1727 ------

“Where… is he?” 

The woman popped her head out from behind the door playfully, frowning when she saw the empty nursery. The toys had been neatly put away a short time ago, so there was nothing to hide behind. The opening under the bed was clear, as she could see it from her position at the door. Surely he could not have gotten too far so quietly. She crept inside, her deep blue evening gown trailing along the ground softly as she tiptoed across the nursery floor.

“Where is that lad of mine, hm?” She called softly. She did not hear a sound besides the wind whistling past the closed window to her left. She put her hands on her hips, stumped, and turned about in a slow circle. There was no one hiding behind the door, and the open closet also proved to be empty. 

“You have become too skilled at this game,” she huffed under her breath. She stilled - her words had been amusing enough to spark a bout of stifled giggles near the toy box. Feigning ignorance, she kept her eyes trained elsewhere while she snuck towards where the noise had come from. 

“Perhaps I shall never find him,” she sighed dramatically, throwing her hand to her forehead in false mourning. She smothered a smirk as the same giggles burst out quietly from the toy box. “Oh, what shall I do with myself?”

She slumped carefully to her knees, pretending to collapse on the ground. Her skirt wrinkled slightly as she flopped onto her back, her long black ringlets fanning out on the wood underneath her head. 

“If I am to be childless, there is little point to life!” She exclaimed, letting her head fall to the side limply. The giggles were louder now, and she heard something shift behind her. “Will no one save me from my torment?”

“I will save you!”

The tiny shout finally pulled the corners of her mouth up into a grin, and she propped herself up to whip around and look. The little boy had been wedged between two toys, perfectly inconspicuous to her sweeping eye when she’d been searching. Since the start of her theatrics, he’d managed to wiggle his upper body out of the hiding spot, holding a wooden sword in his right hand. He held it aloft, his face contorted into heroic determination.

“Oh, hero of mine!” She laughed, opening her arms. He slid the rest of the way out of the pile of toys, stumbling slightly in his sleep shirt before bounding into her arms. She was careful not to let the wooden sword catch on her hair, skin, or gown as she enveloped him in a tight embrace. He cuddled her back just as fiercely, his six-year-old arms squeezing as tightly as they could.

“Twas your best hiding place yet, my dear,” she praised him. 

“One more game, mother - please?” He begged, blue eyes wide and hopeful. Her heart ached as she sighed softly. 

“Not tonight, darling,” she said, an apology etched into her face. “Your father and I are leaving soon. But I promise you, we shall play to your heart’s content tomorrow, yes?”

“Alright,” the boy slumped. She smiled, pitying the tiny pout that was threatening to form on his lips. She extended a long finger and hooked it under his chin, raising his face until he was looking at her.

“I promise,” she repeated, seriously. “Have you ever known your mother to break a promise?”

“No, mother,” he shook his head. She raised her hand to pinch lightly at his nose, wiggling it back and forth until he was forced to giggle and push her away.

“Then fear not,” she smiled. “Think of your favorite games and we shall play them all tomorrow.”

“Will father join?” He asked suddenly, a small spark of hope flickering in his eyes.

“Perhaps,” she said simply, knowing that it likely would not be true. “Your father is a busy man - but he shall do his best, I am certain.”

Satisfied, the boy wiggled about until she eventually loosened her arms, watching him hop up a few times before eventually climbing his way awkwardly into the bed. She rose from the floor and walked over, sitting on the edge of the mattress while he pulled the covers over himself. She raised a dark brow.

“Sleeping so soon, are you?” She asked, narrowing her sharp blue eyes.

“You have to tuck me in,” he explained simply, blinking up at her.

“Surely you are not quite ready for bed already,” she said suspiciously. “Miriam is downstairs, she is expecting to hear you playing for a while yet.”

“I will play,” he said. “But I will be asleep before you come back. You must tuck me in now, while you are here.”

“Is that so?” She laughed lightly. He nodded once.

“It will work the same,” he shrugged. 

“Quite efficient, I see. Very well, then.”

She leaned forward, grasping the soft blanket in her hands and tucking the corners around the child. She let him wag his feet around under the sheets to make sure he had enough room, before smoothing his tousled curls back and kissing his forehead softly.

“If you need anything, Miriam is downstairs,” she reminded him. 

“Yes, mother,” he said dutifully.

“Vivian! The carriage is here!” A deep shout floated upstairs to them, and she sighed.

“I must go now,” she murmured. “But I shall check on you when I return.”

The boy smiled, sneaking a hand out from under the blanket to beckon her closer. Vivian leaned in, turning her face to the side, and let him kiss her cheek softly. 

“Good night, Mother.”

She ruffled his hair once more affectionately, before rising and stepping out the door. She turned, leaving the door open a crack to whisper to him once more.

“Good night, James.”

The door clicked, and James lay still for a moment. The bed, after all, was rather comfortable - so he contented himself to listen carefully to the muffled voices from the parlor. 

“Your cloak, Madam Stewart.”

“Thank you, Miriam.”

“Come, Vivian - we must not be late.”

“Yes, Richard.”

James strained to hear anything else, but all fell silent once the front door closed and the hoofbeats had pulled away from the house. All was quiet and still. Miriam had likely settled down on one of the chaises with her needlepoint, prepared to work throughout the night until the Stewarts returned home.

James’ little foot twitched once under the blanket. He tried to keep still a little longer, but his other foot started to kick too. Soon he was sliding his arms and legs back and forth across the silk sheets, loosening the expertly-tucked comforter enough to shimmy out from underneath it. He dropped to the floor, padding across the room to pull out his favorite toys.

Whenever he was alone in his room and bedtime was relatively near, James’ favorite game to play was Pretend. He’d discovered that listening to his mother’s stories was not as fun as acting them out himself. He’d started paying careful attention to how his mother manipulated her voice for each character, making the pitch higher or lower. Sometimes she would even give them an accent - fantastical things that James could never fully replicate himself.

He pulled out his best toy soldiers, setting them up opposite each other as he hummed quietly. He waited for the perfect Pretend to come to mind, screwing his face up in concentration. When the idea finally hit him, he settled down to start his story.

He played for a long while, using his small hands to grab the toy soldiers and move them around the room. It was a little harder to make them fight each other realistically, as it usually took more than one hand to move the arms and legs for swordfighting motions. But he managed, his tongue stuck between his lips as he whacked the little swords against each other.

He squeaked as his hand slipped, accidentally dropping one of the soldiers to the floor with a loud clatter. He picked it up carefully, letting out a sigh of relief when he found no damage to the toy. He almost dropped it again, however, when a tight rap sounded at the door.

“Master James,” a woman called from the corridor. It was Miriam - her Essex accent was especially obvious tonight, hinting at how tired she was. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Miriam,” James said. “I am only playing.”

“Carry on, then,” she sighed. James waited until he heard her walk down the stairs before he started playing again.

He pretended for another half hour, his story constantly evolving to make way for more play time. He turned one of the soldiers slightly and blinked, momentarily blinded by the reflection of the moonlight against the miniature sword. 

He paused, clearing his vision before looking back down at the toy carefully. He tilted it to the left, then the right, waiting for the same light to flash in his eyes - but nothing happened. He frowned, looking up to the window. It was cracked open, but he was sure it had been closed when his mother had left. Through the glass, he examined the night sky, his brow furrowing further when he realized that something was not quite right.

The night sky was illuminated by the moon and stars - which had, up till now, been casting a cool blue light onto the floor of the nursery. He lowered his head to look at the floor, puzzled to see it was now brightened by a warm golden glow. 

James lifted his head, looking around the room until he found the lantern in the corner of the room. There was a flame there - a bright light flickering inside the glass, that hadn’t been there before - but it looked so strange. He stood slowly, setting his toys on the ground, and took a step towards the lantern.

The flame was moving peculiarly; but the lantern was too high up for James to see closely, and he huffed momentarily at his lack of height. He found himself wishing he had a sibling that could hoist him higher, so he could better examine the flame. 

Just as he was debating calling for Miriam, a cold breeze blew along the back of his neck. His black curls danced on his head, flopping forward into his face as he whipped around.

He stared.

There, standing on his windowsill, was another boy.

James’ first observation was that this boy was awfully dirty. Dried mud speckled his skin, reaching anywhere his odd green clothing didn’t cover. His hands were placed triumphantly on his hips, and his blonde hair fluttered lightly in the wind from outside. The window was wide open behind him.

James’ second thought was how on earth the boy had reached his window on the third story.

“You are in my room,” was all James could blurt out. The boy smiled, his pink cheeks stretching upwards in a friendly greeting.

“I am,” he answered simply. He hopped down, gracefully avoiding the toy soldiers laying on the floor near his feet. His green eyes looked James up and down, before bowing his head politely. “What’s your name?”

“James Anthony Stewart,” James said carefully. He made sure to plant his feet together, holding his head high despite only being in a sleep shirt, before bowing properly as his father had taught him. “What is your name?”

“Peter Pan.”

“Your name is short,” James said.

“Yours is long.”

James blinked. “…I suppose so.”

“How old are you, James?” Peter asked lightly. James held up a full hand and his other index finger proudly.

“Six.”

“Six,” Peter mused. “And already turning into such a man.”

James frowned. The boy had said the phrase with so much distaste. 

“My father is a man,” James said stiffly. “And one day I will be one just like him.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said grimly.

“I do not see the matter.”

“It would be so dreadful to be a man,” Peter sighed, bending to examine the toy soldiers. “It is so much more fun to be a boy.”

“It is awfully important to be a man,” James pointed out. “My father has already been teaching me.”

“Awfully important?” Peter echoed, frowning at him. “It’s awfully boring.”

“No, it isn’t,” James bristled.

“Well, no one is ever going to make me a man.”

James stared at him, bewildered. Peter had fully shifted to playing with the toys James had left out, happily bouncing them around with a small smile. James narrowed his eyes.

“But when you grow up, you will be a man,” he said certainly. Peter looked up, shaking his head firmly.

“I won’t be growing up.”

“Well that is just ridiculous.”

“It’s true,” Peter said, standing. “I will always be a little boy if I have anything to say about it.”

“Will your father not be disappointed?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t have a father.”

“Oh,” James slumped, not sure how he was meant to feel about such a thing. “Well at least you have a mother.”

“I don’t have a mother either.”

Now James was properly saddened.

“Well if you have no father or… or mother… then where do you live?” He asked, stumped. Peter smiled again, and James had the strangest feeling that he’d been meant to ask that specific question. 

“Second star to the right,” Peter grinned, hopping back up onto the windowsill like a cat. He pointed up toward the sky proudly. “And straight on till morning.”

James tilted his head, flicking his eyes between the night sky and the odd boy. “… I don’t think that’s an address.”

“It is, too,” Peter protested, turning so quickly James feared he would tumble out onto the street below. But Peter seemed perfectly comfortable, as though he weren’t balanced precariously on a tiny strip of wooden frame. “You just follow all the golden arrows and they lead you right to it.”

“Golden arrows?” James asked, running up to the window to peek around Peter’s torso. He searched the sky excitedly, faltering when he did not see anything besides stars twinkling back at him. “Where?”

“You can’t see them now,” Peter said mysteriously. He jumped over James’ head easily, landing behind him to point over his shoulder. “But you can, if you like. They lead you right there.”

James squinted his eyes, trying to follow Peter’s grubby finger to this supposed ‘second star to the right’. There were so many stars, it was hard to pick any out. He eventually did see one that appeared to be blinking a bit brighter than the rest, and risked sticking his own hand out the window. 

“That one?”

“That one.”

“But…” James felt like his entire world had been flipped on its axis. So many things weren’t making sense. “How do you even get there?”

Peter said nothing, which worried James. He turned to look, pausing at the mischievous smirk that had lit up the boy’s face. He still did not speak, instead stepping around James to climb slowly back onto the windowsill. James watched with trepidation as Peter calmly put both hands behind his head, closed his eyes, tipped backwards -

And fell out of the window. 

“Peter!” James cried, rushing forward. The boy had fallen quickly and silently, and James cringed before scanning the pavement below. 

He frowned. 

The street was empty; there was no body, no trace of Peter anywhere - it was as though he’d never existed in the first place. James honestly wasn’t sure if he was awake anymore. 

“Peter,” James hissed, looking left and right. There was no answer. He almost expected to see the boy clinging to a ledge like a spider - it was the only plausible, though still fantastical, option he could think of. But there was nothing there, he was completely alone. 

Until a cheerful face popped up in front of him. 

“What are you looking for?” Peter asked casually. 

James cried out, stumbling backwards and tripping over one of the soldiers, tumbling to the floor. He whined, rubbing his backside gingerly as he stood. He turned, ready to give this strange boy a piece of his mind, and froze. 

As if the boy could not have gotten any stranger, Peter was sitting cross legged in midair. 

James scrambled back to the window, staring wide eyed. He had a million questions, each of them wrestling with each other in his brain. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and he forced out the first question he could think of. 

“Can I try?!”

Peter laughed then, a gleeful sound that James couldn’t quite place as either sincere or mocking. Peter swooped around through the air, making a wide arc before flying back in through the window. He dropped easily onto James’ bed, flopping down to lay flat on his back. 

“If you wish it,” was all he said. 

“How do you do it?” James scurried over, peeking over the top of the bed in awe. Peter opened one eye, then closed it again. 

“You just think wonderful thoughts,” he shrugged. He smiled, then started to float directly upwards. “They lift you into the air. It’s easy!”

James was not entirely convinced. He crossed his arms and tried his best to raise a brow like he’d seen his mother do. “I have happy thoughts all the time and I’ve never flown.”

“Then you must not have a fairy like I do.”

“A fairy?” James asked quickly. He tried to quell his excitement, keeping in mind how his father felt about such foolishness. “That’s impossible. I don’t believe in -”

Peter snapped his eyes open, zooming over to cover James’ little mouth harshly with a dirty hand. James protested, swatting at Peter’s arm, stilling when he caught sight of the boy’s newly-serious expression. 

“Don’t say that,” Peter said firmly. “Every time someone says that, a fairy somewhere falls down dead. And you had better not kill my fairy.”

James nodded slowly, waiting until Peter had entirely uncovered his mouth to wipe at it carefully. 

“Alright,” he said with uncertainty. “I don’t want to kill it - but if you have one, where is it?”

Peter glanced up toward the corner of the room, prompting James to turn around and look for himself. He didn’t see anything, except for the lantern with the strange flame…

He watched it closely, certain that he’d just seen the fire uncurl somehow - and squeaked when the fire jumped out of the lantern and streaked across the room. The sweetest sound, like jingle bells, rang softly over him. Sparks trailed behind it as it flitted around the ceiling, making little loops and twists until it zoomed right in front of his face. 

He gasped in childish delight - there, right in front of his eyes, was a genuine fairy. There was no doubt about it; she was gorgeous, a tiny golden creature not much bigger than his palm. Her wings stretched out behind her, like the daintiest chips of stained glass as they fluttered softly behind her bronze shoulders. Her hair was golden, too - her curls tied up messily with some sort of plant stem, her bouncy bangs tumbling into her eyes. She eyed him curiously, and he thought he saw one of her pointed ears twitch. 

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered. This had obviously been the right thing to say. The fairy preened, flying around his head quickly and landing gently in his hand. She was feather-light, feeling no more substantial than a sunbeam in his hand. 

“Her name is Tinkerbell.”

“Hello, Tinkerbell,” James smiled, staring at her in wonder. “I have never met a fairy before.”

“Would you like to meet more?”

James looked up quickly, locking eyes with Peter. The boy had switched to crouching on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees. 

“You could come with me,” Peter continued. “You could come to the Neverland.”

“The Never-what?”

“The Neverland,” Peter repeated patiently. “It’s the island where I live. If you come with me, you’ll never have to grow up.”

“…Really?”

“The Neverland is a magical place,” Peter whispered. “It’s where the fairies took me after I ran away to Hyde Park. Come away to the Neverland and you’ll stay young, just like me. Don’t you want to always be a little boy and have fun?”

James considered this for a moment. It was preposterous of course, but he couldn’t exactly disprove the existence of this magical island - not when he’d encountered a flying boy and a fairy all in one night. He pursed his lips in thought. 

“Mother promised to play with me tomorrow.”

“Oh, James, if it’s games you want, we have plenty,” Peter grinned. “Have you ever played… Pretend?”

James lit up. 

“Yes!” He exclaimed. “It is the best game.”

“The Lost Boys and I play it all the time!” Peter laughed, zipping up into the air joyfully. “And you won’t ever need to wait for tomorrow to play it.”

“The Lost Boys?” James asked. “Who are they?”

“My family,” Peter boasted. “Boys like you who wanted to play for the rest of their lives. And there’s just enough space between adventures on the island to add one more… Have you ever wanted a brother?”

“Mother says it is not possible for me to have a brother,” James said resolutely. Peter’s eyes sparkled, and he flew over to wrap an arm around James’ shoulders. 

“If you come with me, you can have eight.”

“Eight?”

Peter flipped over him, landing silently on his feet. He looked James up and down again, appraising him carefully. James hadn’t cared the last time, but this time, he felt compelled to impress Peter by standing as tall as possible. Peter nodded once. 

“Do you still want to fly?”

“Yes!” James jumped up and down excitedly. At a glance from Peter, Tinkerbell rose from James’ palm and flew above the six year old, in a series of circles. Now that the sparks were closer, James could see that they weren’t like fire at all - they glittered as they settled on his skin, making his whole body tingle and zing. 

Peter guided him up onto the bed, before standing back and watching expectantly. James teetered on the mattress for a moment, very suddenly unsure about this whole flying business. Just because Peter could do it did not mean he could as well. 

“Think lovely thoughts,” Peter encouraged. James nodded nervously, screwing his face up to focus. He thought of playing Pretend for the rest of his life, never having to sit through another lecture from his father regarding the estate’s finances. He thought about dancing with the pretty fairies, finally having a band of brothers to wrestle with. He took a deep breath, and tried to take a step forward -

And panicked when there was no bed to push off of. His eyes snapped open and he looked down, dizzily noting that he was a full six inches off the surface of the bed already. He flailed, not having expected to be so successful his first time, and promptly fell out of the air. He bounced on the mattress and rolled right off, grasping at the blankets uselessly before landing on the floor for the second time that evening. 

Peter chuckled, helping him to his feet and dusting him off. They both paused at the sound of footsteps tramping up the stairs outside the door. 

“Master James?” Miriam yawned from the corridor. “What is going on?”

James turned to Peter, and frowned when the boy was no longer next to him. He glanced around, finally seeing that Peter had crouched carefully by the window, staring unblinking at the door. 

Peter turned his gaze back on James, lifting one finger to his lips. James hesitated. 

“... Just playing, Miriam.”

“... Good night, Master James,” she sighed pointedly, moving away from the door to walk back downstairs. 

Peter and James looked at each other and giggled softly. Peter nodded back up to the bed encouragingly.

“Try again,” he whispered. “Don’t panic this time.”

“Alright,” James whispered back, climbing back onto the mattress carefully. He thought hard again about all the happy things that had helped him fly before, and squeaked softly when he felt his feet lift from the blankets. He took a tiny breath before cracking open one eye, peeking out from under his lashes.

“Am I doing it, Peter?” He hissed.

“Why don’t you look for yourself?”

James gulped, but bravely opened his eyes. He bit his lips, forcing himself to look down at the empty air under his toes, wagging his feet experimentally.

“I’m doing it, Peter!”

“Try flying over here.”

James nodded, focusing on propelling himself forward. He found it wasn’t as hard as he’d expected - flying was apparently rather intuitive. He tilted forward and willed himself to fly over to Peter, who was still waiting by the window. 

James giggled softly, flying in experimental circles around the ceiling. Tinkerbell joined him, giving him something bright and shiny to focus on while he worked on accuracy. When he had finally managed to find some sort of rhythm, Peter zipped up in front of him quickly. James pulled back, stopping just in time - Peter smiled triumphantly.

“Do you feel ready?”

“Ready?”

