A/N: Thank you all for your incredible patience and your kind words! Life has a habit of getting away, and in the midst of new relationships and moving to a different city, this fell by the wayside. I do have more coming, though, never fear. I will not abandon the Captain (or you) so cruelly. ;) Your reviews make my day, so let me know what you think!
Love to you all, dustie

Chapter 9

When she had returned from Neverland, finally ready to move on from her stories and don the mantle of Woman, Wendy had certainly never imagined that once she attained the title of Grown-Up, she would find herself back in the land of her youth. But even if she had, she would have pictured herself with considerable more dignity than she had at the moment.

True, she had nearly been eaten alive by the monster, and had been rescued by a swash-buckling villain-turned-hero. This was something that she might have dreamed up, although she certainly would've placed herself in a more heroic role. And yes, the aforementioned man had been featured quite prominently in more than a few of her waking dreams lately. But still, had she been in charge of the particular story she was living out, she would have changed a few details, namely the fact that she looked worse than the Lost Boys on their best days, and her hero was acting more gruff than dashing. She tamped down the voice in her head that stated, quite unequivocally, that she'd rather be with a brusque Captain than the most gallant of dull and empty-headed boys back home. And she certainly preferred him over--she shoved that thought quickly aside. While Neverland was not Utopia, it was certainly too happy a place to be marred by the shadows in her past.

She stumbled suddenly, and realized that the Captain had all but dragged her to the Black Castle, where a rowboat waited with members of his crew. The Captain single-handedly swung her onto the boat, grunting, at her shocked look, that it would take too long to wait for her to clamber in. Without another glance at her, he snapped at the members of his crew who were now gaping at the appearance of a woman, albeit a bloody and bedraggled one.

Sufficiently cowed, his men rowed toward the Jolly Roger in silence, the Captain's intense gaze upon her. She met his stare evenly, taking the time to evaluate his overall appearance. She noticed, with some surprise, that he had barely aged since she had seen him last. She frowned at this realization, and leaned closer to him without thinking, wanting to have a closer look.

"If you don't mind," he said suddenly, startling her so much that she jumped, rocking the boat slightly. "I was about to suggest that you lean back, so as to not capsize the vessel," he finished, a smirk hovering about his mouth. She steadied herself primly, leaning back onto her seat once more with poise.

When she looked up again, his gaze was fixed on her lip, which she realized she'd been biting absentmindedly. Without a word, he smoothly shifted his gaze to the area above her right ear, and refrained from speaking for the duration of the journey.

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They arrived at the Jolly Roger with little further ado, and clambered aboard with few mishaps. If Wendy slipped off of the ladder on her way up, and nearly kicked the Captain in the shins as she found her footing on deck, it was not mentioned.

She clutched her bag as she looked about the ship, wide-eyed. Not much had changed in her years away from the island, including the ship itself. It seemed as impressive and regal as ever, and that included the Captain who now stood beside her. She took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air and reveling in the feel of the ship rocking gently in the tide. It was as if time ceased to matter; she was both the grown Wendy and the adolescent Storyteller that had once stood upon the deck. She couldn't help a relieved sigh escaping her; she felt, strangely, that she'd returned to a place where she was welcome.

She glanced up at the Captain, noting the slight differences which indicated that the man who had rescued her was overshadowed by the persona of leader, commander of the ship and all its inhabitants. He stood taller, prouder, with a slight twist on his lips as his men scurried around him. She could sense the pride and satisfaction he felt as he surveyed his crew and ship. His face looked hard, perhaps even cruel, yet fiercely protective of what he considered his.

Wendy wondered what it would be like to experience this side of the Captain, the pirate ruler, rather than the crooked man who had tricked and lied his way through their last adventure. She absently wondered why she wasn't afraid of this persona, but was distracted by one of his crew members brushing past her with what might be considered a grope if her clothing hadn't been so bulky. She glared after his retreating form, too tired to chase him down, wondering if she'd be forced to protect herself against lecherous advances with a weary sigh.

The Captain beside her hadn't seemed to notice, instead conferring with a smaller man beside him, giving orders for the evening. "Smee!" he suddenly bellowed, startling her again.

The obsequious man appeared at once, and recognized her instantly with some delight. "Why if it isn't Red-Handed Jill, all growed up!" He made to grab her hands, but Hook stepped in at once.

"Later, Smee, your medical expertise is required at once." He gestured at her leg, which was caked with dried blood by now. The little man said nothing further, but disappeared into the bowels of the ship.

"This way, Red." The Captain led her by the elbow to the same rooms she'd been wined-and-dined in, years ago. Giving her no time to admire the surroundings, he dragged her in and bodily hoisted her onto the rather sturdy oak table in the center of the room.

Unperturbed, she watched him as he brought over a brandy decanter and two glasses. "Captain, if you please, I would appreciate it if you would kindly refrain from manhandling me in such a manner. I do not appreciate being thrown about as if a rag doll."

He simply arched a brow at her, and poured some brandy into a glass and offered it to her. She hesitated, hearing the unspoken ladies don't drink, and shrugged, taking the glass and sipping, then took a healthy swallow. God knew her nerves could use it. She found him watching her with an unreadable expression as he poured a generous amount for himself. She paused, then held her glass out for more, daring him to comment.

He gave her another splash, then held out his glass, for a toast. "To clocks... and such," was all he said. She bent her head in acknowledgment, then tossed it back. Feeling her eyes begin to water, she closed them and put the glass down, bowing her head as her body suddenly resumed feeling again. Her leg fairly burned, and her head was throbbing. She was overwhelmed by the events of the day, and took a shaky breath, forcing away the emotions threatening to spill out through her tear ducts.

The Captain stilled, then reached out to her once more, tipping her face up to meet his gaze. He surveyed her silently, then brushed at the tears beginning to seep out despite her best efforts. "Long day, Red?" he asked quietly.

Surprised that he hadn't bellowed at her for such a womanly thing as tears, she lost the tenuous hold on her composure, and the tears began to fall in silent earnest. Thankful that she was at least refraining from sobbing aloud, she took the handkerchief he offered and allowed herself a few moments of unrestrained release. He remained silent, but did not leave the room. She finally smiled up at him as she wiped her eyes, feeling better by the moment, and said, "You don't interact with many crying women in your life, do you, Captain?"

He actually grinned, his eyes sending warmth through her cheeks. "You're the first beleaguered woman I've encountered in years, Red." His hand had slid to rest against her jaw again, in a position she was quickly becoming familiar with. When her lips quirked in a returning grin, his gaze fell once more to her kiss, there, just at the corner of her mouth. Before she could think properly, his thumb had brushed against it, once, twice. She had stopped breathing, and raised her face to his questioningly, ever so slightly.

Smee chose that moment to burst into the room with two others in tow, bearing a large box, a bowl of still-steaming water, and yards of bandage. "Well, well, Red-Handed Jill, let's see what we can do." She looked up to find the Captain, only to see the door closing with a click.

Smee patched her up, carrying on a steady stream of chatter the entire time, which required little from her but the occasional grunt in acknowledgment. When she blinked again, she found herself seated in one of the high-backed Captain's chairs, with a book apparently selected at random by one of the nameless pirates who accompanied Smee. It was a book on bird-watching, of all things, but she found that it was easier to read than dwell on her thoughts.

The door opened again, and determined footsteps announced that he'd reappeared in the room once more. He remained silent as he crossed the floor and sat across from her in the accompanying high-backed chair. She maintained her focus on the book, unwilling to speak first, uncertain of what to say.

He watched her in silence for a time. When he spoke, she jumped, from the broken silence as much as the question posed. "Where have you been, Red?"

She looked up, careful to keep her face blank. "I was in England. At home," she replied evenly.

He made an impatient gesture. "You know full well what I mean. It has taken you a while to allow yourself to be rescued. I felt your arrival." The latter statement seemed almost an afterthought, as if it had nothing to do with the previous sentence.

Her nostrils flared and she snapped the book shut, placing it to the side. "I allowed myself to be rescued? By you? Because I've been orchestrating the entire thing so that I can come back here to live the high life?" She flung out her arms to encompass the entire ship.

His hand captured one of hers, the movement deceptively lazy, belying the steel grip. He brought her arm up to examine more closely. He frowned suddenly. "What is this, Wendy?" he snapped. Her arms were covered in healing bruises. He pushed up a sleeve to discover how far the bruises extended, but she yanked her hand out of his and scowled at him, more than a little disconcerted at his use of her real name, which she'd thought he'd long since forgotten.

Choosing to use that point as her means of distraction, she smoothed her face into a relatively bland expression, forcing the memories at bay so that she'd be able to keep him from pursuing his queries. "Wendy? No more Red-Handed Jill?"

He surprised her by chuckling. "I hadn't realized that I still remembered that name until I saw you crouching in the forest, ready to fight that beast to the death."

She found herself absently wondering which name he meant. Had he remembered her as the storyteller or the girl? She grinned, ready now, in the safety of his ship, to admit how helpless she had been. "I figured it was better than fainting on the spot and letting it drag me into the water," she admitted.

His eyes shone with approval, though his words were teasing. "With a stick?"

She shook her head with a laugh, then a thought occurred to her. "Wait. What were you doing in the forest, anyway?"

He shrugged, making the movement relaxed yet elegant. "I was in the area, and found that my services were required."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yet I wasn't screaming for help. It was a rather quiet altercation, actually. How did you find me?"

He sighed, still not meeting her eyes. "The creature still has the clock, or have you forgotten in your years away?" He brushed at invisible dirt on his breeches.

She leaned forward, trying to force him to look at her. "You know what I mean. And earlier you said that you knew I arrived. How?"

He glanced up at her again, and found himself staring at her mouth. There, he could still see her kiss. No longer hidden, but elusive, teasing him with possibilities. He found himself wondering if the Boy had given it back, or if her kiss still belonged to the obnoxious runt. He realized that the thought irked him more than he liked.

He forced himself to relax, and inquired in a bored tone, "Tell me, Red, did you ever get your thimble back? You know, the one you gave to," he nearly choked, "Pan?" She blinked rapidly, as if struck. He ruthlessly followed his sudden attack, wanting her to hate him instead of looking at him with those soft eyes, making him feel. "Isn't it interesting that he hasn't found you yet? Does it bother you that I had to play the role of rescuer this time? Perhaps he's forgotten about you."

He finally met her gaze once more, to find her eyes bright with sudden tears. "That was cruel," she said quietly.

And indeed, he felt her sorrow at the loss of a childhood, at being forgotten by the thoughtless boy yet again. He found himself struggling with the desire to grasp her hand once more and beg forgiveness, and if she refused, to distract her until she forgot her grief. Forcing himself to banish those thoughts, he shrugged once more. "I am the villain in your world, am I not? Or do you not recall the last time we met?"

She stood angrily, forgetting her injured leg for the moment, her eyes flashing with anger. "Of course I remember. But what you cannot seem to realize is that I have grown! I am not the same child I was back then. How could you have expected me to behave, given the way you acted towards me?"

He stood as well, his temper flaring in spite of his intentions of baiting her. "I had to portray what you required of me! After all, you were the Storyteller, orchestrating the entire scenario to your own little happy ending." Resentment against Pan surged within him as a memory of the boy and girl dancing with the fairies flashed before him. That same hollow ache began in his chest, and he nearly gasped for air against the pain.

Both realized abruptly that they stood only inches apart, flushed with anger and old wounds. She blushed anew, but refused to back down. He felt a surge of masculine satisfaction and approval at her stubborn nature, and said softly, "But you are right." Her eyes widened slightly at his admittance. "You have grown, Red." His voice was low, nearly a growl. Their faces were barely inches apart, "You are no longer a child." His hand came up to tug at a lock of her hair.

The doors flew open with a bang, and she jumped guiltily. "Here we go, my lady," came the cheerful voice of Smee, carrying a large tray. "A nice hot supper for you. I don't know if the Captain will be joining you, seeing as I can't find him about--" his voice died down as he looked up and saw them. "Oh." She watched as he took in the situation, then visibly shrugged. "Captain, will you be dining with Red-Handed Jill tonight?"

He looked back down at the fiery storyteller, to see that she was refusing to meet his gaze again. The ache within him throbbed, and his mouth thinned. "No, I find that I am needed elsewhere tonight." He bent his head slightly to Wendy, saying, "My lady," then turned and left the room.

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a/n: evil laugh Review, review, review! ;)