Hi, my dear readers!

Sorry for the little relay but I was away during the weekend and found only now time to publish the next chapter.

Thank you for the feedback. I'm really happy to get a few more this time. And I know that you all are eager to read about Peter and Hook meeting again. This time the tables will be turned: the anti-hero saves the hero. Well, why not (smile).

Enjoy,

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 55 – Rescue For Peter, part 2

Lester Primely's morning had started out well. (His cook actually prepared the bacon exactly as he liked it, and the tomatoes and sausages were hot.) But things turned a corner as he entered the orphanage. The new boy was trouble – he'd seen that the moment he'd laid eyes on the wretch. That ragamuffin dragged his heels from the start. But the warders had worked on him to get him in line, and, seeing he had compassion for the other children, they'd put him to work in the washhouse with the proviso that, if one of them made trouble, ALL would pay for it.

The real trouble had started after lunch. The brat seemed to think he needed to protect one of the girls, and refused to work any longer. There were damages in the scuffle that ensued, damages that would affect his beloved burgeoning bottom line. He had no particular love for children. They wore on him, but he tried to run the orphanage with a "fair but firm hand," as he told anyone who asked about his business (even when they hadn't.) But this child was provoking resistance in the others; the warders had to work harder to make him productive. Then the solution had presented itself as if on a silver plate: All that talk of fairies, mermaids, pirates – he was obviously insane! He could get him transported to Bethnal House and wash his hands of the troublemaker.

And the jabbering in his office about the new ship in the harbor – ridiculous! He'd ordered the usual punishment, then attempted to reach Dr. Walker, who'd done him similar favors in the past, but the "good" doctor was still at a late lunch. It was barely a quarter of an hour later that the pesky viscount telephoned again, that so-called nobleman who'd dropped the lad in his orphanage in the first place. He certainly intended to give the man a piece of his mind! But, surprisingly, the viscount commiserated with the director, promising additional payment; he was also sending someone to pick up the boy and deliver him to the asylum. As the call ended, he patted his large girth, satisfied by the prospect of yet another fee.

Then came the report that two of the younger boys (how could anyone keep them separate in his memory?) had tricked Henry Shaw, one of the warders, and run away. Primely threw his hands into the air, and ordered three of them to go find the truants, being none too gentle when they caught them. Then he buried himself in his accounts, at least knowing the troublemaker was locked away in the dark room secured with a straitjacket. Served him right, get him used to his new clothes for the next month! He petulantly slashed the meat budget for the orphanage and increased the order for gruel.

He was perusing the latest catalogue of imported silk-upholstered furniture for his smoking room when the last warder present (damn holidays!) paused at his door and announced, "Director, Viscount Ashford and … and companions."

What? The viscount in person? He quickly rose, shoving the catalogue in a drawer, and put on his waistcoat and jacket. Then, "Please show the gentlemen in." He was taken aback when the first stranger through the door was a fine lady. "Uh, welcome, Madame, to the Little Haven Orphanage. W-we are graced by y-your presence."

Mary Darling quickly assessed the rotund director's oily appearance, and was not impressed. Servile weakling was her initial conclusion. Offering him her hand she replied coolly, "This facility would be a far more pleasant place if the windows were cleaned, lights installed, and a bright coat of paint were used."

He looked at her uncertainly, then bowed, mumbling a noncommittal reply, then turned to look at the other two who'd come in after her: A young man of the professional middle class, and another tall man with a severe face wearing … a cape. Not unheard of, but quite unusual. And Primely had thought that the viscount sounded younger on the telephone.

The young man cleared his throat. "Director Primely, his Lordship wants to talk to you in private, so …"

Primely instantly addressed the warder, "Out with you, quick!" The man seemed happy to leave, closing the door a little too firmly. Lester chuckled. "Don't mind him. He's not his best today, but usually a pleasant fella. The children love him."

Certainly less than gruel, Mary thought sarcastically.

The director straightened, facing the third visitor. "Milord, it is my honor to meet you in person -."

The tall man with the icy blue eyes interrupted. "I think, Mr. Primely, there's been a misunderstanding." Pushing the hood from his head, he continued with glacial politeness, "I'm not Viscount Ashford, yet the title is appropriate."

