A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you to all my readers, I'm glad I seem to have maintained something of an audience! Apologies for not updating more regularly, I was just a bit stumped for a while as to how to continue this story, but I think I've got a handle on it now.

. . . .

Francesca awoke the next morning, her clothes still in a pile on the floor. She blushed, feeling her stocking-clad thighs rub against each other under the cotton covers. It was a sudden shot of sensuality, directed to her very core. But the bloom of her cheeks did not last long; three deep, resounding thuds were planted on her bedroom door, leaving the full-length mirror on its reverse quaking.

''Daughter. Get dressed and see yourself to the after-deck. I expect to see you shortly.'' The sound of her father's footsteps receding from the cabin were enough to inform her that she both had limited time in which to prepare herself, and that she was most likely in deep trouble.

She pulled herself up from the poster bed, and dressed as quickly as possible, subconsciously selecting a green print day dress. Time seemed to have no meaning in Neverland; whilst Francesca had graduated from Brighton College in 1884, all the people she had encountered, or at least heard of, in the alternate land, had come to the Island across the centuries. Indeed, her own Father had found himself sailing for Neverland, having set out for the Mediterranean, in the 1790s, at least according to the ships' logs she'd found stored away in the depths of one of the cabin's cupboards. Most unusual.

A result of such temporal fluidity, Francesca had access to all sorts of different period fashion, from the 1750s through to the 1910s, the latter of which was not to her taste. Lacing up her stays to a comfortable tension (no point wearing them any tighter than was comfortable), having already pulled on fresh cream silk stockings, bloomers and chemise, finishing her ensemble with a pale green cotton bodice and skirt, hanging over a complimentary cream leaf-patterned underskirt and soft petticoats, her costume for the day was almost complete. The same mundane routine, dressing for no-one but her Father. Sighing as she looked in the mirror, reviewing her hemline quickly, the Pirate Daughter finished her ensemble by pinning her hair up simply, adjusting her hat, and stepped out into the morning sea air.

. . . . .

Jas. Hook rarely bothered his daughter anymore, seeing her as a nuisance, an accident, that had to be kept alive but at his behest. He had ensured her education, that much was true, but following the death of her mother, the chit had nowhere else to stay and had no experience of courting, no friends with whom she could reside (not that Hook would allow it; what an embarrassment for the great Cap'n Hook, to not be able to support his own daughter.) and thus her duty of care fell to him. He was, after all, the father of the child. When he had collected her from Portsmouth, the Captain had considered training her in seamanship, but the notion quickly passed. It was an unsuitable occupation for a young lady. A memory tugged a smirk at the left-side of his aged mouth. Red-handed Jill. Now there was a keen young female pirate, and who knows, had Wendy decided to remain under his care, he might have made her his own…

Oh, Hook had seen her since their last encounter. He occasionally stalked Pan to London, trying to fathom out the child further. But the boy was more complicated than he had first imagined. That forbidden word, the one that tasted like ash or soil on his tongue, love, was the one constant in Pan's life. His… affection for the Darling girl had broken him, bringing him to London again and again. The sight of Pan's now-blossomed Wendy-Bird had caused his breeches to tighten many a time. How he had dreamed, lusted over the whip, daring to imagine himself in the role of Husband, introducing the girl to pleasures she had yet to taste.

But alas, it was a fruitless dream. The Boy Who Would Never Grow Up continued his visitations, and ironically broke his own rule; he felt, he loved, and he began to become a Man.

''Ahem… Father?''

Hook was brought back to reality suddenly. He was at the ship's balustrade, peering into the blue-black seas below. His reflection was harrowing. limp, white, thin hair, a moth-eaten hat, and a coat which no longer fit him properly. The former handsome-yet-terrifying gentleman pirate was a mere Shadow, hiding behind a name and a reputation.

''I've told you before, Child, do not refer to me so casually.'' Turning to face his addressor, Captain James Hook attempted to straighten his stature, to reclaim his authority. Looking his daughter over quickly, he pulled his cigar holder from the coat's pocket, and, right on cue, Smee appeared, inserting two finest tobacco fingers into the slots before returning to his background duties. ''So… I hear you had a nightmare a couple of nights ago. How unfortunate for you.''

The crew continued to work around the pair, effectively creating a bubble around them. Ropes being thrown, decks swabbed, brass monkeys checked for cracks and polished. The sound of the Jolly Roger flag fluttering in the breeze was sharp against the girl's ear. Waanting to feign ignorance, and keep in polite practice, Francesca reached into the deck's desk tidy, picked out a silver lighter, leaning closer to ignite her father's vice. He took a deep drag, coughed, leaning on the balustrade once more.

''Yes… but it hasn't upset me, Sir. It-it was nothing, honestly.'' Her palms became sweaty; she attempted to dry them on her skirts. ''Smee, no doubt, told you? It was just a dream.''

''A dream where you change voices?''

The cigar-holder was twirled betwixt Hook's right forefinger and index, signifying his rumination of the situation. ''I believe'', he said, exhaling another large lungful of death fumes, ''you may have had a visitor.''

How can he possibly know? I've made no reference to Pan! He left nothing behind, I cleaned the cabin after he left.

Oh no…

Smee once again stepped forward and plucked a carefully-dried skeleton leaf from a tinder-box, holding it out for Hooke to examine. She took it in her hand, and appraised it, attempting to maintain her veneer of innocence. ''I don't know where this has come from Fa-Sir. It's a skeleton leaf, isn't it?''. Pinching it between her forefinger and thumb, the girl looked it over more closely, carefully. ''Yes… I'd say it is. But what's so significant about this? It's just a leaf, surely?''

''Oh yes. Just a leaf. But a leaf whose… originator… has caused no end of trouble for me over the years. And I should hope he has not made your situation any worse. After all, damaged goods are harder to barter with.'' He said ominously.

Francesca turned to look out over the sea, blanching at the thought of being referred to as saleable.

''You're confusing me, I don't know what you're talking about, Captain.''

He took a step closer, standing behind his daughter. Leaning over her right shoulder and exhaling yet another vile mouthful of strong American tobacco, he chuckled darkly. ''You know exactly what I'm talking about, daughter mine. Pan visited your cabin, looking for me, didn't he? One last battle?''

His breath stung the girl's eyes, and his words brought that night flashing back.

How could he possibly know the details? I know Smee didn't hear all of it… He only heard the loudest parts of the night. Pet-Pan wasn't even that loud. He was just upset. Yes, that's right, and I managed to quieten him down… And-and then, we shared a bed… I held him, crying. He cried himself to sleep. That's all there was to it. Yes, that's all. He knows nothing.

And yet, a tell-tale blush crept over her cheeks swiftly, only fuelling the Captain's suspicions. He observed her breath hitch as he went on to describe an outline of the night's events. The drunken stumbling of Pan, his sobbing, even the bathing.

''Yes, you stupid girl, I know everything that happened that night. No doubt you laid with the boy, too, and have ruined yourself.''

She opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by the taste of steel on her lips.

The captain sneered.

''But, I'm sure there's a solution to that…''

. . . . .

Historical notes:

Character costumes: Francesca will be wearing fashions from different time periods throughout the story, and I'll try to post links to the inspiration for each ensemble as I go along. This first dress is a day dress from the 1790s, as worn by the character Morwenna in Poldark; http: [space] /poldark [space] . [space] com/wiki/Morwenna_Chynoweth (remove the spaces to view the link). It appears to be a cotton woven fabric over a complimentary printed cotton. In my mind, Francesca's dress is similar to this, only in a green cotton print, with the visible underskirt half cream-coloured.

Brighton College: a secondary education public school, founded in 1845, co-educational (as far as I can find online) from its founding.

Lighters: The lighter was invented in 1826, and given Neverland seems to be temporally unstable, it stands to reason Hook could well have one.