Peter flew back to the window, setting his feet on the windowsill. The curtains had started to billow with a wind that hadn’t been there before - the air tasted sharp and sweet, like the stars themselves had dissolved into the atmosphere. Peter braced himself against the window frame with one hand, and extended the other to James.

“Come away,” he whispered. His voice washed over James, inexplicably bringing him closer to the window. “Come away to Neverland.”

“…What about Mother?” James asked softly. The thought alone was enough to make him drift down slowly, until his bare feet made contact with the floor. His head drooped, the choice too great for him to make on his own.

Peter bent to catch his eye.

“There are mermaids.”

“Mermaids?” James perked up. His feet lifted until his toes were skimming the ground.

“Vikings.”

“Vikings??” He said in excitement, launching up a full three feet.

“A whole tribe of fairies.”

James bit his lip, hovering in the air. Surely it would be possible to return home after he’d had his fun. If he was careful, he could make it home before Mother came to check on him later that night. 

After all, how could he pass up such an amazing game?

His mind set, he reached out and took Peter’s hand. Peter coaxed him out of the window, angled them up towards the second star to the right -

And they launched off into the night.

-------------

Less than an hour later, the front door opened quietly. There was a quiet, muffled conversation in the parlor as Vivian and Richard removed their cloaks and boots. Had there been a child in the nursery, they may have heard Vivian ask Miriam if James was asleep.

Soft footsteps padded up the stairs, stopping right outside the door. Vivian turned the handle silently, opening the door without so much as a creak. She smiled tiredly at the lump of blankets on the bed, turning to leave.

She paused.

Blinking away the desire to dream for the moment, she peeked her head back into the room. She frowned, observing the two toy soldiers still lying on the ground. James was such a tidy child - perhaps he had been too exhausted from playtime to clean them up. She stepped into the room, bending to pick up the toys herself. She stilled, crouching on the floor and reaching out to pick up something on the ground. 

A leaf.

A tiny green leaf, the kind of which she’d never seen around their home here in Essex, nor when they’d resided in London. Vivian happened to take pride in her knowledge of the local flora, something of a gardener herself - and still, she did not recognize it. Where had it even come from? She studied it carefully, pushing back a dark curl as it whipped forward in the breeze.

The breeze?

Vivian went very still. Slowly, with growing trepidation, she turned to her left and stared at the open window. She was certain she had left it closed before the gala…

Her stomach started to twist, every maternal instinct going off in her head like a series of alarms. She swallowed nervously and rose, clutching the leaf in her hand. Sending a silent plea up to the heavens, she turned to look at the bed and cried out.

It was empty. 

“James?” She exclaimed, scrambling around the room and checking every possible space large enough for her son’s body. White-hot panic bubbled up from her chest, making it very hard to breathe indeed. She struggled to call out firmly, around the lump in her throat. “James Anthony, Mother does not wish to play right now.”

When her child still did not answer her, Vivian’s soul splintered. Burning tears welled up in her eyes as she yanked the bedroom door open, shrieking down to where Miriam and Richard were still standing in the parlor.

“Where is my James??”

When they could not produce him either, the house exploded into a frenzy. Everyone ran through every room, scouring every corner, every crevice. James was nowhere to be found. Vivian stumbled back into the nursery, sobbing as Richard swore loudly downstairs. She staggered over to the window, stomach lurching at the thought of James plummeting from such a height -

But there was no body, for none had fallen. She looked all around the street, praying that she would see any sign of him - but there was none. She lifted her head to the heavens, not sure why she was suddenly drawn to search the skies. She focused on the brightest star of them all, and screwed her eyes shut as she screamed one final plea.

“James!”

-------------

James soared through the air with a loud whoop , following as closely behind Peter as he possibly could. The crisp March air flooded all five of his senses, the wind now ruffling his hair almost affectionately. He followed Peter into a backwards loop, marveling at how tiny the city was getting underneath him.

Peter released a huge crow in front of him, fueling both of them as they zoomed higher and higher through the clouds. The air got a little thin the higher they went, but the wind wrapped comfortingly around James to make it easier. The sky grew, if possible, even darker around them as they soared up through the atmosphere. 

Tinkerbell doubled back to douse James once more in fairy dust, and it kicked in like a shot of pure adrenaline. Peter had been right - hidden in the bursts of pixie dust trailing before him, he saw the faint outlines of golden arrows leading him somewhere. He caught up to Peter so quickly, he had to squint against the blast of the air. By the time he pulled up on Peter’s left, he was able to fully open his eyes and look around. 

They were moving so fast, James wasn’t sure he was seeing things correctly. Planets and stars rushed past them, everything overwhelming James to the point where he didn’t even register that they were somehow still alive in space . 

“James!” Peter called out over the rush in their ears. James glanced over, and winced at the filthy foot not six inches in front of him. “Take hold of my ankle! Use both hands!”

Masking a grimace behind a smile, James gingerly wrapped both of his small hands around Peter’s ankle. It was a light hold - but at Peter’s urging eyes, he apprehensively gripped tighter. 

“Why?” He shouted, barely able to hear his own voice. 

“Are you ready?” Peter whooped, seemingly not hearing him either. He flipped back over so they were flying in single file, linked like a chain. James tightened his fingers instinctively, his wide eyes darting between the dirty foot and the approaching Star in the distance.

“For what?!”

“Whatever happens -” Peter shouted gleefully over his shoulder. “Don’t! Let! GO!”

If James had thought they were catapulting through the air before, he had been wrong. 

It was as though they had been shot straight from a cannon - The planets and stars blurred into nothing but streaks on either side, and the most blinding light was expanding in front of them. Soon, the light blocked out everything except for Peter’s silhouette, sure and strong as he hurtled them both to what certainly was their death. James squeezed his eyes shut, and there was an explosion behind his eyes. He was sure he had to be screaming rather fiercely - his throat was feeling raw, but he couldn’t hear anything over the feeling of squeezing through a tiny tunnel -

And then, quite suddenly, the pressure completely disappeared. The bright light vanished, as though the very sun had been extinguished. He relaxed into the feeling, finally able to take a breath of the sweetest air he’d ever tasted. 

“Open your eyes!” Peter called in front of him. 

He hesitated, worried that whatever they’d done had made him blind, but eventually did as Peter suggested. He blinked hard a couple of times to clear the glare from his vision. He looked below him and saw a vast expanse of black, speckled with starlight. He almost slumped, thinking they’d be flying through space for quite some time -

Until Peter swooped down and dipped a hand into the sky. It rippled around his fingers, and when he lifted his arm, tiny crystal clear droplets ran down his skin. They weren’t in space any more - this was water. Encouraged by this, James whipped his head up to look straight ahead, and gasped in delight.

An island was quickly coming into view.

It was a larger island than he’d been imagining, though he supposed it was still relatively small for a piece of land. It was certainly smaller than England, at any rate. As he and Peter approached, they chased away dark clouds of snow and ice. The sun turned to look down on them, and he watched the white-dusted hills turn the most vibrant green imaginable. The sky lightened upon their arrival, and the lagoon became a rich blue. There were mountains and beaches, a giant forest covering most of the island. 

“Neverland,” he whispered softly.

--- The Neverland / 𝞘𝜻𝝇𝜻 ---

Peter guided them smoothly to the shore, tumbling down onto the sand with a raucous laugh. James followed soon after, stumbling a bit as he tried to find his footing. He fell forward with a tiny oomph, landing firmly on his hands and knees. 

He took a moment to run his hands back and forth slowly. The sand was softer than he’d ever felt before, a cloud of pristine white beneath him. It speckled his skin and his sleep shirt, the distant spray of the sea against the beach coating the air he breathed. It clung to his skin, locking each grain of sand against his hands and feet forever.

He didn’t mind.

He pushed himself up and teetered, not used to walking on such plush ground. His feet sank into the sand, like the very island itself was trying to swallow him whole. His tongue stuck out with determination; he raised his legs high with each step and trudged forward towards the tree line. Peter suddenly floated up beside him.

“Ready to meet your brothers?” 

James responded by concentrating and kicking off from the sand, lifting up a few feet to be level with Peter. With a grin, Peter shot off quickly with Tinkerbell. James hurried after them, a little nervous to fly through the woods with the little flying experience he had. But he managed - just barely able to keep Tinkerbell’s trail of fairy dust in his sight as he bobbed and weaved around the thick trunks and vines. He winced as a stray branch caught his right wrist with a sharp sting. He kept his eyes trained on the fading sparks, desperate not to be lost in the forest.

He heard a twig snap to his right, and automatically paused. 

He whipped his head to the right, scanning the trees for whatever had made the noise. But nothing was there - no animals emerged, none of the supposed Vikings struck. The forest looked, for all intents and purposes, completely serene and untouched by anyone but him. The trees were silent.

Silent… with a chill, he realized that he could no longer hear Tinkerbell’s signature jingle. He turned, hoping to catch a stray glimmer in the air, but there was nothing. He had lost the trail.

He whimpered, tumbling quickly to the ground with a yelp. He very suddenly had the biggest desire to turn round and head straight back home to his warm bed. He turned, ready to trek back the way he’d flown… and found that he wasn’t sure which way he’d been flying from. Or flying toward, for that matter.

The land was confusing when on the ground for too long. Everything started to meld together, shades of green and brown blurring until all he wanted to do was launch back up into space just to see where he was. But no matter how hard he jumped, his little feet kept crashing back down to the earth. He was becoming rather anxious now - his heartbeat quickened, his hands started to sweat.

“Peter?” He called weakly. “Tinkerbell?”

He startled at another rustle from the bush behind him. He stared with trepidation as the leaves wiggled slightly before falling still again. He gulped, backing away slowly. His eyes darted all around, searching for a possible escape. After forcing himself to take a deep breath, he tried to calm down enough to think. His mother had led him through things like this - puzzles and logic problems, designed to help him keep a level head in emergencies. 

The bush he faced now - that was the same bush he’d just been staring at when he had still been in the air. The leaves were the same size, the same shape. The twig snap had come from the same area. That meant that, from what he could tell, he wasn’t surrounded on all sides. He did not, however, want to risk bolting in the opposite direction. When he’d been flying forward, the twig snap had been on his right. Which meant…

He turned his head to the left, hoping that he wasn’t about to run straight into some kind of trap. James took one last look at the bush, which had started to wiggle again - and bolted away. He stuck his hands out in front of himself to catch the worst of any sharp branches, wincing as his forearms were scratched and poked. 

He didn’t see the root sticking up out of the dirt.

Sprawling forward onto the forest floor hurt more than James would have thought - he groaned, rolling onto his side with a wince. Another crack in the bushes behind him - he whipped around, crawling backward frantically like a crab, searching for the source of the sound. It crept closer and closer, and he was certain he was finished -

Until a bright tinkling flooded his ears.

“Where’d you go?” Peter called from above him. James craned his head back, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw curious green eyes studying him. Peter had his head tilted comically to the side, scanning James up and down. “I lost you.”

“You did say I was to be a Lost Boy,” James said weakly. He looked back down, studying the forest for any sign of whatever had been chasing him. “There was something following me.”

“Following you?” Peter echoed, his eyes narrowing suddenly. He flicked his eyes to the tree line, and inched his hand toward the dagger tied to his hip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” James nodded. The woods were silent now, but he knew what he had heard. “It was just there.”

They kept still for a long beat. James held his breath and strained his ears, and for an odd moment, he swore one of Peter’s tapered ears twitched. 

“It’s gone now,” Peter muttered. “If you hear it again - scream.”

“…I did not know the Neverland would be so dangerous,” James said uneasily. Bright jingle bells rang out as Tinkerbell flitted down to his shoulder. She settled there, a nearly nonexistent weight, and placed a comforting hand on his right cheek. He smiled despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. 

“What’s an adventure without a little danger?” Peter challenged with a grin. “Now come on! Everyone’s waiting for you.”

James swallowed his nerves and stood, taking a deep breath. Tinkerbell rubbed his cheek once more before launching off of his shoulder. She swooped around him, dousing him in fairy dust once more, and it gave him the boost of courage he needed. 

“Alright,” he said, determined. “Let us go.”

-------------

The rest of the flight was much less eventful. The Rustle, as James had termed whatever had been following him, didn’t choose to show itself again. Tinkerbell flew behind Peter this time, making sure to keep a closer eye on the newest guest of the island. She performed intricate loops and twirls in the air, making James giggle and ensuring his thoughts stayed happy. 

Once again, James found that flying above the tree line was much less disorienting than walking beneath it. Neverland was best viewed from above, where the trees could not bend and shift to confuse you. They had been flying for a few minutes when Peter dipped quite suddenly. James floundered for a moment before changing course, bending at the waist in a pike position and shooting straight down after him. 

They pulled up once they were under the tree tops again, and James fought to keep up as they weaved through the dense woods. Peter blended in with the foliage seamlessly - his clothing was made from plants, it seemed, and the different shades of green almost disappeared into his surroundings. The dirt on his skin served as camouflage too, and before long, James had suddenly lost him. 

He felt a firm tug on his sleeve, and turned to see Tinkerbell trying to pull him in the opposite direction. He must have shot past Peter accidentally, not seeing him come to a stop. He followed Tinkerbell’s lead, rounding a corner to come face-to-face with a giant log. 

Peter stood on top of it, beaming proudly. James looked around in confusion. 

“Where is everyone?”

“In there,” Peter grinned. He tapped his foot three times on the surface of the log, knocking a couple of bark chips off the ends. James was not convinced. 

“All eight of them?”

“See for yourself.”

Peter stepped over to the right side of the log, where a good-sized hole was hidden behind a branch. James sank from the air slowly, stepping with care over to the hole. It was dark inside, so he stuck his head in to look from side to side. He still could not see anything. 

“Peter, there isn’t anyone - here!”

He shrieked as a firm hand pushed him forward into the darkness. He braced himself to scrape against the other side of the log, but his stomach fell out from under him when he instead began to fall. 

There was some sort of slide hidden within the wood - it was smooth enough to not splinter against him as he slid down headfirst. He saw a dim light growing below of him, and threw his hands up in front of his face protectively. 

He was launched out of the slide, tumbling unceremoniously across the ground and landing on his backside with a rough thump. He groaned, rubbing gingerly at his head - who knew adventuring would bring so many scrapes and bruises? He opened his eyes and froze. 

As promised, eight boys were staring back at him. 

They were all crowded on the other side of the room, each boy a different height and shape. Three of them seemed to be around James’ age or slightly older, two were definitely only about three or four years old, and the final three were threatening to break into their teenage years - if they had not already. The older boys stood in front, guarding the younger brothers until James was deemed safe.

One boy, the eldest - definitely already a teenager - stepped forward slowly. He bent and crouched in front of James, tilting his head to the side.

“Hello,” he said with a grin. “What’s your name, then?”

“... James.” 

“Hello, James,” the boy said. “Name’s Charlie. Pleased to meet ya.”

Charlie stuck out his hand, nearly as caked with dirt as Peter’s had been. James hesitated before reaching out with his smaller hand and grasping Charlie’s. He was hauled up carefully, and teenage hands brushed off his sleep shirt for him.

“Is Peter with ya?” Charlie asked, glancing over to the exit of the slide. “He usually -”

Charlie was cut off by a loud crow echoing down from above them, as Peter swooped into the Hideout himself. Tinkerbell followed close behind, prompting gleeful cheers from the other boys.

“Hullo, Tink!” “Tink’s back!” “Welcome home, Peter - good to see ya, Tink!”

“Gents!” Peter called out suddenly, and a hushed silence fell over the room. “I bring with me… a new Lost Boy!”

A raucous cheer rang out through the Hideout, and James let out a tiny squeak as all the boys charged at him in a group hug. Well, it was perhaps more of a group tackle - they all stumbled to the ground in a heap, whooping and hollering with glee.

“Welcome to the Neverland, James!”

“We have to take him to see the mermaids!”

“Nah, not yet, Isaiah. He’s only just arrived!”

“James?”

“Yes?” James finally managed to answer, looking around until he found who had called his name. One of the two tiny tots had popped his head out of the pile of bodies, cocking his head curiously at James. 

“Do you like games?” the child asked shyly.

“I love games!” James nodded happily.

“Of course he likes games, Nic,” another boy laughed. The little boy, Nic, flushed scarlet.

“What kind of games do you like, Nic?” James asked helpfully. Nic’s eyes brightened.

“I’m getting awfully good at flying!” He exclaimed. “Sometimes we race, and sometimes - sometimes I win!”

“What sort of games do you play, James?” Charlie piped up from near the bottom of the heap. James bit his lip.

“...Do any of you like to play… Pretend?” 

The heap exploded in excitement. Bodies scrambled over each other in glee, and James giggled as everyone shouted out.

“Pretend is the best game!”

“We play Pretend all the time!”

“We’re all professional Pretenders!”

A loud whistle was enough to draw everyone’s attention and quiet things down. Peter sat on a large chair, almost like a throne - it seemed to be carved from wood and roots, the edges branching out in intricate patterns and knots. He was lounging across the length of the chair, legs dangling off one of the arms lazily.

“Then that settles it,” he said simply. “A proper welcome for James - we’ll have our best Pretend yet!”

As the third round of joyful shouts flooded James’ ears, he joined in the applause. He did not, however, notice a single memory clambering from his mind and escaping into the wind. The color of his mother’s eyes, a blue so clear it was nearly the color of frost, faded away. The next time James happened to reach for the image of Vivian, he would realize that her eyes of course had always been brown. How silly, they’d been green. No doubt about it, the warmest hazel he’d ever known. 

But this was inconsequential, of course. A detail so small it wouldn’t matter if he’d remembered. The Neverland tucked the memory away, and James fell in line with the other boys. He took no note of the new crack in his mind, precariously holding the rest of his memories behind a slowly-crumbling dam. 

-------------

The boys played Pretend for what must have been hours. 

James had never had such competent playmates in his life. As he was the newest member, he had the privilege of orchestrating the first few rounds. He wove his best stories, so intricate and daring that the other boys could not help but be impressed. He passed the lead on, however, to little Nic next. 

Nic’s stories were a bit scattered - but the sheer passion contained in his little body was massive enough to make up for the chaos. James had a fantastic time, even if he had to jump around between different characters from time to time.

After Nic, there seemed to be a usual order to the game. Nic bowed out after a few rounds and the next smallest boy stepped forward. James learned quickly that his name was Henry. After Henry came Isaiah, then Matthew, then Simon. The three eldest boys went last - William first, then Edward. And after Edward came Charlie.

James quickly decided that Charlie was the absolute best Pretender he’d ever seen. The crowd of boys hushed when he stepped forward, eyes wide with anticipation for whatever he’d invented for today’s game. Charlie took a long moment to look around at all of them, his lips teasing at a smirk. He reached down with a casual hand, picking up a decent-sized stick from the ground. 

All Charlie had to do was raise his brows in suggestion. All the boys quickly scrambled for their own sticks, still trying to figure out what they’d be using them for. They stifled giggles, shushing each other as everyone came back together with their makeshift weapons. Charlie looked around slowly, and his eyes sparked.

“The Neverland is under attack!” He shouted. The boys raised an indignant cry. “A ship threatens the shores of our home! A ship carrying the worst kind of sailors you’ve ever seen.”

He stalked amongst them, eyeing each boy as they tried to keep from bouncing in excitement.

“They are men of the lowest merit,” he sneered. “Covered in tattoos, smelling of cigars and rum. The fiercest sword fighters on the seas, but no match for Peter Pan and his Lost Boys!”

The younger boys howled in affirmation.

“Who dares to attack the refuge of Peter Pan and his band of brothers? Who among us is a filthy pirate? ” Charlie challenged. There was a brief pause as the boys looked around at each other. All of them, of course, wanted to fight for Peter. But some of them would have to step up to be the villains of this round. 

