Their Hearts' Desire

by Starflight1701

SEQUEL to "BATTLE FOR NEVERLAND" - (I changed the pen-name from Lywhn to Starflight). Five years after 'Battle...', an almost grownup Wendy returns to Neverland. As her suitor follows her for reasons other than 'rescuing' her, it threats Peter and his world. Hook is forced to act - not only to save the day but also 'his' storyteller for whom his heart burns. Full summary inside.

19. Time And Visions

Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you very much for the reviews, and I'm sorry that it lasted once again longer to publish the next chapter, but my mother went to hospital and I had to help my father with the laundry, etc. There was not much time left to do anything private.

But now the next chapter is finally online and I can promise you the beginning of an emotional rollercoaster – especially for our captain. More I don't want to reveal just right now.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 17 – Time and Visions

While Peter and his friends considered their next moves, and the elders conducted a powwow with the tribal leaders, James Hook was indeed preparing his ship and men for battle. He ordered exercises to load and fire the cannons, rifles and pistols, to set and to reef the sails in record time, and sword fighting. He knew that he himself needed to review his technique. He and Pan hadn't crossed swords for some time, and his skills were rusty. A certain gut feeling told him that he to be needed in his best form soon.

He also ordered the ship made storm proof: ropes were stretched along the main deck, the bow and the aft, in the galley the dishes and pots were secured, along with all loose items on the ship in storage and in the crew's quarters; Smee took care that all loose items in Hook's cabin were secured and furniture anchored to the bulkheads. No, it wasn't the weather that made the captain take such extensive precautions, but rather previous experience with the unknown.

It was significant that Peter's physical and emotional wellbeing were somehow linked to Neverland, made obvious whenever he left the island. His little world reacted to the boy's moods and condition. The mermaid's warning of the deadly cold coming from deep under the waves and that a "darkness" loomed nearby told Hook that possibly the insolent churl might soon face serious trouble what could lead to torrential rain, wind and snow, or even all of them. If it came to that, the ship would be ready for anything you might expect along the rough coasts of the North Sea.

In the evening, Hook concluded the exercises, inspected the ship again and was satisfied with the results. Not only had his men proven once again what skilled sailors and fighters they were – even if it took several drills to get them there – indeed, every battle station was readied. The cannons and the touch holes were cleaned, fuses cut into a hand-length pieces lay beside the artilleries close at hand just liked the stacked cannon balls, the measured canvas bags of gunpowder at hand, rifles and pistoles were loaded, every one wore a little sack with gun powder at his belt as well as another little sack with bullets, and all cutlasses, swords and knives were sharpened to a razor edge.

Hook praised the men, who all seemed to grow an inch or two because of it, assigned the night watch and finally called it a day. The crew was exhausted, and though most had cursed the captain at some time during the day because of his strict demands, they were satisfied to finally be occupied by something that resembled true piracy: preparing for battle.

Now, as Hook retreated to his quarters and devoured the dinner Smee provided, he had time to review everything – and to face his concerns for the ship and a certain young lady with the claws of a wildcat. He knew she would protest and bristle, but if those 'white men with rifles and pistols' really came to Neverland to start trouble, he would be damned sure that Wendy was aboard the Jolly Roger – away from the danger, in relative safety. And if he had to pick her up and haul her aboard and lock her up (for which, of course, she would give him hell), he was determined to kept her out of danger, end of story!

Story…

There had been no time this day to look at the books she brought him, and for a moment he was tempted to take some time to read a little bit, relaxing after the day's activities, but then he waved it off. Last night had been short, you might say, and he knew himself well enough that he might be reading until dawn, if the book captured his interest. So he allowed Smee help him to undress after dinner, thanked him for his work today – which took the bosun by surprise (Hook rarely displayed gratitude) – slipped off the harness and went to bed early. And, no wonder, sleep took him few minutes later.

*** PP *** PP ***

At Ashford Manor, all the members of the hunting party had learned what 'beast' they would be after. The four further hunters were quite dazzled to see a mystical island with dragons in a magical crystal ball. "I know, this is hard to accept, but what you are seeing is reality," Ashford had told them and looked every man in the eye.

Morton Wickham was a man in his early thirties, with short whiskers that never seemed to alter, dark eyes, and a scar on his left temple nearly covered by his dirty-blond hair. He was one of those folks you never wanted to meet in a dark alley. The scar broadcast to all who saw him that he had done things most would never see, but he was an excellent hunter and could track most any creature, "even an eagle in flight," he'd bragged. He had accompanied wealthy adventurers to Egypt to enlarge their collections of ancient Egyptian artefacts. Authorities in that nation now knew him by name, by sight, and by reputation, and he was no longer welcome there. He and Einar Anders were something like friends, for they shared the same passions: hunting and challenging the unknown.

Edgar Russell was a rather small man with short dark hair, a trimmed beard and piercing brown eyes, who spoke with a thick Liverpudlian accent. Being in his upper twenties, he also had been on many safaris, his accent adding much amusement to the native bearers.

