They awoke to shouts. Wendy stirred, finding her cheek against something warm, something heavy on her hip. Edging her eyes open, she carefully glanced up to see what she knew she would. Captain James Hook was fast asleep, one arm curled around her, his hooked hand behind his head. Wendy was pressed against his chest, breath tickling the cloth of his shirt that he had worn to sleep. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she extracted herself from his embrace, rolling over on her pillow to shut her eyes tightly and fein sleep. Another shout heard.
A moment later movement behind her on the bed made her slow her breathing carefully. She was aware of a gaze brushing her back, the blanket was adjusted, pulled up to warm her shoulders, and the Captain rolled away.
"Smee?" She heard him yell, his voice rough with sleep as he left the room, "What the hell is that din-?" Something cut him short, and she thought she heard a triumphant yell. Carefully, she slid the covers off herself and padded to a pothole, gazing out over the chink of the ship's deck that she could see. She hadn't yet left the cabin. The thought filled her with dread. But curiosity overcame her and, without preamble but to tug the Captains shirt further down her bare thighs, she pushed open the door to follow Hook.
The day was bright with promise, and it seemed the entire crew was out on the deck. Hook had his back to her, his feet bare, in his shirtsleeves, his pistol strapped carelessly to his hip. The rest of the crew faced her, and she became aware with a flush of a few nudges and smirks aimed in her direction.
Hook turned to see what had distracted his crew to find Wendy looking delectably sleepy, her curls ruffled, his shirt the only barrier between his eyes and her flesh. She was blushing at the crews attention, and seemed to be prepared to turn back into the cabin, when something over his head caught her eyes. She smiled suddenly, a flash of brightness on the gloom of the wood around her.
"Peter!" She sang, striding forward into the sunlight, her face turned upwards. Hook rolled his eyes.
"You must be Red Handed Jill." Pan pronounced grandly, twirling his dagger and cartwheeling in the sky. "Have at thee!" With a battle cry he prepared to swoop towards her with the sharp blade aloft. Hook glanced quickly at Wendy, to find her eyes suddenly narrow with something close to pain.
"Don't you recognise me, Peter?" She asked quietly, her hands falling to her sides. Pan drew himself short, the wind ruffling his short hair, eyes dancing with assurance as to his own brilliance. He continued to swoop past her with his dagger, narrowly missing on purpose for the delight of making her shriek. He had never killed a female pirate before. "Peter! Stop that at once!"
Something in her tone made Peter pull up short, and he narrowed his eyes at her, sheathing her dagger.
"It's Wendy. Wendy Moira Angela Darling. Don't you remember me, Boy?" She shook her head to avoid the tears that threatened.
"Don't be upset, ms Darling, Pan has a habit of forgetting." Hook drawled, his eyes burning into his nemesis. His pistol was ready in his hand. His crew was breathless as they watched the drama unfolding.
"Wendy?" Peter spoke the name like it was foreign. "Mother!"
With a wolf cry he swooped down to throw his arms around Wendy, his expression a jubilant expression of celebration.
"Mother! The Lost Boys have been terrible in your absence. You must punish them immediately." He fell into the easy patterns of their game, twirling with forgetfulness, as though the last six years had never been. Wendy shrugged away her unease and smiled at the child as he danced around her. The familiar glow was missing.
"Where's Tinkerbell, Peter?" She inquired, holding his hands as he spun her in a dance.
"Who's that?" He shrugged, releasing her abruptly, "My, but you grew up Wendy. I preferred you before."
Shocked, Wendy stared at the boy before her.
"Tinkerbell? Tink? Your fairy?" She ignored his later remark. She didn't expect him to like the new her. Hook, on the other hand, grimaced as he carefully avoided looking at the delightful curves that were so evident beneath his shirt- changes he most certainly preferred.
"Oh, fairy's die quickly. I expect she left a while ago." Peter shrugged again, before sliding his dagger from its sheath once more to point at Hook. "How dare you kidnap my Wendy! I'll gut you for this, pirate, and feed the rest of you to whatever creature I can find!"
Blinking back her shock, Wendy turned her attention to the pair suddenly facing their weapons towards one another. Six years ago, she would have a sword aimed at Hook herself as she floated with Peter. Now, she wore the Captain's shirt and found herself warily eyeing Peter with dismay. She wondered why Hook didn't shoot.
"You'll do no such thing, Peter- the Captain has done nothing but show me hospitality." She said sternly to the thirteen year old, hands on her hips. Peter didn't even glance at her, but swooped forward to slash his dagger at Hook. Hook did not shoot, but stepped back, glancing at Wendy. She suddenly understood- he didn't want to kill her childhood love in front of her. "Peter! Stop now."
"Yes mother." He smirked, sheathing his dagger once more, "But come now! I'll rescue you, mother!" With a dramatic swoop into his tunic he pulled out a familiar bag.
"No, no, Peter, not now." She gabbled, stepping back and holding her hands up to ward of the fistful of sparkling dust that Peter had.
"Yes, now!" He demanded, pouting like a spoilt child, as he threw the handful over Wendy. Hook cursed, and leapt forward, but not fast enough as Wendy shot into the air like a cannon.
"Peter!" She shrieked, only to have her hands grasped by smaller, warm, sticky hands to drag her through the air.
"Think happy thoughts. Honestly, Wendy, if you've forgotten that much I should just let you fall." He glared at her, his good humour suddenly souring. Wendy glared back at him, feeling herself dip as she did so.
"I never asked you to bring me up here in the first place!" She shrieked back, desperately kicking at nothingness. She was aware of Hook barking orders below her, but was helpless to do anything but allow Peter to tow her away.
My God, I've forgotten to fly! The thought made her amused for some extraordinary reason. The air flew by as she headed towards the jungle. A pierce of recognition burst into her heart like a rainbow as she watched the familiar landscape grow larger beneath her- the jungle, the lagoons, the Indian camp. And there- the largest tree, the treehouse. Peter pushed the special button only children know how to find and the compartment snicked open.
"Peter, I hardly think I'll fit anymore." She said, but before she could climb out, Peter had pushed her down. The bark scraped her legs and tore the skin, bruised her hips and breasts and led her to scream shortly in pain. It was made for children. She landed in a painful heap at the bottom.
"Look who I've rescued!" Peter said triumphantly as he followed. The Lost Boys regarded her with surprise, silent, before Tootles piped up, "It's mother!" Before she could speak, Wendy found herself surrounded by faces and voices, sticky hands pressing into her and high voice demanding stories.
"Children! Quiet, immediately!" She demanded, straightening to her feet to give herself the advantage of height. They watched her adoringly, eyes depraved of love, of sustenance. There were at least ten she had never seen before. Ten more families torn apart. Ten more mothers sobbing by open windows.
"Now, have you been taking your medicine since I've been away?" She asked in her best bossy voice, playing along for the time being. The blood on her skin was sticky and stung like the blazes. Voice clamoured around her again and Peter lounged on his bed with his eyes cheerfully watching her over the melee of heads. "No? Well that simply won't do! Medicine and bed for all you naughty children!"
Fifteen minutes later, if time were to pass in Neverland, the children were tucked into their respective beds with breath smelling of their 'medicine' of flower nectar mixed with water. Peter was awake, bouncing with excitement.
"Peter, I'm bleeding. Do you have any bandages?" She asked softly, stemming one particularly deep cut with her hand and wincing as she did so.
"Have some medicine." He said cheerfully, not looking up from his pan-pipes.
"This isn't part of the game, I need bandages or these will become infected."
Peter glared at her. Wendy abruptly silenced herself with a huff as his blue eyes flashed dangerously.
"You're no fun." He whined, turning his back to her. His skin was taught over the sharp bones of his shoulder blades. Wendy repressed the urge to slap him, and instead contented herself with salvaging a dirty piece of cloth from the floor to wrap around her arm.
"I need to back to the Jolly Roger, Peter." She murmured softly, to cover the anger that was pulsing under her skin.
"But I just rescued you!" Peter gasped, spinning and shooting into the air to come at a rest with his dirty feet by Wendy's face. She slapped them away and glared up at the imp, biting back a gulp of pain.
"You didn't rescue me, I didn't need rescuing! And there perhaps I wouldn't have been skinned half to death because of your mindless insolence." The glow of lamps played across the smooth skin of Peter's skin, and abruptly Wendy felt like crying. She had spent the last six years of her life wanting to be here. There, there was where Michael's crib had hung, and there in the hollow of the tree where Tink had slept at night. The beds were in the same places with the checked blankets she herself had fashioned and washed lovingly, and if she weren't mistaken and she squinted, she could see the dusty glimmer of her thimble in a forgotten corner. She lifted a hand to the right hand corner of her lip.
A thimble wasn't what she wanted, or needed. Peter was a past that was golden and perfect as an apple, but he was no future. He was no more than a malicious and spoilt child. Sadly, Wendy watched Peter dart around the room as angrily as a fly.
"Why did you cut off Hook's hand?" She asked, abruptly aware that she had never asked. Peter laughed suddenly, his bad humour passing as he remembered that day.
"It was the first time I saw him—he was playing the piano and I went to the ship to explore. He pressed the wrong note," Peter broke off to guffaw, "So I cut off his hand so he couldn't do it again!"
Sudden speechless horror welled up inside Wendy.
"You mean… he didn't… provoke you?"
"He didn't what?" Peter regarded her vaguely, "I took it outside and fed it to the crocodile while he was still bleeding all over the keys of his piano. He screamed." With a final shriek of laughter he swooped through the air to land on his bed, shaking with a laughter too manical to be normal. Wendy sat silently for a moment, regarding the vivid red on the pale skin of her arms.
"I have to go." She stood, willing herself to think of something happy, but she found she could not. "Help me, would you?"
"Go where?" Peter demanded, hands on hips. Wendy sighed and shrugged, turning to begin her painful climb out of the tree. As quickly as he had cared, Peter forgot, and flopped back on his bed to sleep.
When she reached the surface, she was shaking with exhaustion and pain, chewing on her lip to keep from screaming. Tears poured down her cheeks. She began the long hike to the lagoon with dry sobs racking her lungs.