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Chapter 3

Hours later and completely jetlagged — flying by plane was both nausea inducing and ridiculously slow compared to fairy travel — Tink was sitting on the hardwood floor outside of her daughter's dorm room as officers came in and out. The door was taped
up so that she couldn't enter.

One of the men had kindly offered her Margot's old teddybear when they'd decided it wouldn't need to be submitted into evidence. She clutched the stained and well-loved little bear — so much like Michael's — to her chest with tears in her eyes. Margot
hadn't slept with the thing in years. Tiff knew well enough that she just kept it around on display in bookshelves and the like; she'd been doing that since she was a teenager. But, even now, the fabric held the most trace remains of her sweet baby
smell… the heady perfume that could lull Tiff to sleep with Margot in her arms for hours when she was first born. She'd always thought it smelled just a bit like Peter.

Where is my daughter?! Tiffany thought furiously for the thousandth time that hour. Just when the frustration and pain of it all threatened to overflow and erupt into a wail of despair, an officer was bending next to her with a cup of coffee.

Coffee, one of those bitter grown-up things that Tiff had never quite adjusted to. Margot had loved it, though, so she accepted the cup gratefully, thinking of both her jetlag and her daughter.

"I know you're very concerned, Miss Belle but please try to rest assured," the man said gently, "Disappearances on Halloween on a university campus are not uncommon. It is very likely that your daughter just had a bit too much to drink and will
be back soon."

Tiff nodded, somewhat blindly, not really believing that for a second. Margot was a drinker — she wasn't that naive a mother — but her daughter was smart. To smart to run off somewhere dangerous, or with someone dangerous, and get lost. Margot
had been taken. She knew it deep in her very being.

"In any case ma'am, we need to ask you a few questions right now, if that's alright?" he asked, not really giving her a choice. She stood and followed him to the end of the hall where another officer was waiting with her in a study room. At least they'd
be interrogating her here instead of down at their station. Or well, they would be if they liked all her answers. At the very least she had the alibi of being in America during the disappearance.

After the preliminary stating of her name for the record and a few basic questions about the timeline of when she'd last heard from Margot, they got into the more heavy hitting stuff.

"Our records indicate you're initially from London, correct?" one of the officers, one with a heavy mustache, asked.

She nodded, "Yes sir."

"It also says you were adopted, by whom?"

They knew damn well by whom but they needed the story stated in her voice on their blasted recorder.

"By Ms. Moira Darling," she replied, "From the London Girls' Home when I was just a toddler."

That was the first time she'd said the name of Wendy's granddaughter since she'd shown up at the familiar window pregnant with Margot over 26 years ago. Just like Wendy, she'd been sitting in a rocking chair with the window open, a book draped across
her lap.

She had never met Moira before, didn't even know exactly who she was when she first stepped through that window.

Moira, however, had known exactly who she was and didn't even look the tiniest bit surprised when Tink had grown herself from fairy size to human size… just as she had on the strangest whim not seven months earlier with Peter.

"You're Tinkerbell!" the woman breathed out in pure excitement. "Is Peter here too?"

Apparently the stories had been well passed down through the family and even future members still wholly believed in all of them. Tink had huffed in annoyance at the mention of Peter, though, "No, he is not. Who are you?"

The woman had merely smiled at the rudeness, like she both expected it and found it endearing, "I'm Moira Darling, John Darling's granddaughter. Wendy's great-niece."

Tink didn't understand the concept of great-nieces, at the time, but she recognized the name John Darling. She was just about to ask if one of the original trio was still around when Moira's brows creased in concern.

"You look exhausted, Tink," she said, standing to reach out to the fairy and offer her the rocking chair, "And you're… you're pregnant?"

That one word brought Tink's feisty walls of self-preservation crumbling down and she collapsed into the chair sobbing loudly.

"It's… it's… Peter's!" she sobbed out.

"Peter?" Moira queried softly, stopping down beside her and taking her hand to sooth her, "But he's just a little boy…"

"Oh, that's what he tells everyone. That's what he wants to be," Tink complained through her sniffles, "But why do you think he followed me to Neverland in the first place? He was scared of growing up… small children hardly understand what the concept
of growing up even means."

Moira frowned further at Tink's bitter tone as she worked it all out in her head, "Peter was… is… a teenager?"

Tink nodded before falling back into another fit of sobs, burying her head in her hands while her wings flapped wiltingly behind her. "He refuses to grow up! He could never be a father!"

Moira could not have been more gracious and understanding. If Tinkerbell didn't want to return to Neverland, she was more than welcome to stay right there in London as long as she desired. She was undeniably grateful for the offer but the Darling's
historic home was far too much a reminder of Peter. She needed a new start but… she hadn't known where else to go in this world.

So Moira had helped her to find her place in herworld — first by helping her learn to stay human-sized as long as she pleased and then by helping her learn to hide her wings. Once they'd accomplished that, Moira had helped her to find a new home
in America.

At the time, she'd happened to be courting a man in the London police department who had helped them forge all the necessary paperwork to create a real, human identity for Tinkerbell. Of course, even this friend was not privy to the entire story. As far
as Moira's officer knew, Tink was just a friend in need of help forging a new identity. Even Moira didn't trust this man to believe in fairies or Never Neverland.

But, nevertheless, for Moira's sake he helped. Tinkerbell's new history showed that she'd been adopted in secrecy by Moira who would have fallen under great social scrutiny to raise a child without a husband.

Initially, they'd thought to change her name to Tiffany Darling, taking the surname of her adopted mother. But when Tiff admitted that the thought of taking the last name of the one other girl Peter had ever loved was simply too much to bare,
they worked out another story. Tiffany kept the last name Bell, turning it into the French "Belle," at the request of the fictional mother who had left her at the orphanage as a baby. It took a great deal more time to falsify this information,
within the records of the orphanage system, as well but they'd ultimately succeeded.

And then, at age '15' — in reality, less than two months later, with no knowledge of what her actual age was — Tiffany Belle had run away from her adoptive mother's home to give birth to her daughter in America.

All with said adoptive mother's blessing, of course, but no one needed to know that part.

"You can count on me for anything, Tink," Moira had said during their final hug before she departed. "Tiffany, I mean. You can visit whenever… I'll come flying across the sea myself, the second you call. If you and the baby need any help with
money, never hesitate to ask."

Tiff hugged her back tightly, having become much more close to this particular Darling over the weeks than she ever could have imagined.

"Thank you," Tiffany said, squeezing back into their embrace hard, "And I promise… if we need anything, I'll call."

But she'd broken that promise. She'd broken the promise that she'd reach out if she needed help but, further, she'd broken the unspoken promise that she'd simply call, even if things were fine. She hadn't seen or heard from Moira since the day
she left for America. Tiffany didn't even call when Margot was finally born a few short weeks later.

The questions of the police snapped Tiffany out of her painful reveries, "There are records here showing that you left your home in London and moved to America 26 years ago, just a few weeks prior to the birth of your daughter?"

"That's correct," Tiffany replied, clearing her voice as she snapped back into reality. "I was pregnant at fifteen and ran away from home to have Margot."

"And the father?" the second officer, the balding one who'd given her coffee, asked, "Where is Margot's father?"

"I have no clue," Tiffany lied easily, "He was a teenage one-night-stand. It was part of the reason I fled to America… I felt like I had… no one."

The officers nodded, looking cool and indecisive before asking, "You don't know his name?"

"Don't remember it, at least," she lied again. "I was fairly intoxicated when Margot was conceived."

"And when was the last time you had contact with your adoptive mother, Ms. Belle?" the officer asked.

"Not since before I ran away while I was pregnant."

"What about your daughter? Going to school here in England, has she ever been up to visit her grandmother?"

"No," Tiff replied miserably, "She doesn't even know who she is. All she knew was that I was adopted and ran away."

The police officers exchanged concerned glances.

"Ms. Belle," the mustachioed one began carefully, "You must understand that even though you've not spoken to your mother in nearly three decades, we'll need to question her next. There's always a chance your daughter discovered her family history and
sought out answers herself…"

Tiffany nodded, "Of course, I understand. Though I sincerely doubt that's the case."

She was stuck with them for over an hour after that, answer a million odd questions and then some before they finally let her go with assurances that Margot would turn up soon.

But all Tiffany could think about was that, as soon as they were done interrogating Moira, she needed to make a visit of her own immediately after. It had been a long time. It was well overdue.

"See as you fell from the sky and directly into my path, madame, I should think we both have some questions for one another," James said, "But first, I believe we should address the need to find you something more suitable to cover yourself with… I'm
afraid what you have on now is altogether very tempting…"

It took Margot a minute to find her voice, but she wasn't about to become a blushing mess in front of this man.

"Well," she replied smoothly, "That was the basic purpose of wearing it."

Ah so that was her trick, he'd finally figured it out… Not that he couldn't have predicted that. She was a seductress. Oh, she didn't think he'd be taken down but such a simple trick as that, did she? Well if she wanted to act like a whore, he could treat her like one.

"Yes, I'm sure your techniques of persuasion are entirely successful," he smirked, with an air of disdain, "Might I ask, what it might cost me to entertain your services for an evening?"

That ticked her off. Hook could see the fire that instantaneously lit in her eyes — again, so familiar, but where? — and for a split second he thought she might make a move to slap him right across the face.

In fact, she had been about to do just that but then decided it might not be the smartest idea. Not to mention, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. He was playing some kind of game here, trying to get a reaction out of her, probably to get a
sense of who she was. No, he would not be getting a rise out of her so easily.

"Unfortunately for you, I can't be bought," she sniffed smugly, letting the implication of deep insult hang in the air.

"My mistake, Madame," he replied drolly, "In any case, we've had some more suitable dresses brought up from port." He gestured to a large trunk that appeared to have been lugged into the room while she was passed out.

Part of her wanted to argue. There was nothing wrong with her clothes, not really. Sure the dress was technically lingerie but it had been Halloween goddamit! But, remembering the leering crew outside the Captain's door, not to mention
the rapidly cooling air — why was it getting so cold? It had been tropical and humid not a minute before — she decided to take a look at her options.

"So you call me a whore and then dress me in their clothes…" she mumbled stubbornly, well aware of the hypocrisy of her words.

Hook tutted at her, "I'd never put a beauty like you in the cheap sacks the whores in Pirate Town wear. No, a few years before we landed in Neverland, we pillaged the ship of a French Marquis and his daughter was on board. I had the crew bring them up
from my vault."

But Margot's breath had caught in her throat; she had just heard the name of where she now found herself.

"I'm sorry but did you say… Neverland?"

"Aye," the Captain replied, noting well the new deathly color to her skin, "Surely you knew where you were, you can end the charade girl."

"This can't be possible, this isn't real, I'm dreaming…" she stammered.

Hook rolled his eyes, growing impatient, "I assure you this is all very real. But I have no time for your hysterics, now get dressed. I will leave you for a few moments and I expect you to be properly covered when I return."

Ignoring her rapidly slumping posture as she sat back onto his bed to try to catch her breath, he strode across the room and opened the door. A harsh wind hurled through and chilled her to the bone.

"Better be quick about it too Miss Belle," he added, "It appears Pan is in a foul mood again. A blizzard is coming in."

Then he was gone.

"Peter Pan?" Margot questioned dumbly to no one. Then, "James… Captain Hook?"

Her mother had always told her to trust her intuition. She said the Belle women had a special way of knowing things. Margot had never put much stock in it except for her uncanny ability to avoid any real danger and occasionally get lucky.

But right now, her intuition seemed to be working over time. And it was telling her that everything that man had just said to her was the cold, hard truth.

In the first time in longer than she could remember, Tiffany shrunk herself up into her former size, revealing her wings and everything. It was necessary, after all, to be able to spy on the police at Moira's house.

Moira was still living in the Darling family home, though it appeared she'd finally married that police officer and was now carrying a different surname. Hence the surname "Dalton" now being proudly printed on the side of their mailbox out front.

The police had questioned Moira and her husband a considerably shorter time than they had Tiffany. Still, she waited a day and a half extra, sleeping in a tree like old times, before she finally got up the courage to approach her old friend. And, even
when she did finally gain the courage, she was too skeptical of police surveillance to return to human-size and waltz straight up to the front door.

Instead, in the dead of night, Tiff flew delicately up to the window she so well remembered. And for the very first time, she found it shut. Nevertheless, there was Moira, asleep in the rocking chair as always. She looked older, to be sure, but not terribly
so. She'd aged quite well.

Knowing she was still quite small, Tiff rapped as loudly as she could on the window's glass. Moira's eyes snapped open immediately, apparently still on edge from the police intrusion and she looked first toward her childhood window.

Tiff — Tink? In this emotionally wrought situation, she was losing sight of her own identity — hesitantly waved and beckoned to be let in.

She sat up quickly and undid the latch to the windows, pushing them up. It was only when Tink was fully inside the home that she felt safe enough to grow big again.

In under a second, the elder woman had her wrapped in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Tink, I've heard. The police have been to see us… Please tell me you know where she is?" Moira begged.

Tink held her close, not realizing how much she'd missed her, a few stray tears squeezing out from her eyes.

"I don't know anything for sure but I know we both have a hunch,"Tink said, "...Moira when she disappeared from her room, her window was wide open."

Moira finally pushed her away to survey her at arm's length, her gaze serious and reassuring.

"Well let's get you ready then," Moira told her, "It's time for you to visit Neverland again, Tinkerbell."

Right! It's about time we see Tink step up and Mom up! She really ought to have stayed with Moira all those years ago. To be fair, the picture we have of Tink as a mom thus far is only from Margot's point of view and raising a baby as a single fairy mom in a completely foreign world sounds pretty damn hard.

Anyway, hope you're enjoying the Hook / Margot chemistry. As recommended, I will let th smut be a little bit of a slow burn… But I won't make you (or me) wait too long!

Reviews are fuel!