The two other hunters, Oscar Alister and Reuben Jackson, both came from Bristol and had been quite active over the last ten years. Alister was a man of fewer words, with longer blond hair and hooded grey eyes. Jackson was a bon vivant, with dark hair and eyes and a lopsided grin. His arrogance was hidden most of the time beneath his veneer of affability. The men had all known each other for more than five years, all came with an armory of rifles and pistols, and preferred to wear khakis, silently advertising their chosen profession.

All four, Wickham, Russell, Alister and Jackson, had been hired by Anders multiple times, and they knew the young Viscount from two safaris he'd taken in Africa. They all looked forward to another excursion with the young nobleman, for he was generous with his wealth and splashed it about on interesting things. But a hunt for dragons on an enchanted island was literally unbelievable, something they had never imagined, even when deep in their cups. And even if they guffawed at first, cynical and unconvinced, the prospect of "dragon treasure" on the island and the prospect of widespread celebrity with the retrieval of the mortal remains of real dragons persuaded them in the end. After all, the Viscount was footing the bill!

As preparation were neared completion, the 'mission' would launch the following evening, under the cover of darkness. Russell, Alister and Jackson retired after dinner, their days having begun before dawn to travel to the manor.

Ashford, Hutchings, Anders and Wickham bid Lunette good night and decided to discuss how to approach the possible dangers they could face in Neverland. Because Anders and Wickham were researching additional information about tropical plants that grew in the Caribbean or Asia, the four men went to the library. Drawing the curtains and enjoying the Viscount's whisky, they sat together around a smaller table, while Olivia started the fire before she could call herself finished for the day.

While Morton Wickham scanned a few botany books, Anders once again worked on his map of Neverland. Hutchings was skimming through Wendy's second book, and Dalton read through a list of instructions Lunette had written for him, describing which flowers and plants could keep the Little People at a distance.

Dalton was relieved they would finally begin their mission tomorrow. He was getting antsy, as well as the Darlings. George Darling had called him that afternoon and asked when they would begin. It was clear that the good man was quite worried for his daughter and the boys, which Ashford could understand. He himself wanted to see Wendy safe again, but she was a lesser concern. The one challenge that kept nagging him was how to steal one of the dragon eggs.

"Hm, this cap'n looks familiar." Hutchings' musing interrupted his latest outrageous mental plan.

"Pardon?"

The professor turned the diary he held in his hands, turning it toward Dalton, showing the drawing of the buccaneer with the wild curls and the piercing eyes. "This Cap'n 'Ook, 'e looks familiar." Dalton frowned, while Einar and Morton glanced up from map and book.

Ashford shrugged. "Well, he seems painted in the style of the Baroque days. You can see it on many of the paintings within these walls, but…"

Hutchings shook his head, then stared at something behind Dalton. "By the banks and braes o' bonnie doon!" the professor exclaimed and rose, moving behind the viscount to the old painting hanging on the green-tinted wall. Holding the diary below the painting, it was now obvious how the lad had grown!

Annoyed, Dalton rose and went to him to examine both images. Frowning, he observed the picture of the pirate-captain and then the old painting. On both, the subject posed in a half-turn toward the artist, the painting was a portrait, the drawing caught the man in the moment of looking up. The boy on the painting was beardless, the hair shorter, and in the bloom of favored youth, but the eyes were the same. Even though a pencil drawing, they looked alike. Yet…

"Well, there is a certain resemblance," Ashford admitted, "but … they couldn't be one and the same man?"

The two hunters also approached; both pursed their lips.

"The pirate on th' sketch is older, and 'e sports th' goatee and moustache, but look a' the tilt and shape of 'is mouth – or th' eyes. 'Ell, even the 'igh cheek-bones and the straight nose are the same. If this ain't a trick, then I'd say – yes – the pirate and this young lad 'ere are one and the same."

"No-o-o-o-o …" Dalton replied, dragging out the word through his doubts, staring at the old oil painting. "This was the youngest of the Shalfords, the family that turned traitor and tried to prevent King George I from ascending the throne. My ancestors discovered the conspiracy and Marquess Shalford and his sons were executed – or died while being arrested."

"All of them?" Hutchings asked.

"No, the youngest son was an officer of the Royal Navy when the rebellion took place. The ship he served on was assigned as one of the escorts for King George when His Majesty was traveling to England. After his family's treachery, it was assumed that the youngest son would make an attempt on the king's life as he traveled, and he was to be arrested when his ship returned from a mission and docked, but he escaped. Dozens of soldiers tried to catch him, but they lost all trace of him in Bristol, or so the story is told."

Archibald raised a brow. "So, theoretically, 'e might 'ave travelled to the Caribbean and joined the pirates there."

"Theoretically," Dalton reluctantly admitted. "But don't forget: This happened 195 years ago – in 1714. Whatever became of him, he is long dead now and not commanding a ship on an enchanted island today."