Primely gasped as he looked more closely at the tall man in front of him. The long black locks, the features, the clothes and - and the shining hook on the end of his right arm! He went cold with the sudden revelation. "C-C-Captain Andrews, I presume." He laughed nervously, remembering the name from the newspaper. "I, um, I read your article in The Times. A very impressive ship, sir, very impressive. Perhaps a tour for the older children … ?"

He received a smile that could have frightened the crocodile all those years ago. "Initially, it will be enough to send one of these 'older children' to my ship." The director felt the blood draining from his face when his visitor asked with forced calmness, "Where is Peter?"

"P-P-Peter?" he heard himself stuttering. "Uh, we have four Peters here, so which -"

"I speak of the Peter brought to you yesterday," the captain responded sharply, "the Peter whose belongings you torched; the Peter who begged you to contact me with his whereabouts – the same Peter you punished by denying him food; the exact same Peter you planned to deliver to a madhouse for telling happy stories!"

"Th-the brat?" Lester wheezed, astonished and dismayed. Alas, how did this man know all those details?

The captain's grimace told Primely that he recognized the appellation, but the visitor continued in a low voice, "I urgently advise you to refer to my boy in another way," he growled. "Take me to him!"

Primely's mouth had gone dry. This 'captain' not only looked and sounded like the real thing, he even smelled like it - pachouli, sea salt, a touch of danger. He tried very hard not to look intimidated, for he wasn't daunted easily. Usually. "The boy was brought to me after he burgled the manor of a nobleman, the same man who was considerate enough not to deliver the boy to the gendarmes. He's been trouble from the start –"

"And you didn't wonder why the viscount delivered the boy to you and not the authorities?" the younger of the two male visitors queried.

Primely threw his hands up the second time that day. "Our aristocracy is very well known for its spleens, uh, no offence, Milord. I don't ask twice when a homeless child is brought to me and I get paid to take him in."

"And now you're expecting this same 'nobleman' back here, as your warder assumed we were," the young man replied. "Why?"

Primely thought about keeping silent, but, on the other hand, he saw no reason to keep anything to himself. "The viscount telephoned me in the early afternoon and asked me how things were going. I told him about the chaos the boy had caused, and he apologized for the trouble, that he'd been rambling on about fairies and mermaids and the like. He offered to pick him up and deliver him to the mental asylum." He cleared his throat as he looked into those hard blue eyes. "And that's why I did not contact you. I thought the boy was fantasizing."

"But since I'm here, you have discovered he was not." That voice could have cut granite; there was a curse in it he couldn't quite hear. "Take me to him now."

Primely cleared his throat. "I regret I can't do that. You see, I-I-I'm still responsible for the boy. If he is picked up by the man who brought him here and transferred to a legitimate destination, I can release him. But I have no records for you. You might have a … an unpalatable relationship with the child, seeing his obsession with you." He ignored the lady's gasp as she inferred his insinuation. He knew that he was treading on thin ice, but he had some principles. And the viscount had promised him another payment when he picked up the boy. Lester was convinced that this menacing captain filling his office wouldn't give him a shilling for the damages done.

"You call a boy's desperate effort to convince his captors to inform his father about his whereabout an indication of an 'unpalatable relationship?" Daniel asked. "Man, are you for real?"

The captain had stiffened at the word 'father,' but remained silent.

Primely gaped at the tall one-handed man. "You … are his father?" he managed to croak.

"Hard to believe?" the one-handed man with the name Andrews asked, sneering. Not a direct answer.

"No, I'm … ahem … certain you can prove it," Lester said craftily. His mind was racing. "So answer me one question: How is it that your 'son' burgles the viscount's manor and arrives here clad in leaves and borrowed clothes? His own clothes – those leaves – barely covered the lad, so you might understand when I …" He stopped as Hook came toward him, looking very like a lion approaching its prey.

"The only thing you need to know is that Ashford kidnapped my boy to force me to abandon the young lady I am engaged to marry. His clothes are the costume he wore when abducted from my ship." A credible explanation, he had to admit. And the sabotage of a relationship by a rival was not beyond comprehension. At least in his own ears. But Primely was a skeptical man.

"Your son was kidnapped from your ship? But they wrote in The Times that you only arrived yesterday afternoon and the boy was brought to me in the morning?"

"Do you truly expect me to stand here and regale you with the details of our trip across the Atlantic and the many stops we've made along the way? These details are irrelevant. You can twist and turn it as much as you want, Mr. Primely, but you are merely a puppet in this ruthless game Ashford is playing. But to him, gambling is an even greater passion than my betrothed. You understand what I mean. So, consider: Would you hand this boy over to the one who used him and delivered him to you illegally: Or would you give him back to those who truly care for him?"

Primely blinked, feeling cornered and very uneasy. He glanced at the woman, but who truly looked tense and concerned. Was she also a related? "Can you even prove that you're his father? Or…" He felt something hard poking his well-fed belly. Looking down, his eyes almost bulged out of his head, mouth clicking shut, seeing the muzzle of an old pistol in the captain's left hand, every bit as deadly as a newer model. The director gulped visibly. "Ah … yes … I understand your urgency," he choked. "You … you first want to see your son."

"Aye!" the word was purred, the eyes were narrowed. The woman saw what was held between them, and pressed her fingers over her mouth, looking out of the window. Primely understood from her distress that the man was seriously threatening him.

No reason to die because of that boy. "Uh … oh … indeed. Please follow me," he said hoarsely, taking an oil lamp and lighting it, and exiting his office. He also saw how the younger man watched the captain uneasily, but made no move to intervene. Good God, what kind of penny dreadful novel had he stumbled into? Together the four of them left the office, and encountered the older man and three older boys waiting for them. He opened his mouth to speak, but the captain spoke first.

"Mr. Primely is kindly taking us to Peter now," he told them, keep the pistol against the man's back.

The director paused to glare. "Kindly? You're using a gun -" Resolutely his captor shoved the muzzle of his pistol in the man's back.

"I apologize for the unpleasant turn our talk has taken, but you should simply regard it as a compelling argument that you must comply with."

The boys, unfamiliar to the director, smirked at each other and shook their heads. The older man simply nodded, as if compliance were a fact of life.

Primely said nothing but walked stiffly ahead of the captain, not crying out for fear of his own life; the others following. "You know I will call on the bobbies as soon as you leave?" the director said hoarsely. From the corner of his eye, he saw the tall man glance toward the boys.

"He means the town guard," the older boy offered. The tall man's face grew grim.

"Thank you so much for pointing THAT out," he growled, his eyes narrowing. "And you know that I cannot allow you to do that, don't you?"

The dark-haired boy cleared his throat beside the captain and murmured, "We're in London, Captain, not in Neverland or the Caribbean. Please consider this before you act." These words sent a spike of terror through the fat man.

Primely heard the sarcastic rebuttal: "Excellent suggestion, Master John. If not for you, I might have forgotten our current location!"

The boys, walking next to him, looked at each other, "We've seen how you solve problems, Captain."

Primely felt the sweat break out on his forehead. The pretty lady sighed as if in frustration. "Hurry up, I don't have all day!" the captain growled, ignoring the director's glare. They reached a door to a descending stair. "You want to go in the cellar?!" Primely gulped.

"Uh, yes," he croaked. His East End accent grew more pronounced as his fear grew of this ever-so-sinister man. He wondered if the man were as insane as his so-called son. The prospect of descending to the cellars with this lunatic was not comforting.

"Aren't the children's dormitories in the floor above?"

"Th … the boy isn't there," the captain's patience was wearing thin. Throwing an uneasy look over his shoulder, Primely shuddered under the piercing gaze of the 'Andrews'.

It was no real fight of wills, James Hook was far stronger than Primely in mind, heart and soul

"So where IS he?" Hook demanded, aware that they were running out of time. Ashford or a few of his servants were on their way even now. But this was not all. Both Hook and Primely realized that sooner or later the warders would figure out that something was off; possibly alert the town guards. (Hook understood he had no legal right to take the boy, and he knew he must not be caught in this caper.)

Primely paused and turned around, answering the captain's question. "The boy is the most wild, unreasonable, and undisciplined child I've ever dealt with. Why didn't you bother to teach him manners?" he remarked bitterly. "Nothing we say could reach him. I had to lock him up where he couldn't do any more damage."

"You locked him up?" asked one of the other boys, outraged. Primely thought he heard crystal glasses jostling behind him.

"Are you crazy? That will kill him!" the third boy added, shocked

The director snorted. "If punishment and hard work won't bring him in line, we had to take stronger measures – something his 'father' should have done!"

"You think, beating a boy who has been abducted and wants to go home is a solution?" the younger man voiced incredulously. Something shot out of the boy's pocket, but he snatched it out of the air, hissed at it, and stuck it back into his pocket.

Primely stared. "What was that?" and was answered with the gun's muzzle pressed so hard into his stomach he almost doubled over.

"Peter! NOW!" he heard a deadly whisper, and the woman and younger man held their breath. The peril that suddenly radiated from the commander was almost visible.

The sweat on the director's face was beginning to run into his eyes, and he turned wordlessly leading into the cellars. He switched on a few old gas lamps on their way down, reached the deeper level, passed down the damp hallway and finally opened another door that led into another corridor. Here the oil lamp he carried was needed. It was completely dark here and Hook demanded, "Why are there no lights here?"

"To spare the expense. We had the few installed along the stairs and in the main-hallway of the cellars, but here we don't need them."

"You locked him up in darkness?" the woman asked incredulously. "Have you no heart? You shut a CHILD away in the cold and dark? And you have the nerve to complain about his behaviour?"

"That little vermin deserves nothing better! We tried to get him into line, but it was impossible!" Primely allowed himself to say. "He is strong, and working with the laundry would have been a good assignment, to put his abilities to good use. But he's useless! So we locked him up to send him to a mental asylum. Maybe they could make him see reason, abandon those flights of fancy! So I was relieved when the viscount offered to take him back!"

They slowly made their way down the dark hall. He was sure he again heard crystal glasses tinkling together behind him, but that was absurd. So was the instinct that the noise sounded … angry.

"Are you religious?" the captain asked quietly.

Primely answered with a surprised "Why, of course, yes!" wondering what new horror awaited.

"Then thank the Lord and all your angels that Peter is still here. Had you sent him away or delivered him back to Ashford, I would have gutted you from yer Adam's apple to yer manly pride, then left you to watch your own innards glistening on the deck! And – no – I care nothing about your bloody authorities!" he added towards the boys, who were wincing. The old man nodded at them.

The director gasped. This was exactly what the boy had told him! The man was a prowling tiger, ready to strike. He heard the unease from the others around him, and it did nothing for his feeling nearing panic.

A quick glance at the other adults did nothing to assuage his fears. They, too, seemed taken aback by the angry beast of a man they accompanied, burning with cold rage.

The older boy lit a match from his pocket, and lit another oil lamp hanging from a rusty hook, pushing back the dismal darkness a few more feet. He put his face next to Primely's and snapped, "What are you waiting for? Take us to Peter! I am certain that the good captain's patience is nearly drained."

"The good captain" snorted at the appellation, rolling his eyes behind their "host."

Swearing under his breath, fighting the fear, the director continued, stopping before a thick wooden door. Fingering a keyring from his, pocket, his hand shook as he selected one key and unlocked the door. "You first!" Hook growled, prodding him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Primely moved into the dark chamber. "Madame?" the captain said politely to Mary, but followed the director himself, the three boys next, then the woman, the young man and the old one. But what they saw, made them all stop mid-step.

There, on a filthy mattress on the floor, the eternal boy lay curled; the golden hair a tarnished mess, face pale, bruised and dirty. And he was bound: Not with chains, but a strange garment with overlong sleeves holding his arms tightly crossed in front of him and laced in the back, immobilizing him. Hook had never seen a straitjacket, but he instantly perceived its purpose The boy was completely helpless, unable to move. But it was the look in Peter's eyes that pierced him. Huge, almost black with despair, swollen and red from the beating and tears, they looked with so much dread and fear at him and the others, he felt something in him tear.

"No! Not the madhouse! No!"

Hearing Peter's trembling voice, hoarse from crying, spurred James out of his shock into action. Slapping his pistol into Slightly's hand, he knelt by the unlucky child. "Peter!" he said, voice breaking as he reached for him, but Peter desperately tried to roll away. He doesn't recognize me, James realized. "Calm down, my boy. It's me." He gently took the youth. "John, come nearer with the light!" he called over his shoulder. "Peter! Calm waters," he said softly and pulled the struggling boy protectively into his arms. "It's me, Hook. I'm here now."

As the dim light fell on the captain's features, Peter stilled. With impossibly large eyes, he stared at the man of whom he had been sure would never find him. But here he was: James Hook. In the flesh and hook. He cast a quick look at the right arm, and saw the gleam of the metal claw. The captain of the Jolly Roger was indeed here. In this dark, cold, damp, forlorn chamber deep in the orphanage's cellars. In this God-forsaken part of London. He had come – and his presence loosed an emotional storm in the distraught lad.

"You … you're here," Peter whispered, first in disbelief. "You CAME," he suddenly cried; his voice scratchy. "You came! You found me!" New tears filled his swollen eyes. "They told me you were dead and threw me in here! And the witch made me bleed, and … then they took me here and then I saw your picture, but they wouldn't tell you where I am, but … but …" At a loss for words, he again burst into tears, burying his face in the captain's chest; relief and lingering sorrow overwhelmed him. Hook was here! "You came!" he sobbed. "You came!"

Hook was horrified by the helpless condition of the normally cocky boy. Peter was unhinged, haggard, in shock. Never had he thought to see the boy like this. He followed an instinct. Holding the boy close he laid his cheek on the boy's head, rocking the sobbing child; whispering comforting words.

A golden flash escaped Slightly's pocket, providing Primely with yet another shock. Tink was appalled and angry. Her heart went out to the boy she loved so much. She flew near and pulled at one of his locks, jingling his name in her fairy-language, kissed the top of his ear, sprinkling him with dust.

Hook exchanged a glance with Tinker Bell – Alas, what had these fiends done to this spirited child? While the fairy hovered near the two, sniffling, James held the boy, allowing him to cry out his distress. He felt Peter moving closer to him, while he wept his sorrow into the world. Gently, James stroked his hair, unconsciously behaving quite fatherly. Reaching around the boy with his hook, he sliced through the leather straps keeping Peter bound. They pulled it off and tossed it aside, Peter wrapping his trembling, hurting arms around the man, clinging to him as if for dear life.

Wrapping his cape around him, he murmured, "No fear, Peter. All will be well. We go to the ship," he whispered.

Mary crouched next to him, face full of compassion. Then she looked to the tall, dark man who held the youth so tenderly in his arms, trying to soothe him as best as he could. The boy had pressed himself toward the pirate as if he wanted to crawl into the man, while the fairy knelt on his shoulder and stroked his ear. Mary saw now what she had already assumed and even voice: The captain loved his former foe like a father loved a son. The way he tried to comfort the boy told her so.

Nibs had placed himself firmly between Primely and the door. John still held one of the two oil lamps and Slightly, who had passed the pistol to Smee, also knelt next Peter, patting him boyishly.

Finally, after long minutes, Peter's sobs were reduced to teary hiccups. He felt safe in these powerful arms, but exhausted. He lifted his head and tried to dash the tears away with one trembling hand. His body ached from the unnatural position over the last hours. A large, warm, rough hand finally wiped the tears away. He saw the golden glistening before him, a presence he'd known as long as he could remember, and he could make out the familiar face of the captain. "Tink? Hook?" he whispered, doubting his eyes.

"Yes, son," James replied, holding his shoulder. "Everything will be well now, Peter. We're here."

"Peter?"

Turning his head, he recognized his friend. "Slightly?"

"Aye, it's me. Nibs and John are here, too," Slightly replied to the smaller boy who was like a brother to him. Swallowing, Peter tried to give him a smile, but could do nothing but cling to the strong man who held him, as if terrified of losing him again.

All exchanged angry glances. Then Nibs stared at Primely and growled, "What did you do to him?"

The director only had eyes for the tiny jingling creature. It left a track of golden dust wherever it darted. It had shimmering wings. He'd never believed in fairies. He believed in bottom lines and influence and good cigars and pastries, but he knew that his eyes were not tricking him. There, beside this cursed troublemaker flew a … a … fairy.

He yelped as Nibs grabbed him and shook him. "How could you do this to him?" the boy demanded. "One more day and you would have broken him!" he scowled, enraged.

"I would advise ye t' pray, man," Smee murmured, his usual patience was wearing off. "Th' cap'n don't take it easy when someone mistreats t'ose who belongs t' him!"

Peter hardly heard him. Tink's buzzing wings, the powerful presence of the man and Slightly's nearness were reminding him of who he was. Finally James pulled back. "Can you sit?" he asked and helped the boy to rise into a sitting position, but as he sat down, he cried out in pain. The captain frowned. "What's the matter?" he asked, obviously concerned.

"They … they beat me," the youth said in a whisper and Tinker Bell gasped.

"Bad?" James asked, and the boy nodded – tears of pain and shame again in his eyes. Damn them to hell and back! He himself had often thought that a good spanking was the only thing this brat would need. But he knew the beating must have been brutal. Yes, he once laid the boy over his knee, but it had only been a couple of whacks on his leather pants. Seeing Peter suffer like this made him glad he hadn't been able then to beat him properly back then.

Stroking his cheek again, Hook examined the dark shadows under the boy's eyes, the strange clothes, the shivering, his thin frame. "Where else are you hurt?" he wanted to know and Peter held up his left arm. Careful not to harm him with his metal claw, Hook pulled up the rough sleeve of the shirt, exposing a ragged bandage dark with dried blood and knew where it came from. "Is this from Lunette?" he asked quietly. Peter looked at him in surprise, he explained, "I had a vision, as did Dark Owl. And Wendy told us what happened."

Peter moistened his lips. The girl's name awoke more of his presence. "Where … where is Wendy? Still at the manor?"

"No. She was able to escape last night and came to the ship. I know about everything that took place since you and she were kidnapped," Hook answered quietly.

The boy's eyes darted around the room. "Where … where is she now?" he asked, certain she had come with Hook to rescue him. But it wasn't Wendy who leaned over the captain's shoulder, but a beautiful full grown lady, that … he knew.

"Peter?" Mary said softly. "I'm Wendy's mother. Wendy sleeps on the ship after escaping from Surrey last night. She's still there and doesn't know that Captain Hook found out where you are." She watched him nodding slowly, and pointed at his arm. "Did no one treat your wound?" she asked, scandalized.

Relieved that Wendy wasn't longer captive, Peter looked at his arm. "At first, yesterday. But today … no one," he mumbled.

John flushed with anger and whirled around to Primely. "He could have died from blood poisoning by now, you filthy bastard!"

"John, language!" Mary scolded, but John, Slightly and Nibs were too angry by now. But they weren't the only ones.

Tinker Bell had turned from gold to red. She knew a thing or two about blood poisoning and it turned the fairy into a flaming spark of fury. With a shrill ringing, she flew toward Primely, and this time Slightly didn't hold her back. The cold-hearted, selfish man didn't know what hit him as a blow to his nose that made him stumble back. A moment later he found himself sitting on the floor, with a hot, outraged tiny being pulling at his hair, biting in his ears and kicking him about the head with small, powerful blows.

Hook pressed his lips into a thin line. One look on the sheet-white face of the boy, the sunken cheeks and the dark circles beneath the eyes made it clear that everything Peter had been through in body and soul affected him greatly within the last days. And Primely had ignored it.

A new fury awoke in the pirate and as he slowly rose and turned, even Smee held his breath. The glare Hook gave Primely, attempting to fight off an impossible attacker, was murderous. "You beat, chained and locked him away with no care of his basic needs?" he asked harshly.

While Daniel tensed, Mary shivered as she had a closer look at him in the light of John's oil lamp. Had his eyes really turned red? She blinked, the colour remained. There was a spot in the eyes of the man that glowed in his rage.

'Eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, they turn blood-red when he's about to kill someone' had been one of the many descriptions Wendy had related in her stories, whenever she spoke about her favourite villain. Mrs. Mary Darling started to realize how deadly dangerous this man truly was. The old, elegant galleon down in the harbour, his opulent way of dress, the metal claw that replaced right hand, the pistol, his men … This wasn't a pretend, nor a theatrical production; it was real. The man was truly a pirate, a very successful one, and had learned to deal with others without any scruples.

Mary KNEW that he was able to kill Primely and she hoped that he would recall where he was, when he was!

Primely looked up at him, too, but ducked, as Tinker Bell kicked him again at the nose, and this time something snapped audibly. The director howled in pain and finally landed a swat on the fairy, who tumbled through the air to Nibs, who caught her. Pressing his hands before his bleeding nose, Lester blinked at the gleaming being and gasped, "Don't let that monster come near me again!"

Under other circumstances, this would have been funny to Hook. He knew the power of the tiny creature, and being beaten into a pulp by such a ridiculous minikin was something that would humiliate any man. But there was no laughter in him.

The tall dark man stared at Primely, his face a mask of wrath. No one could push a boy like this. No one could frighten a child like this. And no one would hurt this boy without facing the consequences – at least not in Hook's book. Primely would pay for it. It was this moment he was able to admit Mary's observation: He had come to love the boy like a son. And he would protect him!

And something else lurked in him: The desire for revenge.

It had been a constant companion since his family was betrayed, murdered, cast out, but it now grew to take on another form: Vengeance. He felt an overwhelming desire to avenge Peter, to make this pathetic stout man before him pay for what he did to his boy, and the red haze that grew in his eyes expanded.

He made a step toward the director – who now feared for his life – and raised his metal claw when Nibs suddenly seized his arm and held him back. The nearly grown lad didn't duck as the heated gaze was now directed at him, but straightened. "Captain, Peter needs you to take him to safety, and not to watch you kill." His voice was calm and reasonable, and it reached the civil heart of the pirate.

For a long moment, they simply stared at each other – the boy at the brink of manhood, and the commander of a throat-cutting pirate crew, then a dry voice from the corner cut through the silence. "Hook?" Peter's voice was barely audible, but the pleading tone – so atypical for the boy – reached James. And then it happened: The blue returned to the captain's eyes and he lowered his deadly weapon. Taking a deep breath, he forced his rage back under his control. After all, there was a lady present and it would be bad form to gut someone in front of her. He was too much a gentleman to do that to her. (Another very practical voice in him reminded him that he didn't want his future mother-in-law to think of him as a killer. Bad form.)

Without a word he turned around and glanced down at Slightly holding his friend, a little heap on the ragged blankets, face and arms too thin. He had lost weight. "Take me home?" Peter asked hoarsely, raising his right arm toward the buccaneer – like a toddler asking to be picked-up.

It was this gesture that dissipated the killing impulse. That this clever, cocky, strong child would reach out to him in helpless need, trusting him to make things right, lowered the flame of the fire in him. Hook turned to Peter and lifted him securely in his arms. The boy renewed his hold around the pirate's neck, feeling safe again. "Take me out of here," he begged, now in the very arms he thought he would never feel again, his cocky pride deserting him.

Hook knew that Peter was not one for indications of affection. Hearing him almost beg for it now spoke volumes. James swallowed as a wave of warmth poured through his soul. "Hush, Peter. I have you now," he murmured, shaken by the boy's desperate need. This was a shadow of the Peter Pan he'd known, and he seriously wanted the other one back. "I won't let you down, my boy. Ever!" he whispered fiercely, turning toward the door, ignoring the whimpering man still on the floor. He glanced at Kempton, still but nervous.

Mary, still shocked by Tink's actions, lay a gentle hand on the back of the child. Instantly Peter stiffened. "It's only me, Peter. I will not harm you," she said gently and stroke through his dirty hair. "You now come with us. Wendy is certainly awake and eager to see you again."

Peter looked at her. Once Wendy's mother had been something of a rival, the reason his friend wanted to return home. Unlike his own mother (he thought,) Mrs. Darling hadn't forgotten her children, keeping the nursery window open for them. But just this moment, her warm voice, the gentle smile and the tenderness in her eyes soothed him as his own mother's had so long ago.

Hook nodded his thanks toward her. Peter laid his head on the man's shoulder, finally relaxing. Smee returned the pistol back to Hook's sash, then wrapped the captain's cape around the boy. As Hook moved to the door, he paused in front of Primely, whose initial bluster had failed him completely. Sweat dropped from the director's forehead and his breaths were short, while he still pressed one sleeve against his bleeding nose. He felt his life was hanging by a thread.

The commander of the Jolly Roger stared at him, his eyes an icy blue now, his voice hard as diamond. "Because the lady and the boys are present, I will allow you live. But if you ever come near Peter, I'll kill you. Call the authorities, and I will do anything within or without my power to bring you down. I will report this poor excuse of an orphanage. And forget pressing charges against me for getting my boy out of this hellhole. You now know that fairies do indeed exist and there are hundreds of thousands of them in London. They're my ears and eyes. I would know immediately should you try to make trouble. And then your days would be numbered as very few. Do I make myself clear?"

The latter threat was something of an exaggeration, for the fairies would never be his 'ears and eyes', but the threat was believed. Lost for words and relieved not to be dead by now, Primely could only nod jerkily, and Hook's glare swung to the three boys, the scolding fairy and Smee. "Bind and gag him, but make sure he can breathe, then lock the door. He should surely be found by morning. Miss Bell, please do us all a favour and shut up. We'll do no more to him. Today."

Tink frowned and stuck her tongue out at him. Then, with one more effort, she wriggled herself free of Nibs' grip, and raced to Primely – who squealed in terror, covering his face. She bit in his hand and shot out the door. The pirate rolled his eyes. "It's clear where you learned to be so unreasonable," he grumbled into Peter's ear, hoping to earn a smile, but none came. He sighed. As is seemed Peter needed more time to become himself again. "Off to the ship with you."

John turned with a grim expression toward the director, indicating to his mother she should leave. Nibs and Slightly already prepared the straitjacket to use on Primely. Mary held her peace. A lecture was not appropriate just now.

"Mr. Kempton," Hook said, "please lead off with the lamp. Madam, accompany me? The hour grows late, and I want to have Peter secure aboard my ship before the evening comes."

Mrs. Darling nodded and walked beside the man. What a paradox he was! Moments before he'd shown a savage lust for bloodletting, only to soothe a mistreated child as if he were his own, fiercely protecting the boy. This was why Wendy was so taken with him. There was something primal in him, something untamed, hidden under the sheen of luxury and elegant behaviour. He was a storm from another period, a remnant from a world two centuries ago; it was no wonder that her daughter had fallen for him.

They made their way back to the stairs. Entering the main hallway of the orphanage, they came face to face with Akeele, Mullins and Dark Owl; Frank stood between the African pirate and the Indian.

"Everthin's quiet, sir," the ship's carpenter reported.

"Peter?" Frank called to his friend worriedly.

Peter looked at the smaller boy. "Hey," he greeted hoarsely. "Were you the one who told Hook where I was?" he asked.

Frank nodded, smiling. "Me and Anthony," he asserted.

"Oh the cleverness of you!" Peter praised him, almost smiling.

The boy murmured, "Are you going back to that island you told us about? Neverland?"

At that name, a smile came to Peter's face. "Soon," he nodded, but before he could continue, something was banging against the next window by the door. Hook recognized Kailen who was rapping the glass and pointed alongside himself. Just that moment, the entrance door was pushed open and an angry voice shouted, "Hidin' in a motorcar of some rich people, kicking and biting me, runnin' away in the first place. Boy, you'll get locked up till ye're old an' grey!"

"Elmer, Joe and Henry," Frank gulped. "They were after us – and they found Tony."

"Bilge and bywater," the buccaneer growled and glanced at Mrs. Darling and Mr. Kempton. Behind him he heard Slightly, Nibs and John catching up to them, and turned to them with Peter on his arms. "Hide!" he hissed, before he addressed Frank. "You too!"

The three older boys and Frank dashed back to the cellar door, while Akeele and Mullins drew their cutlasses and Dark Owl fingered his hidden tomahawk. Smee reached for his own pistol. "Brutes, build a circle 'round th' capt'n an' our allies!" he ordered.

Seeing trouble approaching, Mary had inched closer to Hook, also determined to protect Peter, while Kempton placed himself in front of her. Tink quickly hid in the fold of Hook's cape.

Just that moment, the three warders came around the corner; one of them roughly dragging Anthony with him. Seeing the strangers blocking the hallway, Joe Milton stopped dead in his tracks, so did Elmer Lewis and Henry Shaw.

The tense silence lasted only moments …

TBC…

It really would have been too good to be true, if the rescue-part could have simply walked away with Peter, without facing problems. But, of course, the other warders had to return and now there will be trouble. If Hook and his men could act like they would do in Neverland, then there would be no doubt how this confrontation ends, but at the beginning of the 21st century in the middle of London to use the old pirate-ways is impossible…

In the next chapter you'll learn if the rescue-mission is successful (don't forget that Ashford is on his way to the orphanage, too, and already in London). There will be a lot of action – action that makes Peter coming around a little bit, yet he really is in desperate need for some rest and harmony.

I hope, you liked the re-union of Peter and Hook. I know, Peter was really teary for once, but after the last four days he has reached his limits. And to be locked away in darkness, feeling cold and expecting to be brought away to a madhouse to never see your friends again, really took a toll on him. Despite the darker topic I loved to write how protective James has become of 'the boy' and how much of a father woke in him. The two really had a long walk from being mortal enemies to becoming now something like father and son. I hope, you liked it and look forward to get some feedback about it.

Have a nice rest of the week,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight