The sun lazily climbed above the horizon as Wendy sat in front of the large bay window of her Captain's quarters, scribbling words onto paper as the waves lapped against the ship. It was their third day in Erstwhile and she had begun keeping a diary to track her eternity. She wrote to her mother, her brothers, her father, to Nana.

How old are you now, my beautiful blonde little brother? Has your hair grown brown? Have you become a man in these days when I'm barely grasping what it means to be a woman? Has father shown you how to be proper? …Do you want to be proper? I have no role model here to follow, sans the women on the streets and the spiteful fairy. I suppose I'll become the model I'm wont to see. At least I have Jane Austen to keep my company.

Is this how James grew into Neverland? When I look at the ostentatious outfits and outlandish fanfare, I wonder whom he modeled himself after. Truly, I think he came up with the persona himself. A strong force of unshakable bravado to be reckoned with. I would ask who shaped Peter, but he is still very much the child he always was. And isn't that the mark of a child, being the very same as you have been since birth. Seeing the world through selfish eyes. How indeed was he born? Sometimes I think he was formed by the island itself, like the lava that flows off in the distance… Did he ever have love? Is he seeking it from the Lost Boys? At least James had the constant comradery of fatherly Smee.

It is such a one sided island, men existing in the absence of women. All of us appear to be children despite our ages. And this lop-sided nature makes everyone search for a mother. Or is it a lover? It seems that they are seeking a puzzle piece they've only just noticed to be missing. I can feel it when James looks at me. His eyes seek me desperately for understanding. There's a burning want that I've never known before. And there is fear. There are so many emotions in those eyes I can't possibly name them all, they're as vast as the sea we sail upon. Peter's eyes- on the other hand- they do not seek, they know. They know that I am his plaything, his object. But if he learned that his knowledge is false, would the world fall apart? Has anyone aside from Hook ever told him 'No'? I fear it would make an enemy of me if I did. Or truly, would it make a mother of me?

Wendy looked up from her paper as she imagined what that would make Hook. She blushed as she saw the forget-me-not eyes steady on her own. A wide, comfortable smile grew on his face. It made her heart flutter. She wanted to touch his strong neck, the bandaged chest that peeked out from his velvet coverlet. She wanted to seek what was under it…

"Is there something you want, Wendy Darling?" James propped himself on one shoulder as the inky curls rolled down the expanse of his back.

"No," she blushed. "No, it would be improper of me to ask."

"I assure you, your propriety is safe with me," his smile quirked, "you may find you can receive anything if asked politely."

She bit her lip, "I'd like you to show me what it means to be a woman."

The captain swallowed deeply. "I'm afraid there are many avenues to that question. Which one is it that you're after?"

"How is it that a woman… should behave with a man?"

Hook sat up and motioned for her to join him, he left his arms open and she settled easily into the space between them, her back against his chest.

"A woman, just like a man, must follow her heart," He spoke as his rough fingers brushed the locks over her shoulder. He slowly, gently, planted a kiss at the base of her neck. His mouth by her ear, "What is your heart telling you to do?"

She turned her neck to observe his face, her eyes were steady on the texture of his full lips. She glanced up at him, "I want to kiss you."

He looked into her eyes as he leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss. "Does that serve?"

She could still feel the warmth emanating from her body, like a fire that only his hands would smother.

"More," she whispered as she placed her hands on his high cheekbones, bringing him in roughly against her face. She could feel him smile against her before her tongue sought his out and they were soon out of breath. "Impropriety is more befitting of pirate nature," she gleamed.

"I suppose you're right," he brought a hand to his lips in contemplation. "But one should always have some sort of decorum or we'd be no better than a pit of Lost Boys. Have I sated your thirst?"

She shook her head slowly.

"What will you have me do?"

"What would you have done with me if I was the woman you were seeking at port?"

"Wendy…" the captain brushed a free lock behind her ear. "I assure you it would be nothing like what I would do with you."

"Why not?"

"Why?" Hook took a moment as he pressed his back against the headboard, "why indeed."

"You have no answer?"

"I have one, yes. But the time's not right," he brought a hand up to the gauze at his chest. "When I'm properly healed perhaps..."

"Are you afraid?" She teased.

"Mayhaps I am." He looked at her genuinely, "To be a woman is a terrifying thing, Wendy. Are you certain you want to grow up?"

"Not even Neverland can stop me," She grinned.

"You've proven that right," he laughed. "In fact, I'd say the island worked backwards on you. How you've grown."

"Are you referring to my chest?"

Hook coughed, "I was not, no. Yet if you're bringing attention to the subject- you've filled out rather nicely."

"Why is it that men are so concerned about that?"

"Oh, isn't it nice to have something that men want? You have no idea of the power you possess. Would you like me to show you, my curious cat?"

She nodded.

"I promise not to lay a finger on you until I'm healed, but I see no reason why you can't lay one on yourself." He smiled, "Tell me, Wendy, have you ever done that?"

"No, it sounds rather crude."

He laughed, "Such a notion is perpetuated by ignorance. Have you ever done something naughty because you liked it?"

"I've… read books I shouldn't have."

"And didn't that make it all the better?"

"Perhaps," she blushed.

"Would you do it again?"

"Often."

"Often, she says," Hook leered to himself. "You'll be like a fish to water."

"You make it sound as if you hold a secret."

"Indeed I do, Wendy. I hold a secret door you can never close again." He took her hand, "You've been knocking day and night without your wrist ever moving. It's getting awfully tempting not to take you inside and throw away the key." He looked at her innocently, "But you must be the one to turn the latch. And that, in truth, is part of the fun."