'Time runs differently between our worlds,' Brynna had said, Hutchings remembered, but said nothing.

Einar had also examined the drawing in the diary and the painting, and rubbed his rough cheek. "Well, you can't deny the resemblance. Maybe this pirate in the girl's book is a descendant," he thought aloud, tapping the sketch.

The viscount sighed. "That's one explanation, maybe it's pure coincidence. I suspect the last Shalford didn't survive the first few weeks and soon descended into hell. And even if he lived longer and turned pirate, it doesn't matter anymore. He's long gone." With those words, he dismissed the subject, and returned to the armchairs and the table near the window; the two hunters followed him.

Hutchings took a deep breath and looked closely at the two images. 'Then someone explain to me why the man in the diary wears clothes of two hundred years ago and commands an old galleon from the 'golden days of piracy'?'

Later that evening, after the professor and the two hunters went to bed, Dalton was still up. What Hutchings had pointed out bothered him more than he liked to admit. Pursing his lips, he took Wendy's second diary again and stood before the portrait. Skimming through the pages, he found the drawing of the pirate-captain again – and then a second one near the end of the diary. This one showed the man in full glory and pitched battle. Sword and hook raised, frock-coat whirling, hair wild, expression fierce, while dozens of goblins and other dark creatures attacked him and the boy clad in leaves beside him.

Warily he stared at the even features of the man in the drawing – at the arrogant tilt of his mouth, the blazing gaze, the strong stance. Looking up at the painting, he lifted the book to put both images side by side.

Yes, the brows had the same shape as did the eyes and the expressive mouth, the chin and nose the same. The hair was likewise curly and dark, the only difference resulted from age. "This simply cannot be!" he said to the painting. "You cannot be the ominous captain of her tales. You've been dead for almost two centuries now." The piercing blue eyes on the painting seemed to look straight at him – challenging, mocking, and very much alive. For a moment Dalton expected the boy's mouth would curl into a sneer. Then suddenly it was only paint and canvas again.

Shaking his head and laughing at his own foolishness, Ashford closed the diary. "This is nonsense!" he said, walked to the door, switched off the light and left the library, taking the diary with him.

And from the shadows the tiny shape appeared once again, large brown eyes looked angrily at the door where the viscount had vanished, little hands were balled into fists. "Not speaking bad about Master Jamie, you spoiled boy!" a quiet voice hissed. "Master Jamie never was a traitor, but your forefathers were." Taking a deep breath, the little face was lifted towards the painting, the eyes growing soft but also fearful. "Careful you must to be. The Faery-world you're in isna safe nomore."

*** PP *** PP ***

James Hook awoke with a start and sat up hastily. With wide eyes he stared into the darkness that surrounded him; the soft creaking of the ship's hull and the splashing of the waves did nothing to calm his racing heart.

He had seen that darkened library again, but this time it hadn't been Wendy who stood there and looked at him. It had been a young man somewhere in his twenties. Cool grey eyes had stared at him from a rather handsome face; blond hair fell over a high forehead. The young man wore strange clothes, a rather simple shirt with a even simpler necktie and a coat or jacket that lacked of any decoration, yet the materials were expensive.

"This simply cannot be!" he was saying to him, speaking with the typical purple of Oxford English. "You cannot be the ominous captain of her tales. You've been dead for almost two centuries now."

Then the vision began to melt away, waking Hook quicker than thunder. Panting, he sat on his bed; confused and alerted. Then, suddenly, he felt a strange humming in the air – the atmosphere in his quarters changed to something he'd never sensed before. A quiet, high-pitched voice echoed softly through the dark large room, "Master Jamie never was a traitor…." The voice began to sound afraid."Careful you have to be. The Faery-world you're in isna safe nomore."

With hackles raised and goosebumps running down his back, Hook couldn't do anything else other than wait to see if something more was about to happen, but as the strange echo faded away, the air around him turned normal again. Moments later, the night was peaceful as if nothing had happened.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Hook pushed the coverlet away, fumbled for flame and lit the candle on the nightstand. Glancing wearily around, he almost expected to see a window or the door blurring with magic or some other hint of a portal between Neverland and the Mainland, but there was nothing. Only the solid bulkheads, the shelves, the windows and the furniture, all secured against a coming conflict. Yet he knew with absolutely certainty that the border between the two worlds had grown thin once again.

Seated now, arms braced on his knees, he forced himself to breathe slowly and evaluate what he just had seen and heard. He didn't know the young man, yet his silhouette hadn't been completely strange. He was sure that this was the same male figure he had seen bending over a sleeping Wendy and later lurking in the shadows of her room as she had called out for Neverland. Perhaps this man was indeed her suitor, and Hook felt the stirring of the green monster in his heart growling menacingly. The stranger was rather handsome, young and obviously came from a fine home – maybe even a noble one. Yet her fierce statement that she didn't want this man reassured him somewhat.

