A/N: Thank you all for your interest and kind reviews! I'm having such fun with this story; I'm so glad you're enjoying it. And yes, I was cruel to end the last chapter on a cliff-hanger. :) What can I say; that was where they left me!
Enough from me; on to the good stuff!

Chapter 7

Breathing heavily, her rescuer looked at her for several moments. Wendy found that she was unable to push away from the wall, and simply stared back, wondering if he'd recognize her. Her pulse racing, she realized that she was still exhilarated, uncertain if the danger was over yet.

The very sight of him triggered old memories, and she was transported back through time. She stood on deck, chanting his doom the loudest, willing him to fall into the jaws of the very beast he'd just rescued her from. She shook herself from that memory, shuddering from revulsion at her childlike glee at his downfall, and skipped on to the next. Head held high, she now stood before the others, recounting the story of Peter's beginning, and she could almost feel his hand in her hair and the raspy stubble of his jaw at her temple, hear the growl of his voice in her ear. She had been so captivated by the nearness of him that she had barely registered the cool steel of his hook at her neck. She closed her eyes again to savor the rush of feeling brought on by the phantom, but opened them quickly to refocus on the living, breathing man before her. She had no idea how long he'd stood, staring at her.

Giving himself a shake, he sheathed his sword. "Well, Red-Handed Jill, I wondered how long you would manage to avoid me." His voice sounded at once dear and familiar to her, and yet the cultured tones were strangely new. She was surprised that he remembered her, let alone that he'd chosen to refer to her by her self-selected pirate name. Was he offering her a subtle olive branch? Or had he simply forgotten her true name over the years? She gave no response, simply watching him as he walked over to where she'd dropped her bag, and picked it up. "So the Natives were helping you after all." He looked up at her, his expression unreadable.

She sighed, and allowed her legs to finally give out, sliding down the wall until she sat on the ground. "The Chief said she'd assist me for my brother's sake." Did her voice really sound that raspy? She could feel her heart skip a beat when she looked at him, realizing anew that he truly was standing before her. And he'd saved her life.

Somehow she didn't think he'd appreciate prostrations and effusive gratitude, so she instead began mentally cataloging her bruises and scrapes, checking for further injuries. She tried to ignore the fiery pain that was her mangled leg, and concentrated on the rest of her body. Gradually becoming aware of a dull throbbing by her temple, she lifted a hand to her head, and blinked curiously when it came away wet with blood.

He strode towards her, frowning, and crouched down to her level. "How on earth did you manage that?" His tone made it seem like she'd injured herself deliberately. He reached out and grasped her chin firmly, tilting her head so he could get a better look.

She kept her eyes averted, unwilling to meet his forget-me-not blues when they were so close. Did he realize that his thumb was brushing her jaw ever so gently? She tried to keep from breathing in; why did he have to smell so good? She was seized with the incredibly unladylike desire to bury her face in his neck and inhale deeply. She tried to repress laughter at the mental image it provoked, but only managed to sputter. "It got my leg, too," she quickly covered.

He looked down, and blinked. "My, my." Her leggings were in tatters, and there was a long, deep gouge running down her leg in an arc. His blues caught hers again. "I suppose you aren't the type to faint at the sight of blood?" He didn't seem all that concerned; if anything, his manner was almost casual. She shook her head, unable to decide if she was predominately injured from her ordeal, confused with his manners, or exhausted in general.

He abruptly released her and rose, turning away and lifting her bag once more. "Come. There are medical supplies with my men. And I believe Smee might be able to find a better wardrobe for you." He began walking determinedly towards the entrance to the Castle.

She blinked. Really? "Do you expect me to follow you like... like a lost puppy?" She stayed seated on the ground, and resisted the urge to cross her arms petulantly.

He stopped and pivoted smoothly. "If you don't want my help, you can, of course, refuse." His voice was velvet steel, with that damned eyebrow arch, and her resistance was lost. She found herself wondering if people were often in the habit of refusing him.

Scowling, she attempted to stand gracefully. "It would give me great pleasure if you would do me the honor of treating me as a lady, Captain," she said in her most regal tone. She had never wished more desperately for skirts and a fan. The effect was generally lost when such a statement was delivered in a tunic and leather breeches, when one was bleeding profusely and looked like one had been dragged through the forest backwards.

He picked up his abandoned hat and made a grandiose gesture, bowing deeply. "If my lady would be so kind as to accompany me?" He crooked his arm and waited for her to limp towards him. She considered refusing his help altogether, but at her first step, discovered it would be best to take advantage of his good will, for however long it would last.

As she hobbled closer, he placed the hat on his head, fixing his cuffs and collar, and she finally noticed his outfit. He was dressed in browns today, which she thought was odd, given his usual flair for the dramatic. Her gaze fell to his hands--his hand, and hook.

She suddenly realized with a start that she had entirely forgotten about his hook. She stopped and blinked in confusion, staring at the item with renewed absorption. When she first began telling stories about him, it had been his defining feature, the entire reason for his name. How on earth had she managed to forget about the one thing that had held her interest with such fascination and terror so many years ago? The aforementioned item was steel, today, gleaming with cruel purpose instead of the soft, polished shine of his formal hook. She quickly pushed her thoughts away from that path, unwilling to concentrate on the implications so near to her own close call.

As she gazed at him, she realized that the answer was, indeed, standing before her. Over the years, she'd somehow stopped focusing on the machinations, and instead had dedicated thought and attention to the man himself. She'd stopped concentrating on his hook the moment she'd laid eyes on him, so many years ago. She had not been as frightened of him as she should have, and she'd been more drawn to him than was normal. He had represented an entire Other; the opposite of the men in her life at home, and a perfect foil for the Boy she had been chasing. Once she'd seen them together, she'd known that while Peter would always have a part of her heart, he could not have it all.

And, as for who else carried a portion of her soul, she refused to consider. What difference did it make that he'd been haunting her waking dreams for so long?

"Do forgive me for refraining from the usual formalities," the Captain said silkily, bringing her abruptly to the present, his eyes flicking to her blistered and calloused hands. She resisted the urge to hide them in her sleeves or behind her back. She had a mental image of him bowing over her hand, possibly pressing his lips to it, and heat flamed in her cheeks as her pulse skittered. For some reason, the thought of him touching her in such a formal and yet intimate fashion sent her thoughts scattering away once more.

Unwilling to admit that he'd unsettled her further, she resolutely slid her hand into the crook of his arm, and begin limping alongside him as he led her away.

-+-

A/N: And? :)
(This is how I always saw the future playing out for Wendy; even she knows Peter's not enough for her. And Barrie himself said that she was entranced by the Captain.) ;)