Four boys bravely stepped forward, crafting merciless scowls onto their faces - Henry, Isaiah, Simon, and William. The other five - Nic, Matthew, Edward, Charlie and James - jumped to defensive positions. Everyone held their breath, letting their brains construct the imagined environment individually. James could practically see the wooden stick in his hand elongating into a steel sword, and scowled at the vision of a giant pirate ship towering over them. The shadows of the trees morphed into shade made by hulking sails, and the four boys who had chosen the role of piracy distorted into haggard scoundrels. Even the woods around them seemed to shift roles - the rustling of the leaves smoothed out, transforming into the sound of waves crashing on the sand.

Charlie took a breath and broke the silence with a roar.

“CHARGE!”

James’ voice cracked with the weight of his scream. He lunged forward, traveling over the sand much easier than he had when he’d arrived on the island. His sword clanged against that of a particularly nasty blaggard - his gold teeth bared in a snarl so vicious that James was forced to retreat a step. The pirate didn’t let him get far - he advanced just as quickly, and James ducked under the swing of the enemy sword. He rolled to the left, clambering back to his feet to block another swing. With all the strength in his arms, he pushed against the pirate with a cry. The pirate stumbled back, and suddenly James was swinging. He landed frenzied blow after blow to the pirate, satisfied to see that it was getting harder and harder to block the strikes. 

With a final flourish, he hooked his sword under the pirate’s and threw his arms into a circle - ripping the blade from the pirate’s tattooed hands and leaving him defenseless.

“For Peter!” James cried, thrusting his sword into the pirate’s chest.

The pirate collapsed dramatically, writhing frantically before finally falling still. A cheer arose around James. He looked up to see that all the pirates had been defeated in similar fashions, and the Lost Boys were once again victorious. He grinned, jumping into the celebration along with them. As they hopped around and whooped, the beach faded away from their eyes. Sand was replaced by grass, a mizzen mast morphed back into a tall oak tree. Scattered on the ground were four ‘bodies’ - Henry, Isaiah, Simon, and William were all crumpled on the ground with laughs etched into their faces, despite their tongues dangling overdramatically out of the sides of their mouths. The swords disappeared, reverting back to wooden sticks lodged between the boys’ arms and their ribs. 

James flopped to the ground with them, panting through a grin. All the boys were properly tuckered out now - including Charlie, who’d saved all his energy for this one last round of Pretend for the day. Once again, Peter whistled for them, and they all craned their heads around to look.

“It has been a wonderful day filled with the most spectacular adventures, lads,” he said proudly. “Time to fly home.”

The boys all stood, each waiting their turn for Tinkerbell to dust them with a blanket of sparks. They each rose up on the wings of their happy thoughts - each boy replaying their favorite moments from the day’s game of Pretend. They followed Peter’s lead through the steadily-darkening woods, thankful for Tinkerbell’s glow to light their way. They filed into the hole in the log one at a time - Charlie first, all the way down to little Nic. 

James made sure to slide down feet-first this time. The end of the slide still threatened to launch him across the room - but larger arms helped steady him on his feet. Charlie patted his shoulder, sending James along while he prepped to catch Henry.

James took a look around the Hideout, noting the abundance of spots to nest for the night. The boys quite obviously already had their spots chosen - William had curled up in an alcove about a foot above the ground, and Isaiah had elected to burrow into a pile of leaves in a corner. Henry brushed past James to climb up next to Simon in a makeshift hammock hanging from the ceiling. 

James scanned the room for a comfortable spot. Nic snuggled next to Edward, leaving James and Charlie as the only ones standing. James turned to watch the entrance, furrowing his brow when there was no jingle or crow echoing down to them.

“Where did Peter go?” James asked. Charlie shrugged.

“Peter sometimes has things to do.”

“Oh.”

Charlie yawned and trudged over to the other side of the room. Another little alcove had been dug higher into the wall. Charlie, being the tallest, had no problem hoisting himself up into the space and flopping over on his side with a sigh.

James bit his lip.

He took another look around, a bit crestfallen to note that everyone was quickly slipping away into the land of dreams. He padded over to a spot in the corner, where a pile of leaves similar to Isaiah’s rested. He sank down and tried to get comfortable, but winced at the prickliness of the leaf edges against his skin. This was nothing like the soft sheets he’d left at home.

He tossed and turned, holding back a tiny whimper as he thought of how much his mother would have enjoyed today’s game of Pretend. His mother would have been the best - none of the boys, after all, had shown a talent for accents like she had. He closed his eyes and sank into the memory of her leaning over him, her amber eyes soft as her hair tickled his nose. Her hair - what color was her hair -

“James?”

He startled at the quiet whisper. Charlie was crouched next to him, his eyes sympathetic.

“Alright, James?”

James tried to nod but he knew it would not be the truth. Charlie seemed to sense this, and pursed his lips. He reached his hand out to James, smiling encouragingly.

“Want to sleep in my bunk?”

“Really?”

“First night is the hardest.”

James considered this for a moment, before accepting Charlie’s hand with a shy smile. He followed Charlie across the Hideout to the alcove high on the wall. Charlie climbed in first, reaching down to help hoist James up to join him. There was plenty of space for the two of them, and James settled on the inside while Charlie laid closer to the opening.

They laid in silence for a time, long enough for James to start to nod off. But there was a sound nagging at his ears, faint enough that he’d thought he’d been imagining it - a steady rhythm coming from the corner.

“What’s that?” he asked sleepily. 

“Hm?”

“The clicking.”

“The click - oh.” Charlie sat up and leaned over, snagging something out of the dark corner. Once it caught the light, James could very clearly see what it was. “It’s a pocketwatch.”

“It’s old,” was James’ first observation. Charlie furrowed his brow.

“No, it’s brand new. My father gave it to me.”

“Can I see?”

Charlie obliged. He opened the pocketwatch with his thumb, and suddenly the even rhythm James had heard grew into a steady tick tock. The face of the watch was cracked, and the gold coating had faded in color to something closer to bronze.

“What does that say?” James asked, pointing to the clock face. They squinted to read the tiny lettering. 

“Edward Jagger,” Charlie deciphered. “I suppose he’s the one that made the watch.”

“What’s under it?”

Charlie held the watch closer to his eyes. “17…16.”

“The year 1716?” James gaped. “See? It’s old. I was born in 1721.”

“That can’t be right,” Charlie frowned. “It was just 1716 a few months ago.”

“It’s 1727 now.”

“Really?” Charlie hummed, leaning back. “Peter said that time would feel strange when one doesn’t grow up.”

“You came to the Neverland in 1716?”

“That’s right.”

James fell silent, thinking very hard. Something was feeling a bit off, but he wasn’t sure what. His eyes caught something else stuffed into the corner Charlie had pulled the watch from. He pointed.

“What’s that?”

“Curious tyke, ain’t ya?” Charlie ruffled his hair good-naturedly, but still reached out and pulled out a small sleepshirt. It was similar in size to James’.

“Whose is that?”

“Mine, innit?”

“Yours?” James frowned. “But it’s so small.”

“Yeah, well,” Charlie said with uncertainty. “Lots of salt in the air, eh? Must’ve been too many dips in the waves. It’s a different world, ya see - something different about the water, most likely. Everyone’s Mainland clothes shrink so fast here.”

Something tugged oddly at James’ mind. He stared at the sleepshirt, his fingers coming up to pick absently at his own sleeve.

“...Charlie?”

“Mhm?”

“How old are you?”

Charlie blinked, his face hardening in concentration. His eyes flicked back and forth as he struggled to calculate in his head. 

“I don’t remember.”

“You’re the oldest one here.”

“Suppose I am, yeah.”

“Were you the first one? The first Lost Boy?”

Charlie nodded. “I don’t remember no others, when Peter brought me.”

“Do you… miss home?”

“This is my home,” Charlie smiled reassuringly. James shook his head.

“I mean your home in the… in the Mainland,” he said, remembering what the older boy had called England. “Your family before Peter. Before us.”

“I did,” Charlie said quietly. “But it… gets easier. Tell me about your parents.”

“My mother is beautiful,” James said proudly. “She has the sharpest eyes you’ve ever seen, black as night. And her hair - curls like mine.”

He shook his head to demonstrate.

“But hers are red… no, they’re… they’re brown… no…” He faltered, trailing away with a deep frown. He tried so hard to solidify the color of his mother’s hair in his mind’s eye. “Red,” he said eventually. “It must have been red.”

“Red it is,” Charlie nodded.

James let his gaze drop, his eyes growing distant. “I was supposed to play with her today.”

Charlie studied James silently, letting the younger boy pick at the sleeve of his own sleep shirt. Eventually, a larger hand settled over James’ fingers, halting his movements. James looked up, feeling comforted by the look of understanding in Charlie’s eyes. He was pulled closer to the older boy’s chest, nuzzling up to his side as he’d always wanted to nuzzle up to a big brother. The steady tick tock of the clock started to become almost hypnotic, lulling James off to sleep softly. Charlie squeezed his shoulder once more and whispered a reminder to them both.

“It will get easier.”

And in that moment, with no other option, James believed him.

-------------

James was too deep in sleep to feel the strange cold draft that infiltrated the Hideout for ten minutes. He did not sense Pan leaving the island and returning to the Mainland.

To the Stewart house.

Pan soared onto the roof, landing lightly and peeking below at the still-open window. A woman was there - curled up on the floor in front of the window, holding one of the toy soldiers James had been playing with when Pan had arrived. Her dark curls were frizzy, swishing across the wooden floor as she whined in her sleep. She was trapped in fitful dreams, tossing and turning under Pan’s sharp gaze.

“James,” she breathed. Her brows quirked up. “James.”

Pan glowered down at her. “We can’t both have him, lady.”

He floated down silently, until he hung in the air right above the open window panes. He held his breath and grasped each side carefully, and at a snail’s pace, closed the window. The woman’s brow furrowed, and her piercing blue eyes shot open quickly. Pan whisked himself up and away, disappearing onto the roof once more.

He growled at the sound of the window opening again.

“James?” he heard her rasp quietly. Hoping. “James, where are you?”

He waited - he peered down at her, waiting for her to cease her vigil at the window and succumb once more to sleep. But the woman did not. Despite her tired eyes and stiff limbs, she did not move an inch. She did not know why instinct kept her perpetually sitting at the window. But it did. Her eyes stayed open, and Pan was forced to withdraw.

He took off without a trace, flying up and away back toward the Star. He glanced back over his shoulder, and allowed his eyes to narrow.

“You can’t keep that window open forever,” he whispered. “You can’t remember him forever. I’ll close the window eventually - and then you’ll forget.”

He smiled as he broke through the barrier to the Neverland, bringing a warm breeze with him. When he returned to the Hideout, James hadn’t even been cold long enough to start shivering. Pan peeked into Charlie’s alcove to see the two boys asleep next to each other. His lips twitched upward.

He ignored the uneasy twitch behind him - a momentary lapse in syncronization with his shadow, a guilty hunch of his silhouette’s shoulders as it cast behind him on the floor. Pan merely whispered three words, words that did not reach James in his dreams.

“You’ll do nicely.”

An answering rumble, distant beneath his feet, was enough to confirm his words.

Chapter Text

Charlie had been right - it did get easier.

James’ first few weeks in the Neverland were packed full of adventures, each more fantastical than the last.

He met the mermaids - slippery eel-like creatures, living Greek sculptures that had been given razor-sharp edges by some overly-aggressive chisel. Their eyes were high and narrow, pits of pure black nestled among stray scales along their pale blue foreheads and cheekbones. Like Peter, their ears were elongated and tapered at the end, though James was sure if he went in the water, the tips of their ears would slice him neatly. Their tails weren’t one solid color; each one was its own galaxy made of shifting blues, purples and blacks. Their fingers were long and a thin stretch of webbing connected each digit. 

The first time he laid eyes on them, he squealed in a strange mixture of horror and delight. They stared back at him, sizing him up as the newest inhabitant of the island. Their gaze was as sharp as their tails, which were swishing lazily behind them through the surf. James automatically stood and started to tentatively walk towards the water - before he was yanked backwards firmly.

“Don’t touch ‘em, James,” Charlie grunted, setting him down softly. “Just look.”

“But…”

“They’ll drown you if you get too close,” Peter called out casually. James gulped.

“...Ah,” he managed shakily.

“They won’t hurt you over here,” Charlie assured him. “Just keep your distance, eh?”

James did not trust himself to say anything else in response, so he simply nodded. Charlie stepped out of his personal space, allowing James to slowly lower himself to sit back down on the beach. The mermaids had all shifted their focus to Peter, who had leapt to a rock just above the water. He began conversing with them as though they were his friends and not dangerous predators, but no matter how hard James strained his ears, Peter’s words were too low to pick out. James’ eyes trailed away, and stilled suddenly.

Peter had all the mermaids’ attention - except one.

She was still staring hard at James with a shrewd and calculating eye. He held her gaze with no small amount of trepidation, determined to pass whatever test he’d suddenly found himself under. They were locked into each other, neither of them blinking once despite the seaspray and sand floating through the air with each wave. 

After what felt like an eternity, the mermaid tilted her head slightly to the right and smiled. It was, as she was in her entirety, stunning and spine-chilling all at once. Sharp teeth glinted in the reflection of the sun on the water, and something flashed in her eyes briefly. 

James was not sure if he had passed or failed. 

With a sharp trill that seemed to emanate from her chest, the mermaid flipped abruptly and disappeared beneath the waves. The other mermaids followed suit, vanishing from where they’d been gathered around the rock. The water echoed with their shrieks - a victorious sound that should have been warmer than it was. 

James saw the mermaids plenty of times after that, and was relieved to see that whatever had occurred the first time had been a rarity. Each time they returned to the shore as a group, the mermaids were perfectly content to simply splash in the water and listen to Peter speak his quiet words. None of them stared at James - of course, he tried very hard not to stare at them, either.

The mermaids were not the only fantastical beings James was introduced to. He was stunned when he learned that Tinkerbell was, in fact, not the only fairy on the island. 

“You mean there are other fairies?” He asked with awe. He vaguely remembered Peter saying something about a tribe of them - but the memory was hazy, fogged by the walls of his nursery. Tinkerbell flew in front of him abruptly, her face twisted in indignation. He smiled apologetically. “Not that any of them could compare to you, Tink.”

Pleased with his assurances, Tinkerbell’s face relaxed into a haughty smirk. Despite her overwhelming pride, she still showed her gratitude by flying through James’ curls, ruffling them affectionately. She planted herself on his shoulder while Peter and the boys led him to a giant tree in the middle of the Neverland forest. 

Low on the trunk, very close to where the roots were partially visible above the soil, there was a thick hollow in the tree. Hollows were not unusual in the Neverland, but this one in particular happened to be glowing. 

James was more hesitant this time, his prior experience with the mermaids still relatively fresh in his memory - but at Tinkerbell’s urging from his shoulder, he allowed himself to step forward. He was emboldened when no one swooped in to stop him, and took stronger steps until he was standing in front of the hollow.

He gasped in glee.

The glow was coming from within the tree - hundreds, perhaps thousands of fairies were gathered inside the wood. It was quite obvious that Tinkerbell had originated from this group of fairies. All of them shared similar shades of bronze skin, plush lips and golden eyes. Their hair, like yellow starlight, varied - some had curls like Tink, but James also was able to pick out fairies with long braids, knots, twists, and countless other styles he had never seen before. 

He caught sight of one fairy in particular. Her thick hair was puffed out around her head like a cloud of gold, and her long white dress stood out from the sea of brown and green. Her skin was a few shades darker than Tink’s, just as luminous if not more so. Something sparkled throughout her hair, like a crown of fairy dust woven between her curls. 

“That’s Queen Mab.”

James glanced over to his right, where Charlie had settled in a crouch. 

“She’s the Queen?”

“Look at her, can’t you tell?”

And of course, he could. She carried herself with a regal air that somehow surpassed that of Tinkerbell and the rest of the fairies, but he could tell that any vanity was overshadowed by a great display of motherly love. 

“Queen Mab is the one who made all this possible,” Peter said from above. He’d flown up to perch carefully on one of the lower branches, looking down on the fairy hollow. “She found me in Hyde Park and brought me here.”

The Queen, hearing his words, looked up and smiled. It was a strange smile, almost tight in nature - but James blinked, and the tension disappeared. A sudden thought occurred to him and he frowned. 

“Queen Mab?”

“Yes?” Charlie encouraged him. 

“Like… like in Shakespeare? Romeo and Juliet?”

“The very same, ya little scholar,” Charlie grinned, ruffling his hair. “Where do ya think Shakespeare met her? She watches over the Park.”

“So did Shakespeare come to the Neverland too?”

“No,” Peter said proudly. “Queen Mab stopped bringing children after she brought me.”

Again, James caught a flicker of malcontent in the Queen’s eyes before it slipped away. They all paid their respects and left, letting the fairies go on with their own lives. 

The boys assured him that the final surprise would be the best. They walked West through the woods, all of them trudging along happily. James noted that none of the other boys seemed to be perturbed by stepping on sticks and stones while barefoot. He supposed that after a time, they all had developed callouses on the soles of their feet. Even little Nic had no trouble bounding through the rough underbrush.

He also noticed that the ground was much easier to navigate when in a large group. Especially with Peter leading the charge, there was never any question as to which direction they were all going. So long as they all continued to follow the leader, they stayed perfectly on track.

Soon, the trees began to thin. They started to hike up a rather steep hill, towards the late afternoon glow on the other side of the woods. They kept moving steadily toward the sunset, and James’ muscles started to ache in his legs from all the fun they’d been through that day. But he was determined to not lose his way this time – he kept up pace with Charlie, which was quite the feat as Charlie’s legs were a great deal longer than his own.

He was so focused on keeping his momentum that he was surprised by the sudden brightness of the sun on his face. They’d cleared the tree line, and Simon and Henry ran past him in excitement. He blinked away the glare from his vision, and as the line of boys in front of him dissipated, his view was finally cleared enough for him to gawk for the third time that day.

They’d climbed up to a cliffside clearing on the westmost side of the island, but it was by no means deserted. Sprawled across the small section of land was a series of longhouses. With their timber walls and thatched roofs, they stood tall against the darkening sky. A plume of smoke rose up from behind one of the buildings, the dark grey wisps helping to paint the sky as it transitioned into night. 

James could hear the lowing of cattle somewhere in the distance, though none were visible from where he stood. He could hear boisterous voices now, and the clang of steel on steel. He wondered why he had not heard it as they’d been approaching.

The other boys had rushed ahead, and half of them had already disappeared behind the closest longhouse. As more of them turned the corner, the raucous yells from the other side of the clearing grew in intensity. 

James nervously grabbed at Charlie’s sleeve until he looked down at him with a brow raised in question.

“Is it safe?”

“Would we take ya over there if it wasn’t?”

“The mermaids weren’t very safe,” James reminded him. 

“Aye, and I told ya not to get too close, didn’t I?” Charlie shrugged. “You was perfectly safe where you was standing, James. And if ya turn that corner with us, you’ll be even safer.”

James grabbed Charlie’s sleeve a little tighter, because he could not quite be all bravery, but he nodded anyway. Charlie slid his sleeve out of James’ hand carefully to instead wrap their fingers together firmly, and then stood still. James took a deep breath and took the first step forward, his brow set in determination as he led Charlie behind him. 

As he approached the longhouse, he could pick out more sounds from the chaos. Metal was still slashing through the air, it was true - but he could hear the dull clunk of wood against wood as well. War cries blended with giggles and shrieks, the voices of James’ new brothers mingling with older and rougher speech.

They turned the corner to see a battlefield.

Well, no - at a second glance, there was no true battle happening at all. The boys were armed with wooden quarterstaffs, sparring gleefully. Some of them were sparring with a fellow Lost Boy, others were against some of the largest men James had ever seen in his life. Tall and wide-set, all of them sported white-blond hair pulled back into intricate braid designs. Their flesh was decorated handsomely with a myriad of scars and tattoos, their quarterstaffs or swords dwarfed by their giant hands. With only one glance, James knew exactly who they were.

“Vikings,” he said, awestruck.

“Go play, James,” Charlie smiled, nudging him gently. James did not go immediately into the fray - he stepped to the side instead, staying close to the back side of the longhouse, scanning the village carefully. 

The warriors were not alone. Women and children also roamed the area, playing and working. Some mended clothes, some picked herbs from the gardens. There was a circle of dancers around the big fire pit, and James noticed that Simon had joined in the festivities. 

James’ eyes caught on one girl in particular, walking smoothly through a crowd of Viking women on the other side of the village square. They all parted for her, lowering their heads respectfully and speaking quietly as she passed. 

“Who’s that?” He started to ask Charlie, but the older boy had already been roped into a sparring session with one of the beefier warriors. By the time James turned back, the girl was already disappearing into one of the smaller structures that bordered the clearing. The people she’d walked past waited until she was completely gone, before dispersing themselves and going about their own business.

Whoever she was, James decided, she must be important.

Someone shouted to his left, and he turned quick enough to see a wooden stick being tossed his way. His little hands scrambled to catch it, managing to snag it from the air before it hit the ground. It had been thrown his way by a rather large Viking man - James barely came up to the warrior’s thighs. 

There was, however, no menace in the man’s bared teeth. It was more like a grin than a snarl, and he held in his own hands a staff of similar quality. He gestured vaguely, and James nervously grinned before launching at him with a shriek. 

The man parried easily but James was not deterred. He used his small stature to his advantage, bobbing and weaving around the burly Viking as he evaded the half-hearted attacks. He whacked his stick against the man’s hip, drawing out a yelp and a deep laugh. The man threw his hands up in surrender before extending a hand for James to shake. 

James’ hand disappeared in the larger scarred palm. He marveled at the tattoos that covered the skin, wondering for a moment what his own hand may look like if he joined the Vikings instead of Peter. 

“You are a smart one,” the man said. “And deadly, if trained. What is your name?”

“James Stewart.”

“Oh, a good name,” the man smiled warmly. “I am Ulf.”

“Ulf,” James said with a laugh, before quickly sobering and snapping his mouth shut in regret. Instead of being angry, Ulf smiled and clapped James on the back so hard he almost fell over. 

“Don’t worry. It is a funny name to you, no? Not many Ulfs where you come from.”

“Not many, no,” James sighed in relief. “I did have a friend, Alfred, go by Alf - at least, I think he did…”

He trailed away, trying to place Alfred’s face. It was a shifting visage tucked deep in his memory, like looking at a tiny detail from above a lake. The harder he reached for it, the deeper it sank. 

As he strained his memory, his eyes wandered. Across the field, Peter had made his way over to the smaller structure he’d seen the girl disappear into earlier. The surrounding people were still again as he passed, but the energy had almost shifted. Their reverence for the girl had been palpable, but this… James could not tell what was different. Peter glanced back at them as he approached the entrance and the crowd quickly dissolved. He pulled back the fur that marked the entrance to the house, and walked in. 

“James.”

James startled and turned to see Ulf had been calling him for some time. The smile was still on his lips, but it was strained. His eyes darted back to the small house almost imperceptibly, but James caught the movement and filed it away for later thought. 

Ulf stared at him another moment before taking up an en guard stance. 

“I meant it, little James,” he said seriously. “There is a warrior in you, if you’d like to find him.”

James gathered that this was an important proposition from the Viking. In response, he lifted his own staff to mirror Ulf’s position. 

Ulf smiled a real smile, and the sparring began again. 

------------------

James understood now why the Viking village had been saved for last. 

After a full evening of sparring and eating roasted meat by the fire, James was practically falling over with sleepiness. He tried to mask a wide yawn as he waved goodbye to Ulf, and failed miserably. The boys trotted off back into the dark forest, their way being lit by Tinkerbell’s glow alone. 

James’ mind was threatening to leave his body behind. Fantasies and dreams already tickled at the edge of his subconscious, making him drag slightly behind the group. It wasn’t until someone bumped into him from behind that he startled fully awake. 

“Oh, sorry, Charlie.”

“Alright, James?”

“Mhm.”

Charlie scoffed quietly, a sound that should have been derisive if Charlie had had a vicious bone in his body. Instead it was filled with warm exasperation, and James startled at the feeling of hands scooping under his arms. 

“Wha -”

“Hop on,” Charlie grunted, twisting until James was able to clamber onto his back. It would have made more sense, perhaps, to step out of the moving line so James could jump up properly, but it seemed that Charlie also knew what it would be like to be lost without Tink’s guiding light. 

“You don’t have to -” James started to protest softly, but a large yawn snatched the rest of his sentence before he could finish it. 

“Don’t want ya left behind, do we?” Charlie said. His voice was quiet and he said it as though James were a mischievous scamp that needed to be nudged along. But there was another tone in his voice that James couldn’t quite place. “The Neverland isn’t kind to boys who wander off.”

“I know,” James said, sleepily. Charlie squeezed James' ankles where they looped around his torso, and James didn’t have to ask any questions to know that Charlie knew too. 

James was lulled into a half-dream state by the gentle rock of Charlie’s gait. His brain conjured fleeting images of the fairies he’d looked in on earlier that day - the queen’s warm smile invaded by some frosty emotion behind her golden eyes. Woods became rocky shores and suddenly glimpses of the mermaid’s stare followed him through the dream. A smile that was sharp and bitter, no kindness in her gaze. She disappeared beneath the waves of James’ mind, and there was Ulf towering over him with a plastic grin. The girl from before stood a few yards behind him, looking straight at James grimly. Her hand reached for him, and he felt himself start to step past Ulf -

He was nudged awake when they reached the fallen tree. 

“Time to go down, James,” Charlie said, waiting until James acknowledged his words before he slid the boy off his back. James padded over to the hole in the log, crouched and slid down the slide. He was getting better at landing on his feet… or at least, not on his face. He dusted himself off and stepped out of the way so Charlie could enter unhindered. Peter was last down into the hideout. 

“Boys,” Peter said stoically, “I’m afraid I must leave you for a while. But I’ll be back with a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Nic asked, his own yawns forgotten in the wake of his excitement. 

“The best surprise,” Peter nodded. “You all know what to do.”

“Yes, Peter,” everyone answered dutifully except James. But he was certain someone would explain it to him, so he stayed quiet. 

“How long will you be gone, Peter?” Henry asked. Peter shrugged. 

“As long as it takes to find your surprise,” he grinned. “Don’t worry, I won’t take too long. You won’t even notice, you’ll be too busy playing games here.”

Here? James wondered. The other boys didn’t seem to think this was an odd thing for Peter to say. They all nodded happily, each one of them saluting Peter with pride. James, not one to be left out, lifted his own hand to his forehead to send their leader off. 

“To bed, boys. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Tink and Peter swooped up and out through the entrance, leaving the boys to their own devices. James turned to see everyone moving about the room casually, looking through little nooks and crannies and pulling out blankets and make-shift coats. 

“What are you doing?” James finally asked Charlie. The older boy looked confused for a moment before his expression cleared. 

“Right, ya wouldn’t know, would ya. When Peter leaves the island, James, he takes the endless Spring with him. Without him here, the island freezes over - we stay pretty warm down here in the Hideout, but it’s still good to cover up.”

“The island freezes,” James said, disbelieving. “That’s impossible.”

“So is flying, innit?” Charlie said cheekily. James hummed in response. “It ain’t too bad, James. Never lasts too long.”

“I don’t have a coat,” was all James could think to say. Charlie smiled. 

“There’s a blanket up in the corner of the nook,” he nodded back to where the two boys had slept. “Use that.”

There was no time for James to say anything else - a low whoosh echoed above their heads, and a sudden draft found its way down the slide and sent a shiver down James’ spine. He turned to the entrance and stared at little white flurries dancing to the floor. They were few in number and quick to melt in the insulation of the hideout, but the message was clear. 

The Neverland was frozen, and James felt further away from home than ever. 

------------------

James wasn’t sure how long they stayed down in the Hideout. After a while of bundling close to each other in the Hideout, James had grown quite attached to each of his brothers. Nic, James and Charlie tended to form a sort of chain, always tending to stick together as their own group. When they were bored, they would tell each other stories, each trying to one-up the others. Of course, though James loathed to admit it, Charlie was definitely the best. He could craft entire plots in the blink of an eye, plots that swept the other two boys away every time. 

One day, when Charlie was in the middle of a rather harrowing tale, a huge gust of warm air rushed down into the Hideout. Their rapture was immediately broken by shouts of glee and relief, as all the boys rushed to the opening of the slide to revel in the warm breeze. 

A distant crow sounded from above the ground, and James finally accepted it - the boy he’d run away from home with quite literally had the power to control the weather. The warm air had been the Neverland defrosting in a huge rolling wave of sun. 

He wasn’t sure if he should marvel or be afraid. 

A tiny jingle was growing closer by the second - Tink’s flight harkened the arrival of their leader, prompting the boys to step away from the entrance carefully. They could hear a pair of feet hit the ground… followed by another. Muffled voices echoed down to them, one significantly higher in pitch. 

“Maybe he brought someone our age,” Nic said to Henry hopefully. 

Three thumps sounded from above, and the rest of the boys rushed to the other side of the room. James followed them, remembering what had happened when he’d last heard those three thumps. They huddled near the wall, watching attentively for the newest Lost Boy to exit the slide. There was a soft squeak of surprise and the sound of fabric rushing along wood -

And out of the slide tumbled a young girl. 

The boys all gawked at her, her pale yellow nightdress all rumpled from the journey and her dark hair strewn across her face. She blew out a great burst of air to clear her vision, and her straight hair flew to its proper place almost comically. She shook her head as though trying to nurse a headache, and James felt a great sense of déjà vu when she eventually looked up at them and froze.

This time, he was on the other side, huddling with his new brothers and watching the newcomer with fascination. She stared at all of them warily as she climbed to her feet. She was taller than James and seemed a few years older. Her gaze held a decent amount of trepidation, but it was accompanied by a sense of warning. The boys gulped, not knowing how to approach her.

“Who are you?” She said shortly.

“You’re a girl,” Henry blurted. The boys all hissed down to him, chiding him softly.

“I am, yes.”

“Why are you a girl?”

“Henry,” Edward admonished in a whisper. “You cannot simply ask her why she’s a girl.”

“But I already did.”

“I am a girl,” she cut in indignantly. “Is that a problem?”

“No, ma’am,” the boys muttered in unison. She nodded approvingly.

“Good.”

“What’s your name?” Nic asked softly from behind James. She found the small boy quickly, schooling her face into a gentler expression than before.

“Sophie,” she said finally. “My name is Sophie Allamby.”

At that exact moment, Peter flew in with a raucous yell, prompting the boys to join in on the war cry. Sophie was startled, glancing around trying to determine whether she’d willingly flown her way into a threat or not. When she realized they all intended to grin with her rather than at her, she relaxed into a tentative smile of her own.

“Boys!” Peter exclaimed, dropping down quickly to land on the ground. “I have brought us a Mother!”

There was a great shout of joy from every boy except James.

The younger boys rushed out to launch themselves at Sophie, crying out about how they’d dreamed of a Mother to come to them. 

“Do you know any stories?”

“Can you sing to us?”

“Will you tuck us in at night?”
“Can you help us make some new clothes?”

“Do you play games?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Sophie laughed, some of her fears assuaged. “Yes, of course, I have so many stories for all of you.”

James was unsure of all this, even as the older boys grinned at each other too. James was rather fond of his own mother, and wasn’t sure he was ready to replace her - no matter how similar this girl was in temperament. She seemed nice enough, but was he truly to accept her as his mother?

“Can you do accents?” He blurted out. Everyone paused, looking at him so curiously he started to blush. 

“My mother could do accents,” he mumbled. Sophie smiled, a smile that was so like his mother’s and so different all at once. 

“I can try,” she said. “I know a few, but I’m probably not as skilled as your mother was.”

James rather thought that her modest response was more endearing than if she had boasted. He was proud of his mother and her abilities, and while he hoped Sophie was up to the task, he was glad she hadn’t tried to raise herself above his real mother. 

“Mother,” Henry said, drawing her gaze down to him. “Do you play Pretend too?”

She smiled widely, and her eyes sparked. 

“Now if there’s anything I’m certain I can do,” she laughed, “it’s playing Pretend.”

------------------

Sophie was right. She was one of the best Pretenders James had ever played with. 

She settled in at the island with no problems at all. The younger boys accepted her as their Mother, going so far as to address her as such. The older boys took a little extra time, but within an afternoon of games, she became Mother to them as well. 

James seemed to be the only one besides Peter who still wanted to call her Sophie. 

Between games, James caught bits of information and filed them away. Sophie was nine - a whole three years older than he was. She was drawn to Charlie just as James had been, and he was almost jealous until he heard the reason why. 

“I have an older brother,” Sophie said when the boys asked about her home and family. “Louis - he’s actually around your age, Charlie. You remind me of him.”

“Did you have any other siblings?” Matthew asked. 

“Alma,” Sophie smiled. “She’s the oldest - she’s already married, I don’t see much of her.”

The boys murmured in contempt at the mention of marriage. Such a grown up thing, filled with nasty things like kisses and responsibilities. They resolved not to ask any more questions of Sophie’s life in the Mainland - to have a loved one trapped in the clutches of adulthood would be too much for anyone to discuss, of course. 

“Peter,” Simon said excitedly. “Can we show Sophie around the island now?? We’ve been playing for hours.”

“Oh please, Peter, please,” the boys chorused.

“The fairies first!” Isaiah cried. 

“The Vikings are better,” Edward said, earning a whoop from William and cries of indignation from the younger crowd. 

“Enough!” Peter said, flying down from where he’d perched above them to dangle upside down in front of Sophie’s face. “What do you want to see first, Sophie?”

She thought for a moment, and James saw the exact moment she chose her first adventure. It was an important step for a newcomer, he’d learned - your first adventure had to be chosen carefully, or one may never choose to adventure again. 

“Peter,” she said tentatively. “In the nursery, didn’t you mention… mermaids?”

------------------

James certainly was not looking forward to another meeting with the mermaids in the lagoon. His first visit, though it had ended up relatively uneventful, was still flashing through his mind like a warning bell. Even though he’d visited them a handful of times since, he couldn’t quite suppress a chill. But Sophie had spoken with much hope, a childish glee at the thought of actually laying eyes on such a creature - so James swallowed any protests and resolved to stay close to the girl, just in case. 

They all whooped and careened their way through the woods, Peter and Sophie at the front of the group. James managed to slide his way up the line while others were distracted, to make sure that Sophie did not stray into any danger along the way. When he reached the two leaders, he inadvertently caught snippets of their conversation.

“The boys are rather sweet, don’t you think so, Peter?” Sophie said.

“I suppose so,” Peter shrugged. “But one girl is worth more than twenty boys, Sophie.”

Sophie blushed. “And… are they really ours, Peter? Yours and mine?”

“If you wish it,” Peter said, his response vague. But he flashed a bright smile in Sophie's direction, and she grinned softly back. It was beyond obvious to James that the girl had already fallen for the flying boy. Something about the interaction struck him as strange, but he couldn’t tell what it was. 

“It is so lovely being a Mother,” she said simply. “Though I will need your help, Father dear.”

“Very well, Mother - I’ll do my best,” Peter bowed lightly. There was a spark in his eyes James had seen before, but where? He watched them interact for a while longer, tuning out their words to focus on Peter’s face. There. That glimmer of mischief reared its head again, and James finally realized where he’d seen it.

Peter was playing Pretend.

He could not tell, however, if Sophie was also playing. He had only seen Sophie play for a bit, and so was unused to her mannerisms. He wasn’t sure when she was caught up in the world of make-believe - right now, she seemed to very much be in the world of reality.

James resolved to remember what he’d seen - he added the memory to his ever-growing list of Neverland oddities. But as he placed the thought at the top of the pile, something wiggled out from underneath and slipped through the crack in his mind. His parents’ names, Vivian and Richard, escaped the clump of memories and disappeared. They became reduced in James’ mind to naught but their titles - Mother and Father. 

Simple enough to remember.

Even simpler to soon forget.

James began to step with more care the closer they came to the shore. Nic and Henry almost barreled past him, but slowed when they realized how near they were to the water. Their newfound concern did nothing to diminish the brilliant grins stretched across their faces - all of them were entirely too excited to show Sophie what lay beneath the waves. 

“They are so beautiful,” James assured her. Her eyes sparked with wonder, an awe James knew would only grow when she saw them for herself. “But you can’t get too close. They’re best admired from afar, you see.”

“Why?” 

“The mermaids are more dangerous than you’ve heard,” James said apologetically. “They are beautiful like… like lions are beautiful. Or bears.”

James backtracked quickly when he noticed the start of a frown on Sophie’s lips.

“It’s alright! We just don’t go too close. You’ll like it, I promise!”

“Alright,” she smiled. Her eyes were still uncertain, but her frown had disappeared.

They crept closer still, falling into a single-file line behind Peter as the grass started transitioning into sand. James had become quite used to the feeling of sinking into the pillowy sand - the way it flowed over and between his toes was almost a comfort to him now. They were coming up on the water now, and James could tell that Sophie was put-out by the empty lagoon.

“They will come,” he smiled over his shoulder. “Don’t worry.”

They finally stopped, the boys flopping to sit and play in the sand until something exciting happened. James stayed standing with Sophie, but could not help kicking his foot softly to watch grains of sand rain back down to the ground. He longed to join in with the other younger boys, but he felt compelled to watch for Sophie’s reaction instead.

He heard the water shift first. Now used to the stunning predators of the deep, he could tell the moment when their heads breached the surface of the waves. The lapping of the surf changed, a pattern was disrupted. Sophie’s countenance morphed quickly - her eyes widened and her lips parted in a silent oh . A smile threatened at the corner of her lips as she stared, transfixed.

“She’s beautiful,” she whispered reverently. 

James relaxed into a grin of his own, glancing over to see that no less than five mermaids had come to see them today. Four of them stayed mostly concealed beneath the waves. All that was visible were the tops of their heads down to their sharp, dark eyes. Their thick black hair floated around them like the halos of fallen angels. But one mermaid, the same mermaid that had stared at James weeks ago, had ventured closer. She rested on her elbows in the shallow end of the surf, and her piercing stare was locked steadily on Sophie.

James heard a new sound in the air very suddenly - different from the trills and shrieks he’d heard time and time again. This was a soft chirp coming from the water, almost like an alien purr. It was a gentle and coaxing sound, far more pleasant to the ear than anything he’d heard from them before.

He cocked his head and looked over to Sophie. He frowned.

Her eyes had glazed over rather alarmingly. A dazed smile had been permanently etched onto her lips, and before he knew what was happening, she was taking a step forward. And another. Until she’d passed him entirely.

“Sophie?” He questioned. She did not seem to hear him. Beyond her retreating form, he could see an eerily familiar smile on the mermaid’s lips, but so much gentler now than when it had been aimed at him. She extended a webbed hand as Sophie approached the water line. James felt his stomach twist in worry.

“Sophie, wait,” he called sharply. Still she did not turn her head. At the seriousness in his voice, some of the other boys lifted their heads to observe the scene. Sophie was very close now - her toes were being washed clean of sand by the lagoon, and she placed her peach-colored hand in the mermaid’s blue palm. The mermaid slinked back slowly, never blinking - could they even blink? Sophie took a step into the water.

James was already moving.

“Let her go!” He shouted, panic gripping him as he started to run. “Sophie, stop!”

It wasn’t until Sophie’s knees hit the water that the other mermaids made their move.

They’d been lying in wait the entire time, keeping a fixed formation until their prey was quite literally in their grasp. They slithered forward, their tales cutting through the waves softly. The other boys had all stood, staying a safe distance away but all calling out to Sophie with urgency. James was close to her now; the sand was more compact here, his own toes were about to touch the surf.

A body barreled past him, knocking him onto his side. He whipped his head up to see Charlie sprinting out to Sophie. His legs splashed into the water without a care for his own safety. He locked his arms tightly around her waist and lifted her, twisting midair to muscle his way back to shore. He would have had more difficulty with the now-enraged mermaids, if Peter hadn’t swooped down to plant himself between the sea and shore. 

The mermaids squealed in fury, and Peter hissed back. The sound was severe as it sliced through the air. The mermaids glared up at Peter but fell silent. He was crouched menacingly in midair, his shoulders rigid with warning. James turned to check on Sophie, relieved to see that the spell had been broken. She had slumped to the ground, still wrapped in Charlie’s protective arms. She clung tightly to his shirt with knuckles paler than the skin of the creature she’d followed into the water. Her wide eyes were devoid of wonder now - her face was white and her mouth slack, stunned that she had almost walked right into a grisly demise.

There was another shriek from the waves, and James whipped around in terror - but it was only the mermaids fleeing. Their tails crested and flopped back onto the surface of the water as they descended, splashing James firmly in the face. He gasped, swiping a hand over his eyes as he scuttled backwards away from the water line. When he could open his eyes again, the water was clear once more, and the mermaids had gone.

Peter was gone too - he’d flown around to land neatly in front of Sophie and Charlie. He offered his hand to her, and it was almost ironic how quickly she placed her hand in his for comfort. She was pulled from Charlie’s arms into Peter’s, a more awkward embrace in James’ opinion but one that seemed to soothe Sophie all the same.

“Oh, Peter,” she panted. “Would they truly have drowned me so cruelly?”

“They are only sweet to look at, Sophie,” Peter said. “They’re gone now. I sent them away.”

James cast another glance over to the waves, the gears of his mind turning slowly. The mermaids had always demanded caution, that was true. But he had not seen such a sinister display in all his time in the Neverland. And judging by the other boys’ reactions, neither had they. Only Peter had seemed to be expecting such a turn of events, if the speed with which he’d soared to the water was any indication. 

James felt it once more, the shift in the air. A change that had arrived alongside Sophie. He opened his mouth, intending to voice his concern - when another new noise shook him so deeply that his jaw snapped shut. 

A rumble - one so deep, it seemed to pulsate through the entire world - flooded his ears. He felt the sand beneath his body vibrate with the intensity, as though thunder had suddenly found itself in the center of the earth rather than the sky. It raised goosebumps along his flesh, and the feeling of his hairs standing on edge almost had him truly awaiting an accompanying lightning strike. But there was no flash of light, no bolt streaking through the sky - the heavens remained as bright and cloudless as ever. 

There was, however, movement in the waves.

James flicked his eyes down, expecting to see a sleek tail streaking through the water towards him, but the shadow in the water was too wide to be that of a returning mermaid. He saw it, whatever it was, looming just under the surface. Its form was massive but shapeless, a mere blob distorted by James’ view from above. 

He blinked once, and very abruptly, it was gone. It was as though nothing had even been there in the first place.

“Peter?” He called nervously. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

James jumped at the unexpected closeness of the voice - when he turned, Peter was standing just behind his right shoulder, hands placed firmly on his hips and lips fixed in an easy smile. James frowned.

“The… the growl. You must have heard it.”

“Hm, I didn’t hear anything,” Peter shrugged.

“There was - there was something in the water,” James said firmly, pointing a trembling hand out to where he’d spotted the creature in the waves. “Right there.”

“It was just a mermaid,” Peter said dismissively. James bristled.

“It was too big for a mermaid.”

“I think your eyes are playing tricks on you, James,” Peter said smoothly. James narrowed his eyes, zeroing in on the painted-on quality of Peter’s smile. Something about the fixed grin made him even more uneasy than the mermaids and shadow combined. He was abruptly reminded of Queen Mab and Ulf - their faces, wrought with some related tension, flashed through his mind - but something in his subconscious paused the retort forming on his lips. He was not sure why he didn’t want to confront Peter about this, but he decided to listen to his gut. 

For now.

He forced his face to relax into a light, confused smile.

“...I’m sorry,” he said slowly. “Must have been my mistake. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

Though James had not yet been alive long enough to hone his acting skills to perfection, his display seemed to pacify Peter enough. Peter’s smile loosened, his relief as poorly disguised as James’ suspicion.

“Maybe your imagination just doesn’t want to stop playing Pretend,” Peter grinned. James pushed a stilted laugh out in response. Without another word on the subject, Peter flew away back to Sophie, whose cheeks were finally starting to regain their usual shade of pink.

“Want to see something even better?” He asked her, and she smiled back shakily.

“Will it be dangerous too?”

“Maybe,” Peter shrugged. “Would it be an adventure otherwise?”

Everyone waited with bated breath to see if Sophie would turn and run. James could not say for certain if he would have been willing to see anything else after such an experience - but he was impressed when she squared her shoulders and nodded firmly.

“I shall follow your lead,” she said bravely. Her courage was met with encouraging whoops from the crowd of boys. Sophie’s smile grew, relieved that she had garnered favor with her new playmates. James joined in with the cheers, though he still glanced back to the empty water once more. 

Wondering what had been lurking below.

------------------

James made sure to stick very close to Sophie when they all walked from the eastern beach to the west side of the island. Nothing unseemly happened during the journey, though James wasn’t sure what exactly he would have done if it had. They trekked behind Peter as he led them to a place James had only seen once.

The Viking village. 

Once the plumes of smoke came into view, the boys released a huge battle cry and rushed gleefully into the clearing. The Vikings were ready for them - their strongest warriors shouted right back at them, everyone rushing forward to engage in a sparring session. 

James lagged behind with Sophie, explaining things to her as quickly as he could. 

“That’s Frode,” he said, pointing at a man telling tales near the fire to a gaggle of children. “Leif and Svend are sparring there. Astrid and Hilda are making the food, see them? And that’s -”

“James!”

James turned to see a large man barrelling their way.

“Ulf!” He shouted happily, stepping past Sophie to leap at the man’s outstretched arms. Ulf caught him and rubbed the top of his head with a laugh.

“You have come back!”

“Yes - oh, I’m sorry. Ulf, this is Sophie. Sophie, this is Ulf.”

“Sophie!” Ulf grinned, stepping over to bow to the girl. “The most beautiful of the lady birds we have welcomed. We are so glad you are here.”

“Lady bird?” She asked. Ulf paused.

“Ah - an expression, you see!” He smiled widely. Too widely - not quite as tense as James had witnessed before, but not quite genuine either. “She who flies to us in a gown of gold - the sweetest lady bird to land among us.”

“Oh, I see,” Sophie giggled, though there was a note of uncertainty in her voice. “You are too kind, truly.”

James’ eyes wandered away from the increasingly-awkward conversation. He tuned out Ulf and Sophie’s small talk and instead focused on what his brothers were doing. Charlie, Matthew, Henry and Isaiah were sparring in the field with Viking men. Edward and William had paired off with each other, wild grins on their faces as they fought. Nic and Simon were the only two who had strayed toward the warmth of the fire, listening to Frode’s current tale.

Something out of the corner of James’ eye caught his attention. 

He turned to look, not even sure what he was trying to focus his gaze on. All he could see was the edge of the clearing, where the houses were more scarce the closer they strayed to the tree line. He looked back to Ulf and Sophie, catching them in the middle of a conversation about Ulf’s tattoos, when he sensed it again.

He looked quicker this time, scanning left and right until he glimpsed it - a flash of something disappearing behind one of the houses. He’d seen it for only a brief moment, but it was enough to make him stare intently at the structure. Soon after, a young Viking boy emerged from the other side of the house, as though he had simply returned from a stroll through the forest before making a brief stop at the back of someone’s home. 

But the sight of the normal Viking boy was what made James stare. He did not know what he had seen disappear behind that house, but whatever it had been, it had not looked like this boy. This boy sported reddish hair and pale freckled skin, with dark trousers and a tan tunic that hung loosely over his frame.

Whatever James had seen had not been wearing a tunic. He had not seen red hair or skin as pale as his own - he had seen something quick, lean, and dark. It had nearly blended in with the green of the forest behind it, almost as though the figure had also been green itself.

Impossible, James’ mind rebelled automatically. He hesitantly reminded himself, however, that he had seen the impossible every day these last few weeks. Was it truly so unlikely that something strange, even by the Neverland's standards, was happening just out of sight?

“James?”

He looked back to see Sophie and Ulf staring at him. Sophie’s brow was furrowed with concern. “Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” James said quickly. Too quickly - he made sure to stop his gaze from uniting with Ulf’s hard stare. “I just… I’m fine.”

“Alright,” Sophie said slowly. “If you’re sure. Come on, I want to hear whatever story Frode is telling. It looks exciting.”

James glanced toward the center of the clearing and saw at once what she meant. Frode had grown extremely animated, standing fully and waving his arms around to illustrate whatever action his story entailed. The audience sat enraptured, almost giddy, as the man strayed from his spot to instead move smoothly among them.

“I said come on, James!” Sophie exclaimed, grabbing James’ hand happily and dragging him away from Ulf. He stumbled behind her as she skipped cheerfully. He kept his eyes forward as she turned to wave goodbye to Ulf. “It was lovely meeting you!”

She turned back to gaze forward, and spoke so quietly that James was almost certain he’d imagined it.

“What did you see?”

“What?” James asked, startled. Sophie shushed him. Her lips barely moved, but her eyes didn’t rest. She kept a neutral-happy expression on her face while she scanned the clearing, seemingly awestruck at all the adventure crammed into one small space. But there was a calculating look in her eye that James wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been so close.

“You saw something. You’re scared. What’s going on?”

“I…” James fumbled for words. They were closer to the fire now. Sophie had not slowed their gait - she kept her strides long and bouncy on purpose, he realized, to keep others from noticing her discomfort. “I don’t know what it was. I don’t know what’s happening. But something’s different now, Sophie, I don’t like this anymore.”

“It feels… strange here, you’re right,” she agreed quietly. “Do you think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know - I think I want to go home -” James mumbled, but her hand tightened around his.

“Smile.”

“What?”

“Smile,” she said firmly. “I’ve seen you play Pretend, James - you’re very good at it. We may have to keep playing it for a while.”

James did not respond. They were very close to the fire now. Sophie squeezed his hand twice and released it, bounding forward to sit next to Nic and Simon. James lagged behind her, choosing instead to let his eyes subtly sweep the visible areas of the tree line near him. 

There was no sign of the entity he’d seen before. His eyes darted to a large shadow to his right, but it was just the lengthening shadow of a tree as the sun continued to set behind the mountain. He turned back, about to join Sophie at the fireside, and bumped into someone.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, looking up and falling still. There in front of him was the young woman he’d seen entering the small longhouse during his first visit to the village. She looked down on him impassively, her eyes calm. 

“Hello,” she said simply.

James took a moment to gather his mind before he spoke. “Hello.”

“What is your name?” She asked.

“James.”

“James,” she repeated, smiling. “A good name. Strong. Satisfying.”

“…Thank you,” James said, not sure what to do with that information. “What is your name?” He turned the question on her politely.

She smiled once more. “You may call me Thyra, little James.”

“Thyra,” James sounded out slowly. “That’s a very good name too.”

“I would have chosen nothing less,” she said simply. She looked him up and down, studying him carefully. “Why do you not join in the festivities?”

He hesitated, fighting to keep his gaze on her and not look toward the trees. Sophie had told him to keep playing Pretend. He could do that. “Just admiring the village is all. I never did ask - what are we celebrating?”

Thyra smiled easily. “We are preparing for Sígrblót. See the altar just beyond us?”

James turned, and indeed saw a huge stone altar on the far side of the clearing. The altar had not been present during his last visit - as the son of a rather accomplished history buff, he remembered his father speaking about Sígrblót before. The Norse heathen celebration was apparently soon. Had he been here that long? Surely not.

Decorating the altar was a collection of offerings - red and black fabric covered the stone, and runes were painted on the side of the cloth: a sort-of upturned F, a sharp right angle opening to the right, an arrow pointing up, and an almost-squished N. Gentle smoke rose from the stone, and as the breeze wafted it over to James, he smelled a lovely mint incense burning. Apples and roses were arranged neatly around a very pale white branch - birch wood. Bright green gemstones were laid out in a circle, surrounding a wooden carving of a boar.

“The Goddess Freyja,” Thyra said smoothly, “shall be pleased with our offerings.”

James paused.

“Freyja?” He asked carefully. Thyra nodded, and he bit his lip.

“Something troubles you, little James,” she observed.

“No - well, it’s just -” he looked at the altar, then back to her. “Maybe my father told me wrong. But I thought that Sígrblót was in honor of Odin, not Freyja.”

Thyra frowned. “Odin, you say?”

James was nervous. “I don’t mean any offense - you are, of course, the Vikings, you would know. But…”

But James trailed off, caught in a very piercing stare. Thyra studied him so closely, he felt as though he was frozen. There was a very odd sensation in his mind - as though something had been moved aside. Then there was a brief tug -

And Thyra’s eyes flashed. It was over in a blink, and James found himself wondering if he’d imagined it. But he had sworn her blue Scandinavian eyes had glinted pure gold for a single heartbeat. He swallowed, and her gaze softened, until he felt secure enough to look away. 

“Of course,” she said happily. “Your father is right. Odin shall be most pleased.”

James furrowed his brow in a frown. “But -” He turned to the altar, and the words died on his lips.

It had changed.

The red and black fabric had not disappeared. But the runes had completely changed - the F tilted downward now, the sharp right angle had been replaced with a very angular infinity symbol, the arrow had turned into an M, and the lopsided N had morphed into a P. The scent in the air was different too; perhaps he’d sniffed wrong the first time, but James could have sworn the strong pine scent had once been pure peppermint instead. The apples, roses, and birch had all disappeared; lush green ferns now covered each side of the table. And in the center, red stones that held almost the pattern of frozen lava encircled a wooden eagle.

James gaped.

“That -” he stammered, pointing to the altar and looking at Thyra incredulously. “How did -”

“I do hope you will join us for Sígrblót, little James,” Thyra said easily. She ignored his increasingly flustered movements. “I hope you all will,” she said next, glancing subtly to James’ right. James glanced over his shoulder to see the eldest boys - Charlie, William, and Edward - laughing and chatting with each other.

He turned back to ask her what she meant, but a grim expression had slid into her gaze for a moment. It was brief, and when she inhaled next, it was gone - but he had definitely seen it. Before either of them could say anything else, a large Viking man stepped up behind Thyra and cleared his throat respectfully.

“Princess,” he said quietly. “You are requested in your father’s tent.”

James gaped once more. “Princess -?”

“Enjoy your evening, little James,” Thyra said simply, sweeping past him. The Viking man paused, glancing down at him and smiling slightly. 

“James,” he echoed. “A good name.”

And without another word, they were gone - and James was alone to wonder.

------------------

Just like his last visit to the village, they all reveled long into the evening. The pairs of sparring partners trickled apart one by one, until almost everyone was seated happily around the large fire with bowls of food as Frode continued yet another tale.

James felt his eyes start to grow heavy. He wasn’t the only one - Nic had drifted to sleep an hour ago, leaning heavily against Simon’s shoulder as he dreamed. James started to nod off as well; his head began to droop down and to the right, and he let his forehead drift down to Sophie’s shoulder - 

Only to almost tumble off the log when she was not there.

He blinked, forcing the encroaching dreams away and staring at the empty spot on the log. She had been sitting there, just now. Or was it hours ago? He couldn’t keep time straight anymore. He looked up, darting his eyes around to see if anyone else was missing, and found that their circle lacked one other key player.

Peter.

James glanced around, trying to catch sight of the boy and the girl, but they had vanished. He was about to give up and return his attention to the story, when he suddenly spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly, expecting to catch another glimpse of the elusive dark shape from earlier - and instead caught sight of Peter and Sophie creeping away from the village and into the forest.

James bit his lip. He was hesitant to leave the safety of the group, but he was more hesitant to leave Sophie alone with Peter. Something was wrong, he could feel it even though he could not puzzle it together.

Squaring his shoulders, James stood slowly and crept away from the fire. He passed the few pairs still sparring half-heartedly, murmuring excuses of relieving himself in private. He was glad to not encounter Ulf along the way - the one man who would have seen through the lie fortunately did not cross his path. 

James managed to reach one of the houses, ducking behind it casually as though he were truly about to relieve himself. When he was certain he had not been followed, he darted out from behind the safety of the structure and hid behind the next house. When the coast was clear, he did the same thing again. Four times he hopped from house to house, covering his footsteps with the sounds of the crowd reacting to Frode’s story. 

He finally reached the final house before the trees. He eyed the forest apprehensively. Sophie and Peter had already disappeared into the woods, too deep for James to see from where he stood. He would have no idea of where he was going - did he really want to get lost again?

Just when he was thinking of turning back, an image of Peter’s Pretending eyes surfaced in his mind. Peter had not stopped playing Pretend since Sophie had arrived. And James finally understood what had perturbed him so deeply.

This was a Pretend that Peter seemed to know well. As though he’d done it before.

James didn’t allow himself to think about anything else before he darted forward, willingly losing himself in the thicket. He pushed through jagged branches and thick leaves, straining his ears until he heard a light giggle. Sophie - it was just ahead, if he could just get around the corner, he was sure he would find them. 

“Peter,” he heard her whisper harshly. He was closer now, close enough to hear her squeak softly as she was dragged further into the wood. There was a gentle light ahead of him, growing brighter with every quiet step he took. He kept his distance even as a familiar thicket came into view - this was the way to the fairy hollow. 

James ducked behind a tree and peeked around carefully. The air was full of shimmering pixies - they all floated serenely through the little area of forest, each sporting long, flowing white dresses. They were so beautiful; James was caught for a moment, staring in awe at all the small beings swimming around the tree. But then he blinked and, remembering his mission, glanced around for any sign of Peter and Sophie. 

They were not standing near the tree, nor anywhere in the small clearing for that matter. His eyes traveled up, and up, and up - and that is when he saw them. 

They were floating as well, high above the hollow at this point; Peter held Sophie softly, his hands placed carefully on her waist as they twisted in the air. Sophie spun away from him and their hands caught each other, and she was pulled back in slowly. 

A dance. 

James stared, transfixed. The fairies steadily rose to meet the two children and spiral around them, their soft bell sounds almost creating a dreamy choir. James tried to get a good glimpse at the children’s faces - Peter watched Sophie with a soft smile. As they turned, James caught sight of Sophie’s eyes. 

His stomach churned. 

Her eyes were glazed and a wonderstruck expression painted her face. Just like when she had met the mermaids and had almost been drowned - she seemed to not want Peter to spin her anywhere other than in his arms. She wasn’t Pretending - she was completely and irrevocably spellbound. 

As she turned away from Peter once more, James’ breath stopped. There - he swore he had seen it, just for one split second. Peter’s charming visage had flickered in the brief moment Sophie’s back was turned. His eyes had sharpened, his mouth had curled - but then she was facing him again, and his false smile was once more dusted across his lips. And Sophie, in her enamored haze, was none the wiser. 

“Sophie, what is he doing to you?” James breathed. His words were near-silent, but there was a small stir in the air. The choir of fairies continued, but one voice exchanged their gentle rings for panicked jingles. James looked up and to his right and stiffened. 

Tinkerbell was descending rapidly in his direction, her eyes wide with worry. None of the other fairies had taken notice of little James - and a quick glance straight up proved that Peter and Sophie hadn’t seen or heard him either. But Tinkerbell flitted down to him, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. 

“Shh, Tink -” he started to hush her quickly, but she planted her tiny hands against his lips to shut them. For such a little fairy, her grip was strong. She lifted one finger to her lips quickly and shook her head. Her eyes darted up to where Peter was still dancing, oblivious to their silent conversation. James noted that she, too, was clad in one of the long white dresses. He frowned.

“Tink, are you a part of this?” He murmured as quietly as possible. She turned her wide eyes back to him, and tinkled half-heartedly. Her head shook but her shoulders drooped, as though she was being pulled down to the forest floor by some unseen weight. Guilt. James looked back up to Peter and Sophie - they had slowed to a stop, and the fairies were starting to dissipate and return to their hollow. 

Tinkerbell shoved at his shoulder frantically, her jingles almost hisses as she pointed back in the direction of the Viking village. Go back, now. Biting his lip, James stole one glance up at the flying children, and saw that they had started to descend. They were still in the same embrace, eyes locked firmly on each other. They would touch the ground soon, and find him watching.

He looked down at Tinkerbell in her increasing panic. He nodded once.

“Can you lead me back there?” He whispered. She nodded quickly and shot off in the direction he’d come from. 

He followed her all the way back to the edge of the forest - the gaggle of people around the fire was disbanding now, some folks standing up to stretch their back after hours of sitting on the logs. Tinkerbell practically yanked James over to stand away from the trees.

As she did, James felt something shift inside him. Something almost clicked - his thoughts of Sophie morphed, and his deep devotion to his own mother - what was her name? - shifted to the young girl instead. Sophie had come to Neverland to be their Mother, how had he not even considered it until now? She was kind, she was smart, she was fantastic at games, and stories; and she was here. With him. What more could he want?

But even as that shift happened within him, even as he struggled to understand, something snagged in his head. The memory of the woman he’d left behind in England would not go away. It was too big to slip through the crack in his mind. There was a connection there still, one that had not quite been severed by whatever magic the fairy dance had cast.

James was left with a considerable headache as he struggled to sort out his thoughts.

He looked up and caught sight of Tink watching him, with a guilty look in her eyes once more. She knew something about all this, she had to. Before he could ask her, a sweet young voice called out from the group of revelers.

“Tinkerbell!” Henry said happily. She turned to look, and he held up an acorn with the top carved out of it. “I saved some honey for you!”

Like a switch had been flipped, the tension in Tinkerbell’s shoulders vanished. Her eyes brightened, her fears forgotten, and she flitted over happily to drink from the hollowed out tree nut. James stared. He shouldn’t have been surprised - after all, fairies were so small, they only had room for one emotion at a time. But he had been just on the urge of asking her… what had he been about to ask her? His thoughts were blurry, all mixed up. Perhaps Mother would know, she should be coming back any second - perhaps she would know who the strange woman in his head was -

“Alright, James?”

The question was gentle. James became aware of a hand on his shoulder. He whipped his head up to see Charlie standing next to him, his eyes searching. James opened his mouth and tried to figure out something to say, something to tell Charlie because something was wrong, he knew it… But he could not find the right words.

“It’s nothing,” he said instead, the lie feeling clunky even in his own ears. “I’m fine.”

He looked away, and caught sight of Thyra standing across the clearing. She stood at the entrance to the small hut at the other side of the village. Her eyes were locked on him, her gaze intense and grim. There was a deep knowing look in her eye. James suppressed a shiver.

He decided this must be the most he’d missed England since he’d arrived.

------------------

James did not dream. He supposed he was lucky, to be nestled in the infinite black of his mind while his body rested. Vague thoughts floated by him like butterflies, but he felt too lazy to catch them. Existing was simpler here. Even if the dark river he floated in was starting to get a little cold.

Cold?

James’ brow furrowed, and his eyelids twitched. He let out a soft whine, feeling around him for Charlie so he could cuddle up to the warm teen. As if in answer to his mental plea, a kind hand found James’ shoulder.

“Go back to sleep, James,” Charlie whispered.

“Where are you going?” James murmured, not even awake enough to open his eyes. The hand squeezed his shoulder and withdrew.

“We’ll be back,” was all Charlie said. “Get some sleep, lad.”

James obeyed, tuning out the soft shuffles of four pairs of feet. He slipped away, letting the sounds of Tinkerbell softly dusting someone fade away. He returned to the blissful abyss of his mind, and curled up into it as best he could.

The abyss did not stay for long. Dreams followed - twisted, confusing dreams. James’ hand once more twitched in his sleep, closing around empty air instead of his brother’s hand. 

------------------

When he woke, Charlie had not returned.

As he stretched and sat up, he frowned. The corner of the nook, where Charlie’s pocket watch and sleep shirt had been tucked, was empty. He yawned, shaking his head and poking out to peek at the rest of the boys.

Still no Charlie.

Even as they all lined up, everyone being dusted lightly in the face and floating out of the underground hovel, James glanced around in vain. When the last child had finally exited the Hideout, James’ frown deepened.

There was no sign of Charlie - nor was there any sign of William or Edward.

“Alright, Lost Boys,” Peter grinned happily. “And Mother,” he amended, inclining his head in a bow toward Sophie. Everyone except James grinned back. “Shall we start with the mermaids today?”

A cheer went up around James, and everyone started to move away. They automatically fell into the same order they always did - but the holes in the lineup made James finally speak up.

“Shouldn’t we wait?” He asked quickly.

Peter turned and frowned, confused. “For what?”

“For Charlie,” James said slowly. “And Edward, and William.”

The names registered with Sophie and the rest of the Lost Boys - James was no longer the only one looking around in concern.

“Yes, where are they?” Sophie mused softly. 

“Who?” Peter asked.

“Charlie, Edward, and William,” James repeated again. Peter frowned at him, scratching his head awkwardly.

“There’s no Edward, or William, or… or…”

“Charlie,” James ground out, losing his patience.

“Or Charlie,” Peter said with an odd smile. He ogled James as though the small boy ought to have been committed. “Dream a little too hard, James?”

“What?” James was dumbfounded. “No, they were - they were just here -”

“Come on,” Peter said smoothly. “The mermaids are waiting.”

And he started for the eastern shore as though he had not heard James at all in the first place.

The boys filed in behind Peter after an uncertain glance at each other. Sophie and James did not move, staring at each other hard until Nic was almost out of sight. Wordlessly, they filed in behind him, their steps tense and alert. As they watched the line of boys in front of them, the other children’s steps became looser and more relaxed the closer to the mermaids they walked. Soon, everyone except James and Sophie was chatting and giggling like normal, as though nothing had happened. 

As if no one was missing. 

James felt ready to explode.

A soft hand found James’ and squeezed.

“Keep playing,” Sophie whispered. James glowered at the joyful line of Lost Boys.

“How can they be so happy?” He muttered back to her. “Our brothers are missing.”

“Look at them,” Sophie urged him softly. The tension was gone from their shoulders, the clouds had dissipated from their faces. “I think they’ve already forgotten.”

“Forgotten?” James frowned, bewildered. “But -”

“I think this place makes you forget,” Sophie said quietly. “It’s so strange. I’ve been… sinking. I’ve already forgotten some things from home. I think you have too.”

“No, Mother, I -”

James froze. 

He’d called her Mother - it had felt right on the surface, but something roiled in his stomach. She paused along with him.

“Exactly,” she muttered. “I’m not your mother, James. You have a lovely mother somewhere back in the Mainland - just like I do, just like everyone here does. And I think it’s time for us to go home.”

“I don’t remember her,” James breathed, staggering forward a step when Nic’s bobbing head had almost disappeared again. “I mean - not really. I see her shape. I feel her. But I don’t know her name, I can’t see her hair, her eyes -”

“Breathe,” Sophie said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I think if you still remember her at all, there’s hope. We have to try to remember from now on, okay James?”

“Remember what?”

“Remember our homes,” she hissed firmly. “Remember Charlie, Edward, William. Remember each other, in case -” she swallowed roughly. “In case they aren’t the only ones to disappear.”

They stepped over the hill, where the rest of the boys were settling happily against the sand. Peter glanced up at them and Sophie grinned widely, waving an eager hand down to the impish boy. She squeezed James’ hand hard, and he forced a matching smile on his own face as he mimicked her wave.

“Most of all,” she muttered out of the side of her grin. “Remember that something is very wrong with Peter.”

Chapter Text

James and Sophie found that remembering so many things was rather difficult.

They waited, biding their time; their eyes were watchful behind matching easy grins. The other boys had, indeed, forgotten their eldest brothers. Little by little, any sign of the older boys having existed at all disappeared. There were never any gaps in the lineup. William’s sparring stick he’d whittled himself was nowhere to be found in the Hideout. Edward’s favorite berry bushes, the blueberry ones that grew along the eastern path, had seemingly morphed into raspberry bushes overnight - much to Simon’s delight.

And though James and Sophie tried their hardest to keep all the facts straight in their brains, it was only a matter of time before they, too, began to forget.

“We can look on the beach today,” Sophie said quietly to James as all the children prepared for their daily adventures. 

“For what?” James asked, trying vainly to brush the dirt from the soles of his feet.

“Charlie told me once that he’d carved his initials into the big rock by the shore,” she explained, picking a twig out of her hair carefully. “Maybe it’s still there.”

“Who?”

Sophie stilled, glancing carefully around at the other unaware boys as they chatted happily. She walked around to kneel in front of James, straightening his clothes with a gentle hand; playing the role of the Mother, as Peter wished her to. But the entire time, she caught his gaze firmly.

“Charlie,” she murmured. “Edward. William. Your brothers. We have to remember them if we are to find them. Don’t forget them, James.”

James blinked at her blankly for a moment, and then his stomach lurched as the hazy memories of the three boys were thrown into sharp relief. He grunted in frustration, busying his hands with one of the buttons on his nightshirt for anyone watching. 

“It’s so hard to keep them in my head,” he confessed crossly. “My thoughts are slippery. It’s like trying to hold onto minnows.”

“I know,” Sophie soothed, bringing her own kind hands up to ‘fix’ his button for him. “I think I have an idea - a way to make sure we remember.”

There was no time to say anything else. The boys had started to file out of the Hideout, Tinkerbell dusting each one with a happy jingle . When the fairy reached James and Sophie, they plastered on fake grins in hopes of deterring any pixie suspicion. It did the trick - Tinkerbell smiled brightly back at them, ruffling through their hair affectionately before dousing them with their own doses of dust. They followed the fairy out of the underground hovel, the last ones to leave. 

“Where are we going first today, Peter?” Nic asked happily as James and Sophie’s feet touched the ground once more. Peter grinned easily, ruffling Nic’s hair.

“To see the mermaids of course!”

The boys cheered, all too happy to continue the same pattern day after day. James wondered if they perhaps had stopped noticing the loop they always were led in - mermaids, games, vikings, bed. James did not have much time to ponder the possibility - the boys were already moving into their line, prepared to follow Peter eastward.

Sophie fell in behind James, the two of them walking quietly at the end of the line once more. Nic was in front of James again, talking enthusiastically to where Simon walked ahead, the two of them giggling. It was a warm sound, but James knew there was a laugh missing. Three laughs, in fact - important sounds that had brought a vibrancy to the overall chatter of the group. Without the three eldest boys, the scattered conversations sounded thin. Patchy. Lacking. As though despite forgetting their brothers, the other boys still absently held space in their words for a nonexistent participant. 

“Tell me what you remember about your mother,” Sophie whispered suddenly behind him. 

“You are my Mo-” James slammed his mouth shut with an audible click. He’d been distracted, his brain had been elsewhere, and some automatic response had been triggered in his mind at her question. “No. My mother - she…”

He swallowed, the lack of clear memories making his throat tight. “She was tall. Her hands were long, gentle. She was pale. Her voice…” he trailed away, trying to make sense of the muffled memory of her speaking to him. Her voice had been like liquid night. Cold and sharp if needed, but always soft and full of starlight for him.

“She was perfect,” he finished lamely, unable to bring himself to describe her anymore.

“She is perfect,” Sophie corrected softly. “She’s still waiting at home for you, James. I know it.”

“What if she’s forgetting me, like I’m forgetting her?”

“She isn’t,” Sophie said firmly, but James didn’t know how she could sound so sure. “You are her son, and she loves you.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, and James waited until the trees started to steadily thin before he asked his own question.

“Your father,” he said quietly, the word feeling odd in his mouth. He hadn’t been very close with his own, but Sophie had spoken about her father before, and it was clear how much she loved him. “What was - is,” he corrected. “What is he like?”

Sophie was quiet for a moment, and James worried that she too had forgotten too much to say anything of substance. But when she began to speak, her voice had softened considerably. There was an audible tightness in her throat, too.

“My father is a very kind man,” she murmured. “He is always there for us, even though my siblings are older and making their own ways in the world already. He loves my mother deeply - they are always painting together, sitting next to each other, holding hands. He dances with me every night before bed.”

“He sounds lovely,” James admitted. “I wish my father was more like him.”

“I’m sure your father loves you just as much as mine loves me, James,” Sophie assured him.

James’ mind drifted to the foggy memories of his father. They were even dimmer than those of his mother - as though his brain had sensed the reluctance in his heart to remember the man at all, and had sorted through the memories accordingly. He could not picture more than a tall, brooding silhouette; but the feeling was still there. Of being glared at, scolded, belittled for not taking more of an active role in his studies, even at his young age. Being ignored, brushed off; he’s busy , leave him be , boy. James believed it was entirely possible that the man had forgotten all about him in turn, and all too happily.

His little jaw set.

“No,” he said at last. “He didn’t.”

Sophie, wisely, chose not to correct James’ deliberate use of the past tense this time.

-----------------------------

When they reached the beach, James and Sophie forced giggles into their stiff voices and sprinted across the sand along with the rest of the boys. They shoved lightly at each other, laughing heartily as Henry threw a handful of sand in their direction. They returned fire, not having to pretend to be out of breath. When Henry turned to play with Isaiah instead, and Peter had knelt by the water to call to the mermaids, James and Sophie skipped to the large rock near the shore.

They walked carefully around the rock, keeping smiles on their faces and not lingering too long. But just as James had suspected, the surface of the stone was pristine and untouched. No carving remained.

“Maybe it was a different rock,” Sophie said under her breath as they finished their loop around the stone. “There are more we can check.”

“But that’s the one he told you about,” James dismissed the idea. “Something is erasing them, erasing everything that reminds us of them. It’s like they never existed.”

“They did exist,” Sophie reminded him firmly, even as they neared the gaggle of Lost Boys once more. “They do exist.”

“I know,” was all James had time to say, and then he slipped right back into his constant game of Pretend. Matthew wanted desperately to try to teach the mermaids how to play catch today - so once they appeared at the edge of the water, he skipped over to stand by Peter and speak to them himself.

The mermaids were in the same formation as always - the leader, her eyes as cold as they had been before, presented herself in front of her four sisters. James kept a hand tightly around Sophie’s, watching the sirens closely to see if any of them tried to ensnare the young girl once more. But either they had lost interest in Sophie, or Peter’s reaction last time had scared them straight enough. None of them made eye contact with the girl at all. Their gaze passed over her intentionally.

Matthew, having apparently finished his explanation of the game of catch, picked up a wad of beached kelp and rolled it into a tight ball. He reared his hand back in warning, and the mermaids’ eyes snapped to the ball. He tossed it in a high arc, a bit gently in case they had not understood the rules -

The frontmost mermaid reached up a lightning-quick webbed hand and snatched the kelp out of the air in a flash of movement. She hadn’t even needed to watch the ball’s path through the air - she’d kept her gaze locked steadily on Matthew’s, unblinking. Matthew’s excitement drained away from his stature, as he stared back, waiting to see if she would throw it back to him, as he’d instructed her to do before.

But her clawed fingertips sunk into the kelp wad slowly, and without breaking eye contact with Matthew, her hand sunk back beneath the waves - without returning the makeshift ball. 

Matthew, wisely, bid them farewell and returned to the other children quickly. James listened to him whine about how the mermaids had taken his toy and refused to play with him, but James’ eyes were not on Matthew’s slouched form. He watched, instead, as Sophie separated herself from him to carefully pick her way across the beach.

James’ eyes darted back and forth between Sophie and the waves, but the mermaids still resolutely refused to look at her directly. They looked to Peter instead, who was perched on the very rock James and Sophie had looped around earlier. He lazed on the rock, relaxing as he chatted quietly with the sirens. When Sophie came near, Peter opened one eye to watch her approach. He propped himself up on one elbow and grinned smoothly at her.

He said something to her, and she responded happily. James had to give Sophie credit once more - there was not a hint of tension in her shoulders as she spoke with the boy, laughing easily at something he’d whispered down to her. James checked the mermaids once more. Still, their eyes remained on Peter.

There was one, however, that glanced down at Sophie as they continued to chat. Her eyes snapped back up quickly - quick enough to meet Peter’s as he turned to glare briefly in her direction. She shrank back from his gaze, a hint of a scowl marring her features, before flipping away under the water.

She did not return.

James watched Sophie again - as she conversed with Peter, she was beginning to steadily pick up a few stray pieces of kelp that still littered the beach. James frowned, confused. But he did not have to wait long - for Sophie laughed something sassy up to Peter and the flying boy crowed with laughter; giving Sophie an opportunity to turn away with a last giggle, walking quickly back to James and the boys.

She reached the group and smiled at them all, a light in her eyes only visible to James. She held out her handful of kelp bits proudly.

“Does anyone wish to make bracelets with me?” She asked.

As she had apparently expected, the boys all made a face at such a girly activity. They all politely excused themselves to go wrestle in the sand instead. 

All of them except James.

She sat on the sand and pulled him down with her, keeping her bright eyes down as she began to twist the kelp over itself. James frowned again.

“Why are you making bracelets?” He asked quietly. She smiled tightly.

“So we can see what we’re meant to remember.”

James was still rather confused, but he settled for simply watching as she manipulated the seaweed in her hands. It dried as it sat in the sun, becoming less slippery as she worked and easier to handle. She did indeed fashion two bracelets - tying seemingly random knots into the plant as she went. When she finished the first, she slipped it onto her own right wrist and started on the second one. While the first bracelet had been made with eight knots, Sophie only tied six into the second one. When it was finished, she beckoned for James’ right hand, slipping it easily onto his wrist. He flexed his hand, studying her craftsmanship.

“Why does yours have more knots?” He asked first. 

She took his hand and pointed to each of the knots on his bracelet. “This one is for your mother,” she explained, pointing at the one closest to his pulse point. “Your father,” she continued, indicating the knot directly next to it. Her finger then moved about an inch down the band, pointing to three knots that had been arranged together. “William, Edward, Charlie.” 

She then showed him her own bracelet. “My mother, father, brother and sister,” she said, pointing to the four knots in a row first. Then to an identical set of triplet knots. “William, Edward, Charlie.”

“What’s the last one for?” James asked, noticing that she hadn’t explained the extra knots on each bracelet. Her smile faded slightly, but she pointed to the last knot on her wrist.

“You,” she explained. She then took his wrist gently and pointed to the other extra knot.

“Me.”

James swallowed and closed his hand over hers, trying to ignore the way his stomach twisted.

-----------------------------

That evening, after a lengthy game of Pretend, they returned once more to the Viking village. Peter left them immediately, walking straight across the clearing to enter the main longhouse. James took a moment to watch the boy disappear through the doorway before he took in the village. It looked the same as it had before - but James still found his eyes straying toward the large altar, still decorated with offerings and symbols for the Norse god, Odin. He knew he hadn’t been insane, he’d seen the altar set up for the goddess Freyja instead first - but the air still smelled strongly of pine, as though it always had. James forced himself to look away -

Right as Ulf stepped into his path.

“Little James!” Ulf exclaimed happily. James grinned, automatically more at ease; there was still a little tickle in his stomach, something reminding him that everything was not quite as it seemed. But Ulf was kind, Ulf was safe. He could let himself loosen a bit around the huge Viking man, couldn’t he?

“Hello, Ulf!” James smiled. He suddenly noticed the man’s attire. “What are you so dressed up for?”

“You like?” Ulf grinned, running a hand through the extra fur that lined his tunic. “It is for Sígrblót tonight.”

“Sígrblót is tonight?” James asked, aghast. “But that can’t be, I haven’t been away from home that long…”

“Of course not, little James,” Ulf assured him. “Time, it is different here.”

But when James met his gaze, the tickle in his stomach intensified. Ulf wasn’t quite lying to him - time was very likely different in the Neverland. But something told James that he had still likely been away from home for longer than a week or two. 

“Right,” James said, faking his relief. “Of course. I’m so excited to see a real Sígrblót for the first time.”

“You shall have great fun,” Ulf smiled. “Your brothers are already sparring - come! We practice!”

“Oh, actually -”

“James!” Sophie had bounded over, planting herself firmly next to him. She smiled brightly up at the Viking man. “Oh, hello, Ulf! I’m so sorry to interrupt. James, I’ve made a little offering - do you want to come help me find somewhere to put it on the celebration altar?”

James glanced down at her hands - she had indeed created a little folded-up creature and was holding it out to him expectantly. She’d made it from a big leaf, and while it was not quite an eagle or raven, it was definitely intended to be a bird. 

“Oh - yes!” James said, grateful for the interruption. “Yes, I’ll come with you - if that’s alright with Ulf?”

Ulf looked at both of them curiously, but eventually stooped to examine the folded bird with a close eye. He studied it for a moment, then nodded once in approval.

“A very fine offering,” he smiled at Sophie. “Go now, find its place. We can always spar another time, little James.”

“Thank you, Ulf!” Sophie called, grabbing James’ hand and practically dragging him away. She led him toward the altar, passing through the pairs of boys sparring with each other. She squeezed his hand.

“Which one is the princess?” She asked him. He’d told her about Princess Thyra on the way to the village, sure that the young woman would know something about what had happened to the older boys. Thyra had stared at the boys during the last visit, discomfort evident in her gaze. She was their best bet for solving the mystery and getting home.

“I don’t see her right now,” James whispered back. They reached the altar and glanced around for an empty area to place the folded bird. “Maybe she’s inside one of the longhouses.”

“Is that what they’re called?” Sophie asked, glancing at the structures bordering the clearing.

“My father loved history,” James muttered, his tone only slightly bitter. “And he knew a lot about the Vikings.”

“Do you know what they’re celebrating, then?”

“They say it’s Sígrblót - the celebration for the beginning of summer,” James explained. “They’re meant to honor Odin today, that’s what the altar is for. But last time, when I first saw it, everything was different. The colors, the symbols, the offerings - they were all for Freyja. Not Odin. But I turned away for a second and then -”

“Little James.”

They whipped around to see the Princess standing directly behind them, towering over them with an intense air. She, too, was dressed with extra adornment. But as the princess, her attire was far above what Ulf had been wearing. Bright red fabric under a lining of lush fur drew James’ eye first, followed by the intricate braids woven into her blonde hair. Her brow was arched high, and James had the odd sensation that he’d seen his mother in England make the exact same expression. It made his stomach flip.

“Hello, your… highness?” James said, not sure how he should address her. The Princess blinked down at him.

“I have given you permission to call me Thyra, have I not?” She asked dryly. James flushed.

“But that was before I knew you were the princess -”

“I knew I was the princess when I gave you permission,” she smirked. She glanced over at Sophie and tilted her head, glancing her up and down. “You must be our lady bird.”

“Er… yes,” Sophie said slowly, disconcerted by the odd phrase. Ulf had called her the same thing, when she’d first met him. “My name is Sophie.”

“I have been told,” Thyra nodded. “Such a soft name, for such a strong bird.”

Sophie lifted her chin slightly. Thyra’s eyes sparked in approval before darting down to Sophie’s hands.

“Did you make this?” Thyra asked, nodding to the offering.

“Yes,” Sophie said, lifting it to present it to her.

“Is that why you are hovering around the altar while the other boys play?”

“...Yes,” James said. “And we… well, we were looking for you.”

Her brows rose in what seemed like false surprise. 

“You have found me,” she said, spreading her hands in front of her. “Or, perhaps, I have found you,” she amended. 

“We… er…” James stammered, not sure how to start. But Sophie raised her chin again and beat him to it. 

“Something is not right,” she said firmly. “And we’d like to know what it is.”

Thyra’s easy smile froze on her face. She blinked quickly, eyes leaving theirs for a split second to dart around the three of them, making sure they were alone. 

When her eyes met theirs once more, there was a sharp warning hidden within them. But she continued smiling. 

“Wrong?” She laughed lightly. Too easily. “There’s nothing wrong here. Isn’t the Neverland everything you’ve dreamed of?”

“Well  … I suppose so,” Sophie said quietly. Her eyes had narrowed at the princess’ tone. “But there really have been some strange things going on. For one, we haven’t seen Charlie or Edward or -”

But Thyra’s smile had abruptly vanished. She stiffened sharply and stepped forward with urgency, placing her hand over Sophie’s mouth. 

“Do not speak their names,” she hissed, staying very still but darting her eyes up to glance around again. No one had noticed them. She quickly retracted her hand, staring hard at James and Sophie. “You are both smarter than that. You never know who is listening. And don’t ever assume to know who you can trust.”

James and Sophie eyed her with a newfound sense of dread. She saw the fear plain in their eyes and took a slow breath, carefully reconstructing a tight smile on her lips. “Pan will exit the longhouse any moment. You had better try to look a little calmer than that.”

They blinked at her for another beat, but did as they were told and found their masks once more. She nodded in approval. Just as they finally forced small tight smiles onto their faces, there was movement nearby. James looked, and saw Peter exiting the longhouse with a satisfied smirk on his face. 

James swallowed roughly. 

“Now,” Thyra said calmly, “I expect you both would like to join in the festivities, no?”

James and Sophie looked at each other, trying not to look too dejected lest they arouse Peter’s suspicion. They settled for bowing and curtsying to the princess and keeping their heads low, slowly moving away from the altar and toward the fire pit. 

“What now?” James asked in a stage-whisper.

“I don’t know,” Sophie admitted, sounding so small and lost. “Do we… make a run for it? Or do we… I really don’t know, James. I’m so sorry.”

James blew a shaky breath through his lips, hoping it would assuage the lump beginning to form in his throat. It only made it worse.

Thyra shifted behind them.

“James. Sophie.”

They looked over their shoulders to see her lips twist in debate. A moment later, she stretched out a regal hand and beckoned. 

“Your bracelets are well made,” she commended them loudly as they approached. James understood immediately - speaking up for any listening ears. “May I see them?”

She bent over their wrists, running an appraising hand over the intricate knots Sophie had tied. Without looking up at them, she began to speak quietly. 

“You are right,” she murmured with a false smile fixed to her lips. “Your brothers are gone. I would advise you not to go looking for them.”

“Where are they?” Sophie whispered, raising a finger to point at one of the knots for the benefit of wandering eyes. But Thyra shook her head. 

“I am sorry. I cannot risk endangering my people,” she muttered. “Who is the oldest now?”

“Err…” James thought hard. “Matthew, I suppose. Then Simon.”

“Good,” Thyra sighed under her breath. “You still have time.”

“Time for what?” James hissed. 

“You must make one for me, my dear,” Thyra said loudly. Then she looked at James and shook her head again. “Don’t tell any of the others,” she breathed. “You would be risking yourselves even more. You must get out. Go home while you still can. Queen Mab is the only one who can help you now.”

“Please tell us what’s -”

But Sophie was cut off by Thyra straightening suddenly, an anxious gleam in her eyes that didn’t match her smile. “Go, my children - play with the others. Enjoy the celebration.”

And without another word, she swept past them and left. James and Sophie remained frozen for a moment, staring at the altar. James’ hand moved without any directive from his brain, reaching out and finding Sophie’s slack fingers to his right. 

They laced trembling hands together and squeezed once. They didn’t dare look at each other; afraid the tears would come. Thyra hadn’t told them what was in store - but now they knew they weren’t crazy. They weren’t so sure it felt good to be right. But they took a breath in unison, before turning around and walking headfirst into whatever danger waited for them. 

-----------------------------

The next morning, James woke with anticipation thrumming in his veins. 

They had returned to the hideout after the Sígrblót festivities, tuckered out and ready for bed. Even Peter had plopped down in his big chair with a sigh of relief, resting his feet crossed over each other on the table. 

James had tried his best to stay awake all night, but the events of the day had overtaken his brain so quickly that he had fallen asleep in less than an hour. In the wee hours of the morning, he had been shoved awake by a very energetic Sophie.

“James,” she had hissed. 

“Sophie?” He’d mumbled, sleepily looking around for -

“Peter’s gone,” she’d drawn his attention again. “But I don’t know for how long.”

“What is it?” He’d asked, certainly more alert. Sophie’s eyes had gleamed.

“I have a plan,” she’d whispered, lifting the tiny structure she’d created.

They’d spoken for twenty minutes, before quickly settling back in their sleeping positions. Peter had arrived back at the hideout shortly after. James and Sophie had stayed awake for hours after that, curled away from the flying boy and staring unblinkingly at the underground walls. 

But this morning, even with so little sleep, James felt secure in Sophie’s scheme. 

“Line up, boys,” Peter instructed. The boys each waited for their dose of fairy dust, shooting up onto the surface one after the other. For once, James and Sophie did not linger at the back of the line, but rather stuck themselves firmly in the middle.

When they arrived on the surface, Sophie crossed her right leg over her left and hopped from side to side anxiously.

“I need to step away for a moment,” Sophie apologized.

“Why?” Matthew asked.

She ducked her head and winced. “I need to… relieve myself. In private, preferably.”

The boys flushed and averted their eyes, giving her the opportunity to step into the trees. James knew the real reason she’d left, but he kept his eyes neutral as the rest of the boys exited the Hideout. 

“Right, then,” Simon said as Nic surfaced. “What are we playing today?”

Before Peter could open his mouth to suggest the mermaids, James piped up.

“I have a game!” James begged, raising his hand and hopping around with desperation. 

“Let’s hear it, then, James,” Peter nodded with a grin.

“How about… treasure hunt?”

The other boys murmured in excitement, eyes bright at the idea. They hadn’t played such a game before, but it sounded right up their alley.

“How do we play treasure hunt?” Nic bounced hopefully. James tilted his head and pretended to think.

“Er… it’s like hide and seek, I suppose - someone has to hide something valuable, and the rest of us have to find it.”

“Ooh! Can I hide the treasure?” Isaiah pleaded. 

“Yes!” James laughed. “Find something to hide and show it to us first. Then you have to hide it somewhere on the island.”

“Okay!” Isaiah ran off, diving back through the hole in the fallen tree to slide down into the Hideout. Tinkerbell rolled her eyes and dove in after him. A moment later, they both returned. Isaiah had fetched a small wooden box. At the same time, Sophie reappeared from the tree line. James kept his gaze away from her. They couldn’t afford to rouse any extra suspicion. 

“Can I go hide it now?” He asked eagerly.

“If Peter says it’s alright,” James said, looking over to the impish boy. Peter grinned.

“Alright, go,” he allowed. “Stay on the southern half of the island, don’t go any further north than the Viking village.”

James and Sophie glanced at each other for a moment. They both filed that information away for later.

“Yes, Peter!” Isaiah bounded away, leaping into the sky and soaring above the tree tops. Tinkerbell had dusted him extra for the trip, thankfully wanting to play herself. 

Isaiah was gone for all of five minutes. He returned, a cocky smile stuck on his lips. He boasted about how well he’d hidden the ‘treasure’, and insisted that none of them would be able to find it. 

Of course, this resulted in an uproar from the other boys. They started to split into teams, each group determined to win the game. James spoke up quickly.

“I’ll play with Sophie and Tinkerbell!”

And that was how the three of them found themselves alone in the woods, just northeast of the hideout, searching the underbrush for the small wooden box. Sophie led them there, feigning interest in the thicket around them.

Tinkerbell flew ahead of them for a moment, pausing on an emerging tree root to glance left and right. Sophie turned to James and nodded once, before reaching around a thick bush and pulling out the woven fairy trap.

She’d shown it to him last night, proud of her craftsmanship. She’d made it from twigs and stems and vines, weaving each side together like a little jail cell. One side opened and could be ‘locked’ with one of the thicker vines. 

“Thyra said Queen Mab could get us out. But Tink knows something. I want to find out what’s going on once and for all,” she’d whispered to him, right before they’d run back to the opposite sides of the room for the night.

With Tink distracted, Sophie stepped forward quietly, sticking her tongue between her lips as she concentrated. And then, quicker than lightning, she threw out her arms and enveloped the pixie in the trap, slamming the door shut with a quiet thwack. 

The effect was instantaneous. 

Tinkerbell shrieked, a high-pitched frantic ring echoing in James and Sophie’s ears as they tried to quiet her down. She flew around the cramped space in quick circles, yanking on the bars and snarling pretty jingle noises up to them - which probably contained the worst curses she knew.

“Tink, Tinkerbell, please listen,” James hissed. “I promise we will let you go, just listen.”

Tink slowly stopped ramming into the sides of the cage, opting to scowl up at the children as she waited for a decent explanation.

“We know that something’s happening here,” James explained. “That our memories are fading. But we remember Charlie, and Edward, and William.”

As he spoke, Tinkerbell seemed to grow paler. Her wings drooped slightly and she stumbled, dropping an inch until her feet rested against the bottom of the cage. She gripped the woven bars tightly.

“We know the signs of them have disappeared,” James continued. “We know the mermaids aren’t to be trusted. I’m not sure what’s going on with the Vikings, but we’ve seen strange things there too.”

Tink was growing rather distraught. Her eyes had started to dart around the forest, looking for something. Almost waiting fearfully for someone to come popping out of the trees and discover them.

“And we know something is wrong with Peter,” Sophie said softly.

Tinkerbell bounced once nervously, shaking her head with wide eyes and placing a slender finger against her lips. She looked around again, before pinching her right earlobe and wiggling it back and forth.

James and Sophie glanced at each other nervously. They had to remember what Thyra had said. They never knew who was listening.

“Please,” James whispered. “Tell us what’s happening?”

But Tinkerbell crossed her arms tightly over her chest and turned away, sticking her nose up. No.

“Please help us,” James pleaded quietly. “I just want to see my mother again. I want to go home. Please.”

Tink’s wings drooped further, and she glanced back at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were conflicted. James swallowed.

“I don’t want to disappear,” he breathed.

The fairy turned fully, looking up at him with sad eyes. She stepped back to the bars and reached her hand through. James extended his index finger and let her place her tiny hand there, a comforting gesture. Still he stared down at her, begging through his eyes.

“Just tell us where they are,” he said as a last resort. “Where did he take them?”

Tinkerbell’s mouth twisted, but her wings started to flutter behind her softly. With a resigned look on her face, she stepped away from the little bars of her prison to fly around the small space quickly. She landed once more at the bars, looking up at the children expectantly.

“What does that mean?” Sophie asked softly. Tink huffed, blowing a curl away from her eyes in frustration.

She flew around again, starting to jingle in exasperation when the two children still looked confused. She started to fly again, slower this time. James narrowed his eyes. Sophie caught on at the same time.

“It’s a pattern,” she said finally. Tink turned to nod enthusiastically. James took a closer look at the fading trail of pixie dust she’d left in her wake. 

“It’s not just a pattern,” he said slowly. “She’s giving us a map.”

The fairy bounded around as if to say THANK you! Yes!

“Can’t you just take us there?” Sophie asked hopefully. Tinkerbell exploded, shaking her head and jingling frantically, eyes wild. James glanced at Sophie.

“I suppose that’s a no.”

“Alright, alright,” Sophie soothed the fairy, trying to quiet her indignant bell noises. “You don’t have to take us. Will you show us the path once more, please?”

Tink rolled her eyes but did as requested, flying in the same pattern slower than before. The trail of dust glimmered behind her, forming a sort of odd zigzag line pointing North. Sophie reached down to the creek and stuck her hand into the water, swiping it through the dirt until her finger was covered with a light layer of mud. She turned her left hand over and copied the pattern onto the back of her hand, sticking her tongue out as she tried to replicate Tinkerbell’s trail on her own skin as accurately as possible.

Once she was done, she slammed her right hand back into the creek and covered it with dirt, smearing the dirty marks onto her arms, hands, face, neck, legs - anywhere that was visible, she mucked up. She beckoned for James to join her, and he grimaced as she tracked mud over his skin as well.

But she left the trail untouched on the back of her left hand. Camouflaged by the rest of the mud on her skin, unless someone was intently examining her for treason, they would see nothing.

“You are brilliant,” James commended her. “I’m only slightly disgusted by this.”

“I would rather need a bath than disappear,” she shrugged. He could not argue with that.

“How long do you think we have -”

James never got an opportunity to finish his question; a loud victory crow sounded from the south. The treasure had been found. They looked at each other for a long moment, taking their last few breaths of non-Pretend. They nodded once - just a bit longer, and then they wouldn’t have to keep up the charade anymore. They’d be home.

They looked down to Tinkerbell once more. She was staring at them, unsure of their next move. Sophie bent to get very close to the fairy.

“We’re going to let you out,” she said slowly. “You cannot tell Peter about this. Okay?”

Tinkerbell hesitated, but eventually nodded twice. Sophie reached a tentative hand out and unhooked the little woven door, opening it enough for Tink to squeeze out of it. She immediately took off, zipping away from them toward where they’d just heard Peter crow.

They stared after her with trepidation.

“Do you think she’ll tell him?” James asked weakly. Sophie’s lips twisted.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Fairies aren’t exactly the most predictable creatures, are they?”

“Well,” James sighed, standing up and wincing at the feeling of the mud drying and cracking on his knees. “We won’t know for sure until we go back, will we?”

Sophie exhaled slowly, eyes still locked on where Tinkerbell’s trail of dust had already dissipated. She nodded resolutely. “Let’s go, then.”

They walked carefully, each step giving them time to reconstruct their now-familiar façade. They rolled their shoulders to loosen them, took deep breaths to smooth out the frowns from their brows. They picked up the pace, adding a pep in their step that felt foreign when they were so close to solving the puzzle. They heard raucous conversation just ahead, and they plastered breathless grins on their faces before they exited the tree line to join the other boys.

“Who found it?” Sophie laughed. Simon threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin proudly.

“I found it, Mother!” He exclaimed. James was the only one who noticed Sophie’s lips twitch for a moment. 

“He was brilliant, Sophie, you should have seen it,” Peter chuckled. 

“How did you two get so dirty?” Isaiah asked, staring at the mud that caked Sophie and James’ skin. They laughed, shaking their heads.

“We fell near the creek,” James giggled. “It was awfully muddy.”

As they all laughed and chattered about cleaning up, James let his eyes wander in search of the little pixie. Tinkerbell had taken her place on Peter’s shoulder once more, her eyes guarded as she stared back at him. Just when he started to worry, she gave him a tight nod and looked away.

“Oh Tink, I found this in the box!” Simon said, showing her a little scrap of green fabric. “Do you think you could use it?”

Tink’s eyes lit up at the gift, and she flitted down to grab the cloth from Simon’s outstretched hand. She twinkled happily, spinning and holding the fabric to her chest to see what kind of dress she could fashion from it. With only room for one emotion at a time, her earlier discomfort had disappeared in lieu of her newfound excitement.

James glanced at Sophie and knew at once that she had also seen what he’d seen. There was a spark in her eyes, a fire that he knew was mirrored in his gaze.

They finally had a plan.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed as planned. After Treasure Hunt, the boys all took a trip eastward to see the mermaids. Then they headed west, sparring and reveling in the Viking village. Though James and Sophie glanced around inconspicuously, the princess did not show her face that evening. Nor, oddly, did Ulf.

They walked back to the Hideout after, exhausted. James and Sophie, once more, stayed awake for a while after the other boys had turned in. They did not speak, nor did they move from their fetal positions on either side of the room. Unable to hold their eyes open any longer, both children drifted off to uneasy dreams. 

The next morning, the routine began again. Wake up. Get ready for the day. Line up for pixie dust. Fly aboveground. Wait for someone to ask what they were to do today. Today, it was Henry’s turn.

“What are we going to do today, Peter?” He asked happily.

Peter, of course, suggested the mermaids. But Sophie, who really should have been teaching acting classes, sighed quietly. James swore Peter’s ear ticked at the sound.

“Everything alright, Sophie?” Peter asked, concerned. Sophie grimaced apologetically.

“Well, it’s just…” she sighed again. “Peter, the mermaids are simply lovely. I adore them. But… could we play another game first today? Like we played yesterday, something new?”

Peter studied her carefully. James did too, holding his breath and praying that her façade would not crack. Sophie was a true professional; her expression stayed unchanging, guilty but ever-so-slightly exasperated. Peter’s lips pursed before relaxing into a smile.

“Of course,” he allowed graciously. “What would you like to play today, Mother dear?”

Sophie pretended to think hard, just as James had done the day before.

“I have not played hide and seek in some time,” she said finally. “Have all of you played that game before?”

The boys all nodded enthusiastically. 

“Oh, yes, Mother!” 

“Yes, I’m the best hider!” 

“Well, I’m the best seeker!” 

“Are not!” 

“Are too!” 

“It’s am too, you stupid -”

“Boys,” Sophie scolded. “Be nice to your brothers -”

She paused then, her face slackening slightly. James watched her warily. But the boys had started chattering happily again, overshadowing the haunted look that was threatening to spread across their Mother’s face.

“Who is going to seek?”

“I told you I’m the best seeker.”

“Are not!”

“Are - AM too!”

“I think Nic should seek,” James piped up suddenly. Matthew, the apparently professional seeker of the bunch, looked vaguely disappointed. “It’s his turn to do the hard work around here.” James ruffled Nic’s hair affectionately. Nic giggled, but frowned soon after.

“But I’m no good at seeking,” he lamented quietly. James squeezed his shoulder.

“You just need practice!” He encouraged. “Come on, what do you say?”

After a moment’s hesitation, Nic nodded. 

“We’ll go easy on you, right boys?” James looked up at the rest of the children as if to say you’d better agree with me. But Nic shook his head, lifting his chin.

“No,” he said firmly. “I want a challenge.”

The boys all agreed to truly test Nic’s abilities. They waited for him to close his eyes and begin counting to thirty before scattering to the winds. They figured they had a little extra time, since Nic was still new to counting above the number eleven; he was bound to stumble on his words and repeat a few numbers.

James and Sophie, of course, scrambled off together.

“Now’s our chance,” Sophie hissed.

“Tell me you remember the path,” James moaned. Sophie smirked.

“I don’t have to,” she gloated, pulling something out of her pocket. James looked down.

Sophie had used mud again to draw the map, but this time, it was not on her skin. Instead, the winding pattern was inscribed on a large leaf. He grinned.

“I will tell you again, Sophie,” he laughed. “You are brilliant.”

----------------------------------

James and Sophie followed the path to the other side of the island. They pushed through the thick underbrush, wincing as stray branches caught their exposed skin and left small scratches. They tiptoed past the glen where the pixie hollow tree stood tall. There was no activity around the stump - the fairies were sleeping. Even so, they kept their distance and tread lightly until they were out of range once more.

They did not notice the small golden light hiding in the branches above their heads.

Everything went smoothly. 

Until the rock incident.

James and Sophie were walking close to the shore of the creek, hoping that the babbling sound of the water would be enough to disguise the sounds of their footsteps. But Sophie strayed too close to the mud, and accidentally stepped on a half-exposed rock.

The rock made her trip anyway - but because the ground was muddy, and the rock was not firmly nestled within the soil, the entire section of earth slid out from under Sophie’s foot, sending her tumbling down to the ground with a gasp.

“Sophie,” James hissed, bending carefully to help her up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sophie winced, rubbing her now-muddy ankle. She rolled it twice experimentally, relieved that she hadn’t damaged the joint beyond some brief soreness. “Let’s keep…”

But Sophie trailed away into a deafening silence.

“What’s wrong?” James asked. 

Sophie looked over to him, and he was alarmed to see tears glistening in her eyes. She lifted her hand, and he inspected it for injury. But he found none. Her hand was clear, perhaps a bit dirty, but free of any abrasions or bruises. Her open palm was unmarked.

Her open palm?

Realization dawned on James like a very cold bath. He looked at the ground, praying to see the flash of green he was searching for. But to his dismay, the leaf had fallen from Sophie’s hand during her tumble. He took one more look around and froze, unable to speak as he pointed a trembling hand at the leaf.

Floating away down the creek.

Back to the south, where they’d just come from.

It turned the corner - and was gone.

James swallowed roughly.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie whimpered. James shook his head, clearing his throat and blinking to clear his own vision.

“It’s okay,” he quavered, trying to sound braver than he felt. “Do you remember -”

“Yes,” Sophie said quickly. “We only had two turns to go. Right around the southern side of the mountain, then left. That was all that was left on the map.”

“Okay,” James nodded shakily. “You lead the way. Hold up your right arm, I’ll hold up my left. That way we’ll remember the order.”

“Good idea,” Sophie nodded.

Not wanting to waste any more time, they forged ahead. They did indeed come to the base of the mountain, and as they turned right, Sophie lowered her arm to signify that one task had been completed. When they reached a break in the valley, Sophie turned and looked over her shoulder.

“Which way do we turn?” She asked apprehensively. James’ idea had been sound - the island had already stolen her memory of what came next. 

James wasn’t faring much better. He had to physically look at his hands, confirming which arm was hanging in the air. “Left,” he said simply, lowering his hand.

They walked around the eastern side of the mountain, eyes peeled for some sign of whatever they were looking for. Just when James started to get discouraged, Sophie’s hand flew out and stopped them both in their tracks.

“There,” she said, pointing forward and to the left. “What’s that?”

James followed her gaze, and grimaced at the sight of a rather ominous-looking cave mouth. “Do you think…?”

Sophie stared at the cave, her jaw set. “What else is there to search out here?”

James nodded reluctantly, his hand seeking hers for comfort. Her hand had already been halfway out, absently reaching for him too. They linked their fingers together.

And walked into the cave.

----------------------------------

“Found you, Peter!” Nic exclaimed with sheer joy.

Peter rolled his eyes but grinned widely, launching out of his hiding place with a raucous laugh. “Took you long enough! But I am the best hider, after all - so you didn’t do too bad.” He flew up into a low tree branch, reclining with his hands linked behind his head and one knee crossed over the other. Nic hummed below him.

“I still have to find James and Sophie,” Nic frowned. “But they can’t have gone too far!”

Peter paused, cracking open an eye slowly.

“James and Sophie?” He asked. “You haven’t found them yet?”

“Not yet,” Nic sighed, dejected. “They must be really good at this game.”

Peter sat up, his face curiously blank. His eyes ticked back and forth, as though he were putting together a rather infuriating puzzle at last. His jaw tightened. “Yes, they must be, hm?”

Very suddenly, Peter sprang from the tree and floated down to the small boy. He hung upside down in front of him, letting his tousled hair dangle into Nic’s brow. “Why don’t I help you look?”

“Oh, Peter,” Nic sighed in relief, “I would love that very much.”

“Alright,” Peter pointed back to where Nic had emerged from. “Go search around the Hideout again. Sometimes the best hiding places are where you’d least expect.” He turned north, staring hard at the tree line. “I’ll go… look a little further away. In case they got lost.”

“Okay, Peter!” 

The flying boy did not watch Nic leave. He narrowed his eyes, waiting until the pattering footsteps behind him faded away. 

And then he shot off like a bullet.

He traveled north, his eyes combing the area shrewdly. No sign of them. He passed the dormant fairy hollow, his scowl deepening with every fruitless moment of searching. He darted past the mouth of the creek, barely noticing a flash of green and brown below him -

He came to a sudden stop in midair.

He turned slowly, locking eyes on a piece of debris floating in the water. He shouldn’t have been interested, it was just a leaf. But something tugged at his mind insistently, prompting him to float down and reach a palm out to scoop up the remnants of the plant.

The leaf had fallen apart. But the pieces were marked strangely, artificially. He narrowed his eyes as he traced the faint remaining lines of mud. He knew someone who was crafty. Someone who had been acting strangely. Two someones, in fact.

He moved the pieces around in his hand. He didn’t finish - it only took three of the segments connecting to form a hand-drawn pathway for him to curse under his breath. 

Tinkerbell emerged from the bushes moments later, tinkering anxiously. When she arrived on the scene, the bits of leaves were floating haphazardly back to the forest floor. A large dent had been made in a nearby bush, where an agile body had barrelled through the thicket. Heading north.

Tinkerbell dug her hands into her curls and pulled with a fearful ping!, before rocketing after Peter herself.

----------------------------------

“Are you sure this is the right place?” James cringed.

“It’s where Tink led us,” Sophie nodded, brave despite the paleness of her face. James swallowed, waiting until she took the first step. 

James and Sophie crept cautiously into the dark cave. Water was dripping quietly from the ceiling onto the ground, each plip echoing eerily around them. Their steps splashed softly - standing water had been collecting past the mouth of the cave, about three inches deep or so. James strained his eyes, but couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

“Hello?” James called softly, cringing at the echo of his voice off the cavern wall. Sophie placed a warning hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. He understood the message - keep quiet until they figured out what was happening.

They walked very slowly, straying further and further into the darkness. Their eyes adjusted slightly to the dim surroundings, but not by much. James could barely pick out the silhouettes of stalagmites and stalactites around them, icicle-shaped spears littering the floor and ceiling of the cave. They saw no movement beyond their own shadows.

Sophie took a breath. “Is anyone here?” She said softly. 

There was no response.

James stilled, cocking his head and listening carefully. He could hear something - behind them, a faint twinkle getting closer and closer. He turned around to the mouth of the cave, where the sun had started to set. The ground outside was bathed in lengthening shadows, and it would be dark soon. They needed to hurry.

The bell sounds got closer, and James dared to hope.

“Tinkerbell?” he called.

But the fairy that appeared at the mouth of the cave was not Tinkerbell. This was another fairy, her skin a shade lighter than Tink’s and her golden hair cascading down her back in a curtain of braids. She flitted at the entrance, wringing her hands together anxiously.

“Hello,” Sophie said. “Have you come to help us?”

The fairy shook her head firmly, beckoning them with quick hands back toward the mouth of the cave. 

“Please,” Sophie called. “We just need to see. We want to know what’s happening. Please.”

The fairy paused, still jingling with uncertainty. But she eventually slumped her shoulders, glancing once more behind her before flitting over to them. Light flowed through the cavern off her little body, and by the time she settled on Sophie’s shoulder, it was like they’d brought a torch in with them. The fairy clung to Sophie’s neck, burying her face in Sophie’s hair, and did not move. 

“Right. Let’s take a look around,” Sophie said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. James nodded and followed her lead, checking around every stalagmite they passed. There was no sign of the missing boys, no sound besides the steady drip of the water and their footsteps. It was getting dark outside - their plan was time-sensitive, and if they took too long -

“Oh Lord,” Sophie said suddenly, going absolutely rigid in front of James. “Oh my God.”

“What -”

“Don’t look, James,” Sophie ordered, horrified. “Please don’t look.” She turned and wrapped him in a tight hug, clutching his head to her chest to keep him from seeing whatever she had seen. But in that split moment when her body was turning…

The sight was emblazoned on James’ mind. Torn pieces of clothes scattered along the ground. Clothes he recognized immediately. William’s clothes. Edward’s clothes. 

Charlie’s clothes. 

Torn… and bloodied. 

“Sophie?” James quavered. His voice was muffled against her chest, and his hands came up to grip her dress tightly. 

“It’s alright James,” she choked. She didn’t believe her own words. “Maybe they’re still around here somewhere.”

“Charlie?” James called, turning his head so his face was free, but keeping his eyes firmly shut. “Are you in here?”

“William?” Sophie called as well. “Edward?”

Silence. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Jingle jingle… jingle jingle…

James cracked open his eyes and looked up at the fairy. She had released her death grip on Sophie’s neck, and was instead hunched over on her knees - crying softly into her hands. 

“They’re not here,” James whispered to the crying fairy. “Are they?”

She looked up then, locking sad eyes with him. And shook her head. 

“We need to leave,” Sophie said, starting to shake. “Now.”

“Yes please,” James whimpered. They turned, starting to carefully pick their way back to the dark cave entrance. 

JINGLE JINGLE JINGLE!

Sophie and James whipped their heads to look at the fairy, who had started flying in quick, fearful circles. She pulled at her hair and her tinkling rang out like an alarm bell, her eyes wide and staring directly at the mouth of the cave. 

They slowly turned to follow her gaze, and froze. 

A lithe silhouette blocked the exit. It was as though a shadow had materialized in front of them. But even before Tinkerbell joined the figure, illuminating his face, James knew who it was. 

“Peter,” Sophie said weakly. “We - we got lost.”

“Did you?” Peter said calmly. Tinkerbell dropped to Peter’s shoulder; her wings dropped tragically behind her as she stared at the children. “You can play Pretend better than that, Sophie. Go on.”

“Really,” she insisted. “Nic took so long to find us… we thought we’d been forgotten. And we tried - we tried to find our way back to the Hideout, but it was getting dark, and everything looked the same - so we thought… we thought we'd…”

Peter had taken a quiet step into the cave toward them. 

“You were supposed to forget,” he said finally, ignoring her story. They didn’t need to ask what he meant. “How did you remember them for this long?”

“R-remember who?” James ventured nervously. Peter’s barely-lit eyes cut to him coldly. James shrank back. 

“You’re not quite finished yet,” Peter mused quietly. Gone was the jovial boy who had appeared at the window. This was someone - some thing different. He was sharper, coiled like a spring, ready to strike. “It’s a shame. You were meant to grow into a decent meal. But there’s no helping it.”

“Meal?” James squeaked. 

“And you,” Peter said, turning back to Sophie. She did not cower, though her hand on James’ shoulder trembled. “You had such potential as the Mother. I usually get to keep my lady birds for longer than one round of culling. I’m disappointed.”

“Culling?” Sophie said, incredulously. “What…”

She trailed away, her breath catching in her throat.

“Peter,” she said, her voice trembling. “Why did you bring me here?”

Peter stared at her for a long moment, unblinking. 

“I can’t cull a child who still holds a connection to the Mainland,” Peter eventually said. His voice was so different now - cold and calculating, far too mature for a boy his age. James shivered. “They are… unsatisfying for him. Unripe. Once their mothers close the window and they forget, it’s easier. But give them a Mother right here to latch onto, to take their mother’s place…” Peter’s sharp mouth twisted into a grin. “They belong here. They belong to him.”

“I remember my mother,” James said, suddenly brave despite Peter’s strange and unsettling speech. He didn’t flinch when Peter flicked his eyes over to him. “Sophie is wonderful - but she’s not my mother. You can’t have me.”

“You’d have forgotten eventually,” Peter dismissed him. “You’ve already started to. But your mother is as stubborn as you are. She won’t close that window - no matter how often I try to do it for her. But it doesn't matter. You wouldn’t be ripe anyway now - you’re too young. You’ve spent too little time here.”

“Too young - but no one grows up in the Neverland,” James furrowed his brow. “You told me -”

No. 

James’ words died on his tongue. His mind flashed back to his first night in the Hideout, curling up next to Charlie. The night shirt he’d found in the nook, far too small to fit Charlie’s teenage frame. The pocket watch from before James had even been born. 

“All the children grow up,” he said quietly. Peter smiled again. “Except you.”

“Now you’re getting it.”

“But why?” James started to breathe faster. He was so confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Because I’m special,” Peter said, and there was a glimpse of the proud boy James had come to know. James would not have been surprised if Peter had launched into a loop to crow loudly. But Peter remained eerily still. “I made a deal, and now I get to stay here. Forever. I get to always be a little boy and have fun.”

“But what do we have to do with anything?” Sophie whispered, horrified. “Why bring us into this?”

“Miracles are not freely given, Mother,” was all Peter said. Sophie and James blinked back at him dumbly. 

Sophie pieced it together a split second before it dawned on James. Her already-pale face went positively ashen.

“You’re sacrificing them!” She gasped. “That’s it, isn’t it? They’re the price you pay to stay young - you… you sick -”

“Careful,” Peter said quietly. “Or I’ll tell him to take his time with you.”

Sophie was sputtering now, fumbling for words. Peter took another step toward them, prompting both children to stumble backward. James tripped, almost falling into the shallow water - he looked down to see a large stick, closer in size to a skinny tree limb, nestled among the rocky floor. He bent and seized it in his hand, brandishing it in front of Sophie protectively. 

Before he could order - perhaps beg - Peter to stay back, a low rumble echoed throughout the cavern. James froze - he knew that sound. He’d heard it on the beach, seen a shadow, known there had been something lurking just out of sight. The sound made the ground shake, the vibrations creeping up through the children’s feet. 

James whipped his head around, certain he could hear something under the fading rumble. He strained his ears, but the echo was too delayed. It bounced off the walls of the cave around them, distorting it beyond recognition and making it impossible to locate. It was too difficult to distinguish anything besides the steady drip drip of the water. 

But then… 

Sophie locked up beside him. 

James turned his head slowly back to the front, and froze in place. 

Looming at the mouth of the cave, behind Peter, was the shadow from the beach. Its shape looked a bit different, clearer now that it wasn’t underwater, but the energy was unmistakable. Tinkerbell nervously flitted away from Peter, darting to a spot high above the mouth of the cave for safety. In the seconds it took her to reach the alcove, her light briefly illuminated what stood between them and freedom. 

A crocodile, huge and grotesque. Its mottled dark skin was rough, covering it from maw to tail. Its snout looked to be as long as James was tall, if not longer. But worst of all were the eyes - black and beady, far too intelligent to be natural. They focused sharply on Sophie and James, their imminent demise reflected in its pupils. 

“This is Avank,” Peter said, stepping to the side and leaving nothing in between the children and their doom. “He was here long before I arrived. Avank?” Peter looked back at James and Sophie. “Meet your snack.”

The beast’s maw cracked open, and a deadly snarl vibrated down James’ entire spine. The crocodile took a slow step into the cave, and James and Sophie stumbled backward. Sophie whimpered. 

And very suddenly, James heard that third sound. It had been masked by the steady drip drip of the water; a similar cadence but a different tone. It echoed from within the belly of the crocodile, a steady tick tock tick tock…

James thought he might be sick right then and there. He recognized that sound -

Charlie’s pocket watch. 

As if noticing her for the first time, Peter finally looked at the fairy that had followed the children into the cavern - at present, she was hiding behind Sophie’s hair, as pale as she could get. 

“Celeste,” Peter said calmly, addressing her at last. “Come here, please.”

She peeked around Sophie’s head, wide eyes darting between Peter and the crocodile. When she did not immediately move, Peter’s gaze hardened and he stretched out an expectant hand. 

Celeste gulped, twinkling nervously, but obeyed. She slowly floated over to him, landing in his open palm. She started to jingle quietly, moving her hands around; trying to explain away her guilt. 

Peter shushed her, a soft sound from such a sharp mouth. She quieted instantly, standing deathly still except for her twitching wings. Tinkerbell called out a soft twinkle of her own, staring at Celeste grimly. Tink reached a hand out, shaking her head, begging Peter not to do whatever he was planning. 

“Fly home, Tink,” Peter ordered, staring down at the fairy in his hand. Tink hesitated, her gold eyes darting between Celeste and the children. But in the end, she obeyed and flew toward the entrance.

But then she stopped. Tinkerbell turned and, while Peter was still studying the traitorous fairy in his palm, she locked eyes with James. Tink shook twice in the air, bobbing up and down - dropping a small bit of pixie dust on the ground. Peter did not notice the shifting glow, not with Celeste and Tink’s bodies still illuminating the cave around them. James tracked the sparks with careful eyes; they drifted down and disappeared behind a particularly large stalagmite. Tink stared at James, her gaze urgent.

Peter turned, frowning.

“I told you to fly home.”

Tink snapped her gaze to the flying boy, nodded quickly, and was gone before they could blink.

Once Peter was satisfied his fairy was gone, he turned back to where Celeste cowered in his hand.

He tilted his head, smiling gently.

“I don’t believe in fairies.”

The light was snuffed out from the cave, and James and Sophie were once more plunged into total darkness. They yelped in fear. They heard a soft whoosh and briefly saw the hint of a shadow darting out of the cave - Peter had left them there with the beast. 

In the darkness, Sophie and James strained their ears. There was a low hiss, and then James heard the crocodile start to slither through the water.