And then he remembered what he'd said. 'You can't be this ominous captain from her tales…'

The man had addressed him – James Hook – because who else should be the 'captain from her tales'? So, Wendy had spoken about her adventures in Neverland in front of others. What had Wendy related to him, Hook? That she had visited overnight at the manor of her school-friend's family? Girls talked a lot. Maybe Wendy had let herself get carried away and had told her friend about the island of her childhood. But why did that interest this young man? Surely any sane adult would wave off the stories of this mystical island, taking those tales for a child's fantasy. Yet this man seemed to believe them. Perhaps enough to seek out Neverland for himself? Was he one of those watchers of which the mermaids had warned them?

These puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. The young man who was possibly Wendy's suitor knew about Neverland. The island was being watched – eyes in the skies? – and a few people now had visions, him included.

And Wendy had stood in that same library that Hook had seen again in his 'dream' only moments ago. Somehow Wendy was involved all of this -

He suddenly sat up. What had this man also said? "You've been dead for almost two centuries now." One moment! Two hundred years?

Impossible! Out of question! Crazy! Insane!

His gaze found the gramophone cabinet, and he heard Wendy's voice telling him that this device had existed for 'quite a time'. She had spoken of the 'Congress in Vienna,' at which the closed dance position was now socially acceptable after it had been called 'scandalous'. Now it belonged to the official ballroom dances. What kind of cultural change had to occur for something that was 'scandalous' to become accepted in society? More than just a few years, that was for sure.

Then her summaries of the books she had brought him. A submarine boat? By Davy Jones' watery locker, how should a ship travel under the sea? She had spoken about the French Revolution, avoiding a direct answer when he asked when this happened. A man taking the challenge of friends to travel around the world in eighty days, which was simply not possible. You needed six or eight weeks just to sail from Portsmouth to the Caribbean, let alone travel around the world in less than three months!

But what if this all wasn't fantasy, but was now reality? A new reality developed within the last years, decades… centuries? The mere thought made him shudder, threatening to make his head spin. What if this was indeed true? For a moment he considered his option to remain blissfully ignorant … but he had never been a coward, and wouldn't start now. He had frequently tried to get some information regarding how long he had been in Neverland. Now maybe his hunger for this knowledge would be satisfied. Skimming through those books would certainly give him some answers, because, really, he should be able to discern between fictions and such tales as could be true.

Rising, he went to Wendy's bag, tucked in a cubby for safety. He took out the first book. Ah, 'Around The World In 80 Days'. He didn't recognize the author. Well, this should give him clearer insight of today's time, because travel opportunities must had increased exponentially if a circumnavigation around the world could be done in less than three months. Opening the book, Hook bent over it and scanned the first page that held first author and title, and beneath it…

Pan's pitcher of cold water was a nothing compared to the shock that struck him now like a barrel of ice-cold seawater. There was something printed on that title page. A date! All of the air was sucked out the room as the reality he had dreaded crashed in on him …

*** PP ***

The forests in Neverland were in deep slumber. All birds were quiet and had put their heads beneath their wings, the deer had finished grazing, now lying down, the smaller game now slept away the caution and hurry of the day, the flowers had closed their blossoms. Only a wary owl and a few alert wolves watched the two-legged beings walking silently among the trees.

A tired Smee and four bad-tempered crew members – Mason, Akeele, Bollard and Fogarty – tramped behind a fierce James Hook, whose eyes seem to glow in the dark. They had been torn out of their well-earned slumber by their commander, who was fully dressed and ordered them to make a longboat ready. Leaving Jukes in command again, he had left the Jolly Roger together with the five men, ignoring their glares and the yawning no one could conceal.

"This is important for all of us, so hurry up, dogs. And NO protests!" It had been more a threat than an order, and so the five men had obeyed – Smee more willingly than the others, more than a bit curious about this middle-of-the-night jaunt. They had rowed ashore, hiked past the Indian village a stone's throw away, watched by a few curious Indian lookouts, and tramped deeper into the island's terrain. Hook seemed to know exactly where he was going. He suddenly he stopped. Raising the lantern that hung at his hook and holding a small bag on a strap over his left shoulder, he turned around to face his men.

"Wait here," he said quietly, but firmly. "No one follows, understood?"

It was on the tip of Mason's tongue to ask him why he needed them to accompany him when he now wanted to finish the journey alone. But he knew better than to irritate his captain with questions he wouldn't answer, and so he only yawned again and nodded.

Murmuring an "Aye-aye, Sir / Cap'n", the men sat down; only Smee remained on his feet.

"Capt'n?" he asked, creased faced now including worry lines.

Hook shook his head; knowing exactly what his bosun wanted. "Thank you, Mr. Smee, but no. I go alone!" He waited until the bosun had sat down, too, then he turned around again and was swallowed up in the forest.

It was more than a few minutes before reached his destiny – a place he didn't want to reveal to his men for reasons he wouldn't even examine: the Nevertree.

Yes, Captain James Hook had known for some time now where Peter Pan's hideout was. He had found it by accident when he was hunting, and had heard children's laughter. Following the sound, he had come to the small clearing where the massive Nevertree stood and watched two of the Lost Boys vanishing into it. 'So, this is where Pan lives now', but Hook had never used this knowledge. In earlier times, he would have given one of his treasure chests to learn where the boy had moved to after the old hideout had been discovered and raided by the pirates. But not anymore.

The lethal enmity between the captain and the youth had dissolved during their joined battle against the warlock, and with this cessation, the overpowering desire to kill the boy had subsided. Yes, he still wanted to spank the brat from time to time, but he wouldn't endanger Peter and his new friends by giving away the location to their hideout. Somewhere along the way, he had developed a strange habit of protection that he wanted to slap himself for. But there it was. After Peter not only risked his life to save him, James Hook, but had been ready to face death together with him, Hook didn't want any harm to befall the boy or his friends.

Yet it was an angry desperation that hurried him forward. 'Two centuries – could that be true! And Wendy knows it! She MUST know it.' She was not stupid and knew more about him than possibly even Smee. She must have realized that he came from her world more than a century and a half ago. After all, his clothes alone and the design of his ship spoke volumes compared. Why, for God's sake, hadn't she said something? She must have known that he had been trapped here for a ridiculously long time, yet she had said nothing. And what was it about the library, the young man, and the visions? There were ties there, too, and dammit to hell and back, he would get answers this night!

Pausing at the edge of the clearing and taking a deep breath, the captain approached the Nevertree. It wasn't difficult to find the hidden latch that would open an entrance. Knowing how small the passages were – another safety measurement that usually allowed children only to slip into the tree – Hook dropped the bag, tossed aside his weapon sash and dark red captain's coat, and placed his hat on top. He would need freedom of movement if he wanted to wriggle into the underground home of the children. Taking the lantern in his hook again, he climbed into the tree. Slender as he was, he had to struggle to fit through the passage, but finally he reached the bottom. Lifting the lantern, he looked around.

The faint glow of his lamp revealed the large table and the homemade chairs in the middle of the room. Along one wall was an oven and a shelf, loaded with dishes – some from the Indians, some … well, from Hook's ship. 'Little thieves!' he growled inwardly. The boys slept on blankets in cots they'd constructed themselves, running out of space with the former Lost Boys and the two Darling-brothers now returned. The light fell on Peter, who lay in his own small bed, lying on his side, one hand placed beneath his cheek, the other one holding to a blanket, blond hair tousled, face almost angelic in sleep's innocence. Incredible that such an angelic child could turn in such a warrior. Above the boy was a curtain made of leaves, hiding a dim light: Tinker Bell, no doubt. And on a nest made of another blanket in a larger knot hole snored the tiny Hobgoblin.

A very peaceful scene – one that would have seduced him if not for his urgent purpose. He was seething with irritation born from a barely controlled panic. He didn't want to believe what obviously was the truth. He needed proof. He needed to see the girl.

Turning carefully, silently, Hook discovered a blanket hanging its entire length from a large root. The wall or a separate compartment? Wendy wasn't among the boys, so maybe…

He quietly walked to the curtain and lifted it aside. The glow of the lantern fell on a simple nightstand and bed where someone lay. Someone with a honey brown length of hair and clad in a white nightgown. Slipping into the 'room', Hook let the blanket fall behind him and put the lamp on the nightstand. Looking down, he took in the sight before him.

Wendy was deeply asleep. Her beautiful face was even lovelier in this relaxed state. Her long lashes were dark fans against her milky skin, and her full pouting lips were slightly open – inviting a kiss. Her budding breasts now clearly visible under the thin material as she breathed, and one long slender leg lay on top of her coverlet.

Very much against his will, his anger was slowly melting away – again. James exhaled soundlessly at this insight. But he was helpless seeing her like this. The way she lay there was pure temptation, making new heat rise in his veins. He wanted to bend over her, wake her with a kiss, and then explore her sweet body with his lips until she would moan with desire as well.

No! First of all he couldn't do that here, not with an entire herd of boys only a few feet away, and second (and foremost, he reminded himself firmly) he had come here to get answers.

Yet he did sit next to her and bent over her, determined to waken her, but the moment the makeshift mattress moved under his weight, she sighed and her eyes fluttered open. Quickly he clapped his left hand over her mouth, attempting to be gentle. In the light of the lamp, he saw her confused eyes widening, while her hand gripped his wrist. Still half asleep she was scared.

"Hush, beauty, t'is only me," he whispered at her ear. For a moment, she was in panic, then waking, she recognized him and grew still. From wide eyes she stared at him – baffled, shocked even. "I'll take my hand away but remain silent!" he whispered.

Wendy had been sound asleep, dreaming of the dragons which were – oddly enough – small and aboard the Jolly Roger, where she and Hook listened to the music from the gramophone, when she felt a movement beside her. During her stay in school, she had learned to relax completely in her sleep, unlike her time at home when she always woke quickly in case the boys needed something. But now, after her return to Neverland, her senses had sharpened again.

Throwing off the veil of sleep, she opened her eyes – and saw someone looming over her. Someone too tall and broad-shouldered to be one of the boys. The next moment a strong hand closed over her mouth, making her heart leap in alarm. An attack! They were attacked and…

The figure bent down to her, feeling the curls around her face and smelling the familiar scent of tobacco and patchouli, she heard his voice whispering that it was only he. It took a moment for her to comprehend that the perceived attacker was 'only' James Hook – a choice of words she wouldn't have chosen during her first visit, mind you! But so much had changed since then. Relief flooded her in a cool wave as she recognized him. Hearing his order to remain quiet, she nodded, then the hand vanished from her mouth, which remained warm from his touch. He stayed where he was, bending over her, close, intimate, his warm breath on her face. She didn't mind. Her thoughts were occupied with two major events: Hook was here, at night, and 'here' was in Peter's hideout!

"What are you doing here?" she whispered, rising to an elbow, forcing him to sit up again. In the dim light of the lantern, she looked into those blue, blue eyes, now on fire, a fire she hadn't seen before. "You know where Peter lives?"

"I think, my dear, it is I who will be asking the questions," he growled beneath his breath and abruptly stood up, only too aware of the conflicting desires between mind and body tugging at him this moment. Pulling her blanket back (which made her blush furiously) he took her arm. "Come!" he demanded. He was not about to have this important conversation with her here in Pan's hideout. The boy "could hear the grass grow," so to speak, and he was in no mood to deal with a jealous Peter or overprotective brothers.

"Have you gone mad?" Wendy demanded, still barely loud enough to be heard, even by him.

"Truthfully, I AM mad, or angry, at you!" he replied, eyes narrowed. Catching her surprised glance, he decided to continue outside of the hideout, and pulled her on her feet. "Use your slippers and take the blanket with you. The night is cool," he whispered.

"What are you think you're doing, coming here in the middle of the night, into my bedroom and-" Her fierce whisper was cut off as he pressed the blunt side of his metal claw against her lips.

"Shh," he said beneath his breath. "We'll talk outside!" Removing the hook from her mouth and taking the lantern again, he waited until she put her slippers on, then he grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. Wendy barely had time to snatch the blanket before she found herself by an entrance. "After you, Miss Darling," he whispered. He wouldn't take the chance that she would retreat the moment his back was turned.

Looking quickly at the boys and Bumblyn, still sound asleep, she shot Hook a glare, then wrapped the blanket around her and climbed up the roots which served as a staircase. The captain followed her, surprisingly silent despite his leather boots.

Cool night air met Wendy's face as she stepped out of the Nevertree, waking her up completely. She saw the pile of Hook's clothes lying there. Watching him close the entrance and quickly redress, she only rolled her eyes as he gestured for her to walk ahead. "You should have told me you were planning a nocturnal picnic," she said quietly with open sarcasm. "I would have arranged for some sandwiches."

He almost had grinned at her bold comment. If not so irritated, he would have kissed her for her characteristic remark. "Don't talk to me about keeping secrets, Wendy," he grumbled and swung the lamp in a certain direction, while lifting a little sack to his right shoulder. "To the next clearing over there, please."

"Since you ask so politely," she said sardonically as he took her hand in his again. He lifted his brows as he heard her implied protest.

"What? Is it not normal to walk hand-in-hand on a picnic? This new age has lost its romance," he deadpanned.

"This new age?" Wendy echoed, but followed him nonetheless. His fingers, rough from the hard work at sea, felt … pleasant, to put it carefully. If she admitted it, she would know the feeling; that warmth that crept from his hand along her arm through her body, or that his proximity once again ignited the sparks in her belly. But she was baffled by his arrival in Peter's hideout and the fact that he was obviously was angry with her, and so she thought it better to ignore these familiar sensations.

They walked about fifty yards through the wood and reached a clearing small enough to allow the branches above to touch each other. Hook stopped, released Wendy's hand and allowed the bag to slide from his shoulder. He then propped the lantern between two roots that arched out of the ground and faced the girl. She looked at him, waiting, her expression revealing she had no clue as to why he was here. He sighed. 'Is it possible she doesn't know how much time has passed since I'm here? But given her bright mind she has to have guessed, yet she still keeps it a secret.'

"Sit down," he instructed and waited as she complied before he continued, "I have a few questions, and I require that you answer them truthfully. How much time has passed since I've been here?" he demanded.

"What?" Wendy was totally taken by surprise by his question. "You creep in our home, tear me out of sleep and bed, and kidnap me to a clearing in the middle of the night, only to ask how long you've been here? Don't you keep records in your logbook?" Her voice was tense as she played for time, her mind was busy with only one question: 'What has triggered this inquiry all of a sudden?'

"I stopped writing in my logbook the day I lost my hand," James snarled.

Wendy stared at him as this disclosure caught her by surprise. He had been right-handed and losing that hand had forced him to learn to do everything with his left hand – even writing. This indeed could have halted any records to his logbook. She could only guess how difficult this had to be, how much he had struggled to regain the simplest abilities. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It must have cost you a lot to learn everything with your left hand – writing, fencing…" She trailed off, and Hook took a deep breath to focus. There was no pity in her eyes, only sympathy and understanding – something he accepted.

Dammit, she was doing it again: taking the wind out of his sails. He cleared his throat. "It was … tiresome on occasion, but I mastered the necessary tasks as you know." He cocked his head. "But speaking of books, the books you brought me uncovered something … shocking."

Wendy blinked. The books she gave him told that he was longer here than he'd thought? How so?

He could read her like – well – an open book, and added, "It's especially interesting what has changed on the Mainland – changes which aren't made in under a decade."

Wendy's eyes widened. Perhaps those books gave him too much information. "Uh… you've been here for … quite some time," she said and stood, but his hand shot forwards and caught her wrist.

With piercing eyes he looked at her, demanding a straight answer to a this simple question. "I said, I require the truth, so stop avoiding it," he snapped with an edge in his voice. "What year is it?"

Wendy gulped. She knew that the truth would shock him, something she was trying to prevent, and murmured. "You … you don't want to kn-"

"What year!?" he demanded; eyes narrowed now, the grip around her wrist tightened. "I just learned this night that I've been stuck on this blasted island for at least a hundred and sixty years, but I have to know for sure!"

"My books told you that?" Wendy asked, mind racing. Of course, the adventures Jules Verne wrote revealed a lot of technical advances, but they could be understood as fictional stories that happened in the future and-

Hook released her, bent down, opened the bag, took out a book and opened the first page, before he shoved it under her nose. "Here! Tell me what this entry beneath title and author means!"

Taking the book in her hands, Wendy looked down on the page and gasped. "'Around The World In 80 days' – a novelle written by Jules Verne, first published in French 30th January 1872, translated in English 1873, second edition printed London 1875'," she read aloud. Looking up at him in astonishment – she had forgotten about the information required on publications since the 1780's. She had been so very careful to not make him suspicious of the time he had stayed in Neverland, and then she forgot the title pages of the books she gave him! Dammit!

"1875. Wendy, tell me that this is not the year this book was printed," the captain growled.

The girl closed her eyes and swallowed. There was no way to deny it. She only could hope that she would be able to reveal the truth to him without disturbing him too much. "Yes, that's the print year," she admitted.

"I thought as much," Hook replied, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "But you didn't get this book a week ago. It's well used to say the least, so it must be older. Therefore, again: What. Year. Is. It. Now!?"

For a few seconds both only looked at each other, then Wendy's resolve collapsed with a heavy sigh. Sooner or later he had to learn the truth, so she said softly, "You'd better sit down."

"I prefer to stay on my feet," he snarled. "Answer my question!"

Taking a very deep breath of the cool night air, Wendy said as gently as possible, "We left Bloomsbury a few days ago in the year 1909…"

Silence!

Absolute silence in the clearing, broken only by the chirping of crickets nearby.

Hook stared at her – shocked, even if he had guessed something like that. For a long moment he didn't react at all, then he took a deep breath. His hand began to tremble. "What year?" he whispered.

"1909," Wendy answered quietly. As she saw him paling dramatically, she reached out and laid a hand on his left arm. "I was born 1891 and I turn eighteen at the end of this summer, so it's 1909."

The pirate's mouth was dry. He had found out that at least 160 years had passed, but 195 years? "This… this… cannot be," he croaked. His breathing quickened as the impact of the truth he feared hit him with the force of a ship at full speed. Until now he had been able to tell himself that he'd misunderstood something – or that the dates on the first page of the book had some other meaning than publishing date. But the chance that he had made the wrong conclusion was crushed now. He had been here for almost two hundred years!

Biting her lips, Wendy moved closer to him and stroked his arm, the velvet soft beneath her fingers. "I know this must be… a shock for you, but…"

"I left England 1714 and … and now …" He stopped and his eyes darted around like a trapped animal searching for a way to escape. But there was no escape. His men and he had been caught on this island here for many lifetimes. The panic he had been able to quash began to rise again, struggled against his control, causing him to gasp for air.

Even if Wendy hadn't been so sensitive, she could have seen his inner tumult. And she couldn't stand it to see him hurting. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped one arm around him to comfort him. "Captain, time runs differently on the Mainland than here."

"I know," he croaked. "Esteban and Niam told me as much, but … It never occurred to me that I'm here for … for over 190 years!" He looked at her, realizing something else. "It means that everyone I knew is…" he gulped and closed his eyes, "is dead," he finished his sentence.

Wendy's heart broke for him. He had not only lost the knowledge of their recent history, but also everyone he ever had known, friends, comrades, his family. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, but got no reaction.

James felt nauseated. His father and his older brothers were dead, he'd known that as he fled England – but his sisters and his mother had been still alive. He always had hoped to see them again; possibly clearing the family's name, but this opportunity was forever forfeit. They were all long gone – buried and probably forgotten – while he had lived here, on this accursed island, separated from that world, but safe. And for nearly two centuries.

And from where had those memories arisen? He hadn't thought of his family for … for ages. He had even forgotten what his parents and siblings looked like, but now he could picture them as clearly as if he had seen them only yesterday. Lifting his shaking hand, he rubbed his forehead. "I … I remember my family," he murmured. "At least… a bit."

'The shock,' the girl thought. 'It has to be the shock that was needed to pierce Neverland's magic and set his memories free.'

He took another deep breath and looked at the girl, who held him in a comforting embrace. "You knew this," he whispered.

Wendy chewed her lower lip. "I knew that you were Blackbeard's bosun, and Blackbeard was killed November 1718 by Lieutenant Maynard of the Royal Navy. So, you must have come from that time, but before I left …" She stopped as she caught his accusing gaze.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded.

Wendy sighed. Truth was better now than some excuse. "I discovered everything recently, back home, and after we returned to Neverland, I … I didn't know how to tell you. I knew it would come as a shock for you, and I wanted to bring up the subject more … cautiously." She lowered her head. "A fine job I did at that."

He looked again at her face, barely lit by the lantern at their feet. "You wanted to spare me," he murmured.

Nodding, Wendy looked up again. "You don't think I would keep something like that from you on purpose – something so important?" As he nodded, she sighed, "I would never do that. But I really didn't know how to approach the subject and expose everything to you without … without …"

"There is no way to prevent a shock if you learn that you've been stuck for almost two hundred years on an enchanted island," he said wryly.

"I know, yet I wanted … to make it easier for you, but didn't know how."

He grimaced. He couldn't fault her for that. He took a deep breath. "I understand that you wanted to protect me, but a truth doesn't become more palatable by hiding it," he grumbled. He saw her shy smile and rolled his eyes. Girls and their overbearing thoughtfulness! He wasn't made of glass, so he wouldn't break under the blows of truth! Looking at her, he muttered, "Any more secrets?" To his caution, he saw her lowering her eyes again. Hold it – was that a bad conscience? Placing the flat side of his hook carefully beneath her chin, he lifted her head. "Wendy, what is it?" he asked firmly. She bit her lip (heat again arising inside, but this time he stayed concentrated on topic.) "My girl, if there is more you have to tell me, then out with it."

Wendy looked uncertainly at him, knowing that this was the right moment to say more. "The visions you told me about-" she began slowly, but was interrupted by him.

"I had another one this night! It made me aware that I was here for very much longer than I thought." She watched him, eyes wide, and he explained, "I was in the library again – the library where I saw you for the first time with the candelabra. But this time it was not you who was looking at me, but a young man with blond hair and grey eyes. He said that I couldn't be the 'ominous captain of your tales' and that I'd been dead for two hundred years. That gave me the idea of looking at your books and … Wendy?"

She had paled – all color had drained from her face. "Dalton," she breathed. She saw Hook's unspoken inquiry and continued hoarsely. "The man you saw was Dalton Ashford, my friend Victoria's cousin. And the library…"

"Who?" The name was familiar, but not in a good way. Something dark lurked at the edge of James' consciousness, an old fury, mingled with deep pain, sorrow and loss.

Wendy gulped. 'Here we go,' she thought. "Dalton Ashford," she repeated slowly. "And the library you saw twice now is the library in Ashford Manor, where I … Captain?"

"Ashford…" Hook whispered, as a memory fought its way out of the fog of the magic. He stared with wide eyes into the night woods, seeing none of it. Images and voices were at the edge of his consciousness, scratching and pushing at the barrier of the forgetfulness which had befallen him and his men within the first days after their arrival here.

And then the barrier broke. Like a dam bursting, the memories – now freed – flooded Hook's mind like a tidal wave. Images, voices, pictures, people, landscapes, ships … Pain, hope, joy, dread, mourning … It was too much to bear, as every single memory, restrained by Neverland's magic for so long, rushed through him all at once.

Hook's knees gave out…

TBC…

Oh dear, all memories rushing back at once. Not an easy 'assault' for poor Hook, but his memories return just in time, as you certainly can imagine. He is going to need them and his bright mind to face the next and his biggest adventure soon (the same goes for Peter, because he will be confronted with his greatest fear).

In the next chapter Hook will have to stomach the tidal wave of his memories and therefore of his past that was at last a painful one with a lot of sorrow. And then he learns who Wendy's suitor is and that the past is trying to catch up with him – but it also will bring him and 'his' storyteller closer to each other.

I hope, you liked the chapter, including how Dalton gets the right idea about the portrait and 'the captain in her stories', and that Hook knows where Peter lives.

Like always, I would be happy to get some reviews.

For all who have Eastern holidays: enjoy it!

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight