Hi, my dear readers!

Like promised this time the next update comes sooner. I first pondered if Good Friday is a fitting day to publish this, but – on the other hand – I also think that there are a many readers who have some holidays and therefore have time to read.

Because I already gave a few glimpses what to expect at the end of the last chapter, no long 'prologue' but off you go to Neverland.

Have fun,

Yours Lyhwn / Starflight

Chapter 18 – Memory Restored

Hook fell to his knees with a dreadful moan and his eyes rolled back in his head, and Wendy knew that something was terrible wrong. Crying "JAMES!" she tried to catch him, but for naught. He was too heavy for her, and she went down with him, but softened his fall to his knees, unintentionally using his given name for the first time. The ground beneath her shivered slightly, a stiff breath of wind blew, and it seemed an invisible wave rippled the air. Then the woods were still again. But not Hook. His tall body trembled like an aspen leaf in the wind. In the dim light of the lantern, she saw that his face was ashen and his eyes were tightly squeezed shut.

"James! Oh James, what is it?" she called desperately. She, too, fell on her knees, pushing his hat aside. An attack? No enemies appeared from the woods around them. Her hands quickly sought any injury over his back and shoulders, anything that could have been inflicted from an unseen (and unknown) enemy from behind. But there was nothing. He was unharmed in body. Yet, oh, too true! he was in great pain, as his rasping gasps told her. Horrified, Wendy watched him pressing his hand and his metal claw against his temples, the sharp tip of the hook drawing blood.

"James, STOP!" she cried out. "You're hurting yourself!"

Immediately Wendy grabbed his left wrist and the blunt lower part of the hook, and somehow managed to pull the hook away from his skin. She quickly cupped his face with her hands and tried to turn it toward her, to release him from the fit. "Captain … James, what is it?" His eyes opened but he didn't react. With an expression of horror, he stared into the dark woods at nothing, then closed his eyes again. Now he was struggling for air, gulping deep breaths. Her fingers on his cheeks, now cold, moved through the unruly mass of black curls. She bit her lips as the first sob fell from his lips.

Shock.

With no knowledge of the new science of psychology, she realized that he was in shock. She did the first thing that came to her mind. Still on her knees, she pulled the blanket from off her shoulders and put it around his. Then kneeling next to his stiff figure, she gathered him into her arms, knowing intuitively that the loving gesture was the only thing she could do that might help him now. Tremors shook him, while confusing words came over his lips. His mumbling was referencing many events and people, all mixed up together.

And then she understood.

His memories were back – all of them! It was the only explanation for what tumbled out of his mouth. She had read once about a man who had lost his memories after an accident and got them back after he was hit on the head. He had almost lost his mind after being confronted with so much information all at once. This seemed to be happening to Hook.

Sweet Lord! She could barely imagine what he was going through, but one thing was clear: his mind was drifting away – getting lost in the deluge of everything that was rushing through him. To see this usually strong man cowering on the grass, trembling, gasping for air and sobbing was more than she could bear; it was breaking her heart! But the only thing she could do was hold and comfort him until he had ridden out the shock and his body's reaction to it. Propriety be damned, she now cuddled him like a child. Knowing that he needed an anchor, like a ship in the middle of a wicked storm. She pulled him closer and pressed her lips against his temple. "James, I'm here. Listen to my voice, come back. Here you're safe – far away from anything that once hurt you. Sh-sh, come back," she whispered, as if to a terrified child, and rubbed her cheek against the side of his head, while her hands stroked his trembling shoulders, through his curls and returned to his back. "I'm here, James, I've got you. Everything will be all right," she murmured; remembering how he comforted her after the fight against the harpies, when she had been nothing more than a shivering heap of misery.

Hook was shaken like the favorite toy of a dog by thousands of memories, caught in a whirl of voices, images and emotions, all pouring down on him like an overpowering waterfall.

A large building made of red brick, belted by old trees and flower beds, a circular drive, horses, hunts …

Fields and woods on soft hills, mystically covered with white mist, while birds sang…

An older, woman with dark and silver hair, and with eyes blue like his own, singing, painting, decorating …

A black horse, wild and full of fire, his first saddle …

Two men near his age, laughing and joking, playing games with him…

A tutor, books, writing essays …

A ship with two masts, a man in blue and yellow grinning at him and clapping his shoulder…

A thunderstorm, rain poured down on him, the red brick house near, but out of reach…

A little brown face full of wrinkles, with too large eyes and a big nose, smiling lovingly up at him, teasing him…

He was riding, riding fast, followed by men in red – no, not followed, but pursued, the crack of a frontloader and the ball striking a limb over his head …

Staring over a ship's rail, watching another vessel drawing nearer; savage shouts and shots ringing through the air, a black flag with a skeleton with a spear in a bleeding heart; a large man with a wild black beard, decorated with lit fuses…

An island in the sun, behind him fog …

Hook groaned. His head ached as if it would split open, and his heart thundered in his ears. There was no above and no beneath for him, no direction. He now felt as if he were tumbling through air misty with fog, full of words and pictures. If only there were something to hold on to! Helplessly he reached out – and felt something beside him that seemed to be solid. Instinctively he clung to it for dear life.

Wendy gasped as his arms caught her in a vise-like grip, strong enough to hurt. "James, please, calm down," she murmured and continued to pacify him, but he was still lost in the memories that had broken through Neverland's magic, now overwhelming him. Gradually, his gasping lessened, his breathing slowly normalized. Wendy followed her instinct again and tucked his head into the crook of her neck, moustache, goatee, harsh breaths and tears mingled at her throat. Renewing her embrace around him, the girl continued to whisper soothing things to him, while her hands moved under the blanket around his shoulders in slow circles over his back.

Bit by bit, the flood of images slowed until they came to a halt, now settled firmly in his mind. Yet they were not whole nor complete, but blended with each other into a cloudy miasma. It would take time before he would be able to sort them out. But at least he could breathe again, even if his head hurt.

"Sh-sh, James, it's over," a gentle voice whispered in his ear, while he slowly came back to the present. A pair of gentle lips were pressed against his temple. "It's all right, I'm here."

He knew that voice. He knew it very well.

Red-Handed Jill … Wendy!

He slowly became aware of his surroundings again, and found himself sitting somewhere quiet, somewhere peaceful and he could feel solid ground beneath him. And he wasn't alone. Two slender arms were wrapped around him, and he was being rocked like a toddler, while he felt a soft touch at his face.

As his inner turmoil began to ease, his mind started to work again. Headache subsiding, cold and shaken, he realized that Wendy was holding him, reassuring him. For a long moment he relaxed into the arms of his gentle kitten, then, as his thoughts cleared, the man and pirate in him surfaced.

Lifting his face away from her throat (oh, sweet contact!) he looked into the worried eyes of the girl in the dim light of the lantern. He felt her stroking his shoulders, cupping his chin and cheek, her thumb moving over the goatee – a gesture so loving, so comforting, it almost brought tears to his eyes. When had someone ever caressed him like this?

And there was the memory. It had been on the flank of the volcano, when he was nearly killed by trolls. Wendy had come to his rescue, the Elven bow and arrow hadn't missed the troll attacking him. Those seconds he thought to be his last. And there was the vision of this sweet girl. But Wendy had been indeed there, calling to him and comforting him. Just like now.

"There you are," Wendy whispered in relief, seeing him raise his eyes to her. "What happened?" she whispered, knowing the answer, but she wanted to give him a chance to speak, to talk through his obvious trauma.

"I … I remember," he croaked, and a new tremor went through his body. "My memory is back."

Wendy nodded. "Thought so," she murmured and dropped her forehead softly against his. "Take your time," she murmured.

Hook stared at the girl who held him in such a tender embrace. Other women certainly would have been terrified if faced by such a breakdown, but not Wendy. She never turned her back on a problem. She was always faithful to those whom she'd let into her heart. And, to his wonder and hope, it seemed he was one of those, too. "You … are extraordinary," the buccaneer whispered, and straightened, sitting up. He was still breathing heavily, and could feel his heart in his temples, but he felt more like himself again.

She cautiously loosened her grip around him. Wendy watched. He was still pale and obviously shaken, but he had finally calmed. "I- I apologize," she said softly.

"For what?" he asked.

"I did it." she whispered. "When I mentioned his name, it released the dam, not slowly but all at once."

He moistened his lips. "Possibly."

Wendy blinked. 'Dear God, what does he remember about the Ashfords that the simple voicing of that name broke the dam, even after two centuries?' She didn't ask. Not now. She would let him collect himself first.

Hook sighed, letting himself drop from the kneeling position to sit between a few roots of the next tree. Blanket falling away, Wendy followed him and sat on his left. She knew that he needed physical contact to stay anchored in the present, so she wrapped her arm about him and laid a hand on his arm, hopefully providing a solid reference point in the turbulent emotional sea she could see in his eyes. "Are you still in pain?" she asked as he began to rub his temples with his hand and the flat side of his hook. He nodded, then he pulled his knees toward him, bracing his arms and laying his forehead on them. Wendy patiently sat silently beside him.

She didn't know how long they sat like this, but she began to feel chilled as he finally lifted his head again and turned to look at her. Some of the pallor had left his face. "Thank you, my dear, for … remaining with me during my … fit." He couldn't remember what happened after the wall burst open, but Wendy had been there the whole time. She had given him solid footing in the storm, her voice had grabbed him after the first shock had passed. He'd heard her calling for him, she had kissed his temple and his cheek, to call him back.

Usually he loathed any hint of weakness in himself, especially when forced to display it in front of others. But this time there was no shame as he saw her concern mixed with relief and determination. Exactly the opposite. This concern, this willingness to help him thawed him – the man James, and the pirate. And … Wait! Thinking back over the last minutes past the dull throb in his head, he asked, "Am I mistaken, or did you call me by my given name?" he asked quietly.

Wendy blushed an earnest pink. "Oh … Uh … I … I apologize. It … it slipped out when you … you know … I tried to reach you and … and … I thought … I … uh…" Her hand waved as if she wanted to fan herself. Her cheeks seemed to glow and she avoided his eyes. Here before him was the shy response you could expect from a well brought-up daughter.

Still shaken by his new/old histories, Hook felt a smile tugging at his mouth and a rush of tenderness he barely felt – only when this sweet brave girl was involved. He cupped her neck with his hand and brought her mouth to his in a gentle touch of lips, no more. "It's all right," he whispered. "I like it when you call me James."

Wendy thought her face was afire, and gulped. Her heart seemed to pound in her throat and she felt a hot tingling all over her body that chased away the chill. That brief soft kiss stunned her, and sent a spark into her that lit a furnace. And then she realized it: those sparks which whirled through her belly when he was near, or when she heard his voice, were … were those butterflies she had read about! She felt them while dancing with him (in the Indian village and aboard the Jolly Roger), she felt them when he smiled at her, she felt them when he touched her. And they were here now, too! Good God, John had said she had a crush on Hook, but this was more. So much had been revealed this night!

And this man had feelings for her, far more grownup than she'd thought. He wasn't simply flirting with some silly young thing; he had already gone further. She wouldn't deny it any longer as he propped his forehead against hers and looked with those … gorgeous … blue eyes at her. The memories of the passionate kiss aboard his ship assaulted her, and she felt a sudden foreign arche deep in her – a kind of yearning unknown to her. His breath danced across her lips and the part of her that was Red-Handed Jill hoped that he would kiss her again, but he made no move to close the little gap between them again. She couldn't know that he didn't dare do so, because his control was severely jarred by his recent revelations.

Searching for a distraction, she asked quietly, "Do you feel better, Captain?"

"James," he corrected her firmly.

Again Wendy flushed and she wondered if so much blood in the face could be healthy. "I'm only a girl of 17, and you're a full grown man. It is improper to call you by your given name."

So, 'a full grown man', not 'old and done for' he thought with an inner smile. "Yet you didn't hesitate to do so only moments ago," he pointed out.

"Only because I wanted to help you out of … of the throes of whatever you were going through," she protested, but was ignored.

"… and, by the way, Wendy: I'm a pirate. I only do proper if it suits me." He winked at her and gave into the temptation by brushing his mouth over hers again. Only then did he release her neck. Leaning back, he enjoyed the blush on her face, obvious in the dim light of the lonely lantern.

The storyteller cleared her throat, trying to ignore how much her lips prickled. "You really do whatever you like, don't you?"

"It's called freedom, my dear. And as a pirate, I am free," he replied wryly.

She licked her lips (they tasted of him) and knew that she had to distract herself, or she would do something scandalous (like stretching toward him and kissing him for once). Taking a deep breath to clear her mind (no easy task), she tilted her head. "But you weren't always a pirate, so …"

"Aye, once I was someone else, but it doesn't matter anymore," Hook said, his expression turning darker as he remembered his father's and brothers' fates. Which reminded him of what they had been discussing. "And while we're on the subject, sweet girl, answer me this question: how do you know the Ashfords?" He said the name like a curse.

Wendy couldn't blame him; after all she knew a bit about what happened to him and his family because of the Ashfords, but … "My best friend, Victoria, is Dalton Ashford's cousin, the man you saw in your vision," she said slowly. "I was at the manor and-"

"You should be more careful whom you're calling a friend, Wendy," he growled, feeling the old hate rising in him. No. He wouldn't give into it – not here, not now, while sitting next to his little wildcat, but if she really knew the Ashfords, it was his responsibility to protect her.

The girl took a deep breath, expecting a hard 'row to hoe.' "It's not Victoria's fault what happened to your family all those years ago, James," she murmured softly. "She was born almost 180 years later."

"Yes, but she belongs to this clan of liars, imposters and murderers, and…" One moment! What had she just said? "What do you mean by 'what happened to my family'?" he demanded.

Wendy sighed. 'Off to the next difficult topic.' "I'm aware that one of the Ashford ancestors accused your father and your brothers of a conspiracy against the new king – and against you, too, Lord Shalford." His chin dropped, and his eyes grew wide. "And I, personally, think those suspicions were false ones," she stated firmly. Hook had turned into a pillar. 'Is this another fit?' she thought.

"What did you just call me?" he asked hoarsely, shocked again to be addressed like this – after two centuries!

"Lord Shalford," Wendy repeated. "Shalford is your true family name, is it not?"

For a very long moment he only stared ahead, then turned to her with narrowed eyes. "That man doesn't exist anymore," he said flatly.

"I know. He calls himself James Hook now, but in truth he is James Shalford, third son of Marquess Andrew Shalford." He only continued to look at her with sudden fire in in eyes, and so she added, "He was to be arrested, too, but he escaped his pursuers and they lost all trace of him in Bristol. He was never seen again – at least not in England. But contrary to the general belief, he didn't die. He isn't dead even now, two hundred years later, but is sitting beside a young girl in the middle of a forest on a magical island, and commands a proud galleon and a crew of fierce scallywags." She pulled her own knees up and wrapped her arms around them, speaking calmly and casually. "And even as a pirate he still bears the manners of his ancestry and traces of good form."

Hook could do nothing other than stare at her. She had discovered his true identity, she knew about his past and why he became a pirate. Since his flight from Bristol, he had taken the greatest care to erase all traces which could connect to his former life – to his identity – and this mere slip of a girl had been able to sort everything out. That was … "How do you know?" he asked throatily.

Wendy glanced back at him and sighed. "Traveling from school to London for our Easter holidays, Vicky and I stayed overnight at Ashford Manor …" She heard him growl in his throat, reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know it belonged to your family, but, I'm sorry, at the moment it is called Ashford Manor." She took a deep breath. "There was a painting that showed you as a … a boy about John's age or perhaps older, and of course I got curious, so …"

"A painting of me?" He shook his head. "As an adolescent?"

"Yes," she nodded. "You wore a green frockcoat. You had no beard and your hair was shorter, but it was you – no question."

"No question," he murmured, remembering the boring weeks the artist had needed to create this record of him. He had been nineteen then.

"Well … YES. I would recognize your face and your eyes anywhere – with or without a beard," she told him matter-of-factly.

He lifted both brows. "You tell me much, beauty, do you know that?" he asked. When he saw her blushing again, he felt his mouth curling while his male ego expanded. Then his thoughts returned to this serious matter, too grave for distractions. "So, you found an old painting showing me, you got curious and asked your friend about me. And this is how you learned how my family was accused of treachery."

Grimacing, she murmured, "I don't believe those accusations. Your family would not plan to murder King George. Yes, you've since become a pirate and none dare approach you when you're at your worst, but one thing is for certain: you strive to follow good form. You must have picked this up in your childhood, witnessed in your father and brothers. This is a part of you, one of your family traits. Such people would never conspire against their king, even if they didn't support him politically. And, I know, by the way, that you loathe treachery. Peter told me how you tricked S'Hadh into making him believe you considered switching sides, but in truth you were able to bluff the warlock to save and free Peter. He even offered to give you your hand back, yet you stood true to your given word. Someone like you – like your family – would never consider treason."

It was rare that Hook found himself at loss for words, but it did happen from time to time – especially, when this cute madcap was involved. And her words were like balm on a wound. Wendy didn't accept the lies history had told about his family, but searched for the truth. And she had shaped her own informed opinion about him – one that had nothing to do with the pirate he was now. She believed him to have good left in him, even as the grim pirate-captain he had become, and there was nothing that could shake her regard. And, of course, she believed the same about his family.

"You're right," he murmured. "I can't and won't picture my father or my brothers as traitors, but Ashford was able to convince the House of Lords of it, and …" He swallowed and fell silent. It hurt too much to speak about it just now, not after the assault of his memories and the painful feelings they'd inspired.

"He arrived with henchmen at your family's manor to arrest your brothers and father. One of your brothers died trying to protect your mother, then all were brought to London," Wendy continued as gently as possible, aching with sympathy. "They couldn't prove your mother's guilt, so they sent her into exile, but your father and your second brother …" She stopped here. They both knew about their fate.

"The occasion was strategically chosen," James heard himself whispering. "It was my father's sixtieth birthday. The family was gathered at the manor, except for my two sisters and their families, who lived in France and Belgium, and me, because … we were delayed by a storm that forced our captain to repair the ship in Dublin. When we finally arrived in Portsmouth …" he closed his eyes, "it was too late to do anything. I only escaped because … another officer, a true friend who arrived with his ship two days earlier, was quicker than the town guard and he warned me."

Reaching out again, Wendy entwined her fingers in his. "I'm sorry, James. I'm so sorry this happened to your parents and brothers."

"It's in the past," he croaked, feeling his throat tightening as the old pain flared up. "And it's better to let the dead rest." Taking a deep breath, he pushed the sorrow back into the edge of his consciousness like he had done so often before, and went back to the original topic. "So, you asked your friend about the boy on the painting," he stated, still a bit hoarse.

Wendy nodded, seeing that he was trying to keep some distance from the things that had hurt him so deeply, and certainly still did. "Yes. I saw it in the manor's library after I got lost on my way to the dining room and…"

"The library from my visions," Hook thought aloud, and narrowed his eyes, concentrating again, determined to not allow Neverland to steal his past again. His ship and his crew – and the girl beside him – were his primary concerns now. And, if he were honest, he wanted no harm to befall the others on this island, including that pesky flying rascal. "To clarify, first you were there, and then later the young man you identified as Dalton Ashford after I described him to you. I saw that same silhouette when you called out for Peter and me, so …" He frowned, as another thought struck him that completely distracted him from painful memories. "One moment! Didn't you tell me in the Indian village that you got yourself a suitor with the name Dalton?" As she slowly nodded, the frown on his forehead deepened. "And, no, it can't be - Dalton Ashford is your suitor?" he hissed. No! He would never allow that! He wouldn't tolerate any rival on principle (Peter didn't count any more, after all the brat was only a boy), but his blood began to boil at the thought of an Ashford courting his sweet crabby!

Grimacing, unaware of the man's rising ire, Wendy nodded. "Aye, call me lucky," she sighed disgustedly.

"I call you 'foolish if you accept his suit …" he began to snarl, eyes narrowed into slits.

But he couldn't finish his thought, because she interrupted with a glare. "I don't want him as my suitor and I have no feelings for him. And I think I've already made myself clear about it." This? Again?

"Yet a girl has no say whom she is to marry," Hook growled. "I will not allow-"

"Women have more rights today. Not as many as we're fighting for – and many women's organizations are trying to change that – but we're not forced into marriage anymore. At least not in Great Britain."

James grimaced, trying to control his temper. "Good. I don't want you to see this Dalton ever again!"

Wendy sat taller and looked at him, irritated. It was true that she had no feelings for Dalton Ashford, but to dictate her private life like this was brazen. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," he said sternly. "If you trust this Victoria girl, then, by all means, enjoy her friendship. But this Dalton … Avoid him! He is dangerous."

"Sir, this is none of your concern!" Wendy snapped. "I already told you twice – or even trice – that I have no interest in Dalton Ashford, but this is not for you to decide!" How dare he tell her what to do and what not to. The nerve!

He gripped her upper arm. "Wendy, stop it and listen. This. Man. Is. Dangerous!"

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Miss Darling deadpanned. "Last time I checked you're the pirate here!"

"Yes, but I don't creep into a young lady's bedroom at night for unknown reasons. It isn't proper," he growled.

Wendy stared at him, then laughed out loud. "No, you only creep into a young lady's bedroom and drag her into the woods in the middle of the night!" With some satisfaction she saw him grimacing, possibly even blushing. It seemed decency had abandoned his life.

"Touché," he grumbled.

With a smug smile Wendy added. "About propriety, what was it you mentioned a few minutes ago? That you're only proper when it suits your?"

He sighed and shut his eyes. Dammit, she got him there. Clever vixen! "You really know how to beat someone up with their own words," he grunted, feeling both frustration and amusement.

"I try," she said wryly, then she took a deep breath. "Now, you said you wouldn't creep in my bedroom, even if we both know you already did. But you were comparing yourself with Dalton. Why do you think that Dalton crept into my bedroom?"

"I saw him," Hook muttered, his face hardening. "I saw you lying on a dark four-poster and he was bending over you. It was quite dark, but there was something … sinister about it."

Wendy frowned. "When did you see this?"

"During the second vision, after I saw you in the library, and before you called out for Peter and me."

A gasp escaped her as she saw what he revealed 'between the lines.' "Then you had three visions before the one tonight? You only told me of two in the Indian camp."

He made a face, knowing what he had to reveal now. 'Brimstone and gall, as soon as this wild-kitten is involved, I speak before thinking.' And, of course, she caught the discrepancy immediately. Blast it! "I … didn't tell you because … I-I didn't know what it meant and … didn't want to upset you, s-so …" Was he even stammering now? No! Devil, hell and fire, he didn't stutter because of a clever little minx, did he?

"HA!" She pointed straight at him. "There you go! You did the same as I – kept something to yourself so as not to upset me!" He opened his mouth to reply, but she was quicker. "Don't tell me it's not the same thing. You kept something important to yourself, the same as I did, James Hook, so don't blame me not telling you what year it is to spare you a shock."

Any other who dared to throw his words into his face would have gotten an immediate 'handshake' with his hook. But now he just rolled his eyes. He loved her temper! "I don't blame you for anything at the moment, kitten."

"Yes, because you already did," she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her, and giving him one of her special glares.

Oh, how badly he wanted to catch these pouting lips with his own, but it would lead to much more. With a sigh, he shut his eyes. She was driving him mad – but in a good way!

"Muzzled – finally," he heard her whispering, and shot her one of those glances that would have driven away his entire crew, including Smee, but Wendy only gave him one of her brightest smiles, tilting her head in innocence.

"Sometimes I would like to lay you over my knee," he grumbled.

"But we both know you won't," the girl replied sweetly.

'No, it would end with me holding you there and kissing you 'til you've no breath left to tease me,' he thought; making a face as his body promptly reacted to the imagination.

Nibbling at her lips, Wendy remembered the trigger of their little banter. "What did he do?"

Hook was caught up in his thoughts. "Who?" he asked.

"Dalton – in that second vision you mentioned," the girl answered. "What did he do that was so sinister you thought it would trouble me to learn about it?"

"He bent over you and took your right arm, but … Wendy?" He saw a dawning realization on her face as her chin dropped. Next moment she scrambled on all four to the lantern, took it, crawled back and placed the lamp between them. She shoved up the right sleeve of her nightgown. "Oh you didn't …" she mumbled and inspected the inside of her elbow, just above the dolphin bracelet. She felt the crease over the joint on her arm – and her face reddened in anger. "That miserable bastard!" she whispered. "That thrice-damned miserable bastard!" she snarled.

Even if he wholeheartedly agreed with this new 'title' for an Ashford, Wendy's wrath took Hook by surprise. She never used bad language, but scolded those around her who dared to curse. Frowning, he bent forward. "What is it, kitten?"

She shoved her arm under his nose. "Here, look! It's mostly healed, but can you see the little pink dot?" She pointed to it, no larger than a bug bite.

Considering her anger, he could tell it wasn't that. "Yes," the captain affirmed. Softly he took her arm and felt the tiny red dot. "When did this happen?" he asked.

"Last Saturday – specifically the morning I woke up in Ashford Manor!"

Hook's fingertip moved over the spot and he felt the tiny wound. "That's no insect bite."

"No, certainly not. It's early April at home, but it's still awfully cold and wet in England – just like last year," Wendy growled. "We still have snow in London. It's almost like winter. Definitely no bug bite!"

"And what do you think could it be?" He sounded confused.

"An injection. Saturday morning I had a annoying headache that faded during the day. I drank no alcohol the night before, I had no cold, I didn't have a runny nose, but I overslept." She balled her hands into fists. "That villain injected me with something. That explains so much!"

Hook stared at her, figuring out what 'injecting' meant. "Did you feel, say, nausea, too?"

"A bit. I had a bad taste in the mouth and … my stomach was upset, but not much. And I was still very tired even after I overslept." She saw him baring his teeth. "What's your opinion?"

"What you describe leads me to the conclusion that you were sedated," he hissed, while hot anger rose in him. If this young Ashford really had dared to something like this to his storyteller, he would gut him from his tiny tallywaddle to his clever tongue and back again if he ever met him. At that thought, a gleam of red came and went in his eyes.

"Sedated," Wendy repeated flatly. "Why?"

"'Why' is something we will have to find out. But why didn't you waken? You're a light sleeper most of the time, and getting injected is anything but painless," he added.

"Yes, getting stuck with a needle can be painful – except when it's done very, very carefully."

Hook lifted his brows. "A needle?"

"Yes, it's actually called a syringe, a hollow needle that is connected to a little cylinder made of glass with a plunger. You puncture the skin above the vein and push the plunger to expel the medicine through the hollow needle into the vein." She spoke carefully, trying to create an accurate description of the tool.

James whistled through his teeth. "The marvels that exist today. In my time you had to use a quill to penetrate the skin and to inject fluid. I once read a book from Johann Daniel Major, a German Renaissance man who published a few reports about new medical methods. He wrote about this procedure another German doctor used on three soldiers a few years earlier. It was quite a development, but … painful."

"It must have been," the girl grumbled. Then she shook his head. "Why? Why did he sedate me?"

Hook shrugged, then stiffened. A horrible thought struck him, and he needed all his control to remain calm. "Your … lower abdomen didn't bother you the next morning? Or was there blood?" he asked; a red glimmer appeared in his eyes again.

"What? No," Wendy answered truthfully, yet confused. "Why?"

James stared at her. Did she really not know what happened between a man and woman, especially at the first time? No, obviously not. She was a complete innocent. He decided he would not be the reason for her learning more about this matter, just because he thought she might have been … violated.

"Just a thought, but I thank God and all the angels I am mistaken." He took a deep breath, tamping down his fury to a lingering anger while his fingers closed softly around her right hand. "So, why did he sedate you. That's the question. Was there anything else odd that happened when you stayed at the manor?"

She paused, thinking. "Not that I can think of. Why?"

The captain cleared his throat. "Ashford looked at the painting you mentioned during the first and fourth vision. Perhaps it provides a … a connection between the Mainland and Neverland. But how did Ashford get the idea that the boy on the painting was the 'captain of her tales'?"

Wendy frowned. "You're right. Obviously he knows more than we thought." She pursed her lips. "I haven't spoken about Neverland over the last three years. Only as a part of a sort of fairytale I'm writing."

"Did you speak with him about your … writing?" James prompted. At her slow nod, he grimaced. "I see. Perhaps he got his idea of your 'fantasy' when …" His gaze became intense. "Wendy, did you have those books with you when you were in Shalf … in the manor?" he asked.

"I always have them with me, only not now, for I'm sitting inside the best possible fairytale ever." She smiled.

The corner of James' mouth curled, then he grew serious again, making connections. "This is beginning to make sense. I think he already knew about Faery realms before you came to the manor – possibly believes them to be true. Then he learned about Neverland as you related your 'stories.' Then he learned that you always keep them with you, maybe by way of your friend." He continued slowly, and she held her tongue and watched as his mental wheels turning. "They are cousins, I see no reason why they wouldn't talk about you now and then. His curiosity concerning Neverland must have begun even weeks or months before you set foot in the manor. He used that opportunity when you were his guest to get a closer look at those books, but he couldn't risk you waking up while he searched for it, so he sedated you."

"Hm, what's so important about Neverland for him that he would do … such an awful and indecent thing like sedating me? That's a drastic measure to take only to skim through my books – and so out of place for a viscount, first born son of an earl."

"Sweet girl, wolves in sheep's clothes are everywhere, not just in dark alleys and dicey taverns, but very often in the upper classes, wearing expensive clothes and talking with extensive vocabularies. Many social climbers did not earn their money by playing fair – and I am not necessarily referring to my personal history between the Shalfords and the Ashfords. Fact is that many families who once were simple baronets are now earls and even dukes because they played a stolen card at the right moment. But in your case," he nodded to her arm, "Dalton Ashford might have wanted to read your books, and when you and your friend stayed overnight, he did just that."

"But why? Wouldn't it be easier to simply ask me to show them to him?"

"It would have been the right thing to do." He tapped his chin with his hook while brushing one of his long curls out of his forehead with his good hand. "But it's possible your friend had already told him how well you guard them. So he didn't risk you saying no and got them by … well … gentle force."

"But they were there when I packed the next morning and they're in my room at home," Wendy said, puzzled.

"He couldn't keep them. You would have known it instantly. Whatever he wanted to know, he has learned by now."

"And what did he want to learn so desperately that he would use such a despicable method?" She indicated her arm.

A deep sigh escaped the man. "I have no idea, Wendy. I don't think it has anything to do with me and who I am, really. He seemed to be … confused during the vision that night as he told my painted image that I couldn't be who I am, because I'd been dead for two hundred years. But whatever he wants from Neverland, he has to come in person to get it."

She sighed, frowning. "But what could it be?"

"Once again: I don't know. Something seems to be very important for him, because, truly, I'm sure that he and possibly a few comrades are the men the mermaid spoke of. He wants to come to Neverland. And I think this will lead to a lot of trouble, accordingly to the mermaid even the 'dragons' fury will be awakened'. Not a bright prospect." Living with dragons here was difficult enough, at least for him, but enraged dragons would be a whole new nightmare.

Wendy hugged herself. "Remember what Glawar said to Peter as she bid us all farewell aboard the Jolly Roger?" she asked slowly. "She warned Peter of new foes which would come, some from Neverland, some from other realms. Maybe she referred to what is coming now."

"Certainly. But Elves will tell you a lot without giving much away," James grumbled. Yet he did remember the Elvish woman's last words to him, because she had been able to see through him like others looked through glass. 'I know the heart you desire, even if her youth makes you hesitate. For even you, bold Captain, are too much a gentleman within your pirate shell, and still know what is right and wrong. But be patient and wait until the time has brought the changes necessary to be no longer out of question for you. And when the time has come, aim truly and don't destroy it with your temper…'

Of course she was referring to Wendy. And now, as time had brought the necessary changes, he needed to walk the path that (hopefully) could lead to their happiness, he was hell-bent to remain on this path. And no other man – especially an Ashford, dammit! – would take his sweet wild-kitten away from him! End of story – or the beginning of a new one!

Wendy was also quiet in her contemplation. "I don't understand why Dalton would think my stories could be true. No one ever thought so. Heaven, not even Victoria thinks them real adventures that I once had. Why would Dalton-"

"We don't know how, but he somehow learned the truth about Neverland," Hook said thoughtfully, "found it confirmed in your stories, and now he's taking action. His motivation is still a riddle, except for one thing." As he caught her glance, he said wryly, "He wants you back."

"What? No!" The girl shook vehemently her head, 'til the captain's warm fingers under her chin stopped her. He looked intensely at her. "If I were he, I would move hell and earth to get you back," he whispered.

New heat rose in Wendy's as her imagination read between the lines. For a moment she was lost in his eyes, then she lowered her head, while her insides were in turmoil. Good God, he made her nervous! No, not nervous, but soft, and hungry, and happy.

John was sooo right!

Wendy swallowed, taking his hand in her own, quickly returning to Dalton's possible reasons for coming to Neverland. "He… he barely knows me. And … he's not a windswept romantic, someone who would fall in love at first sight. He is too emotionally distanced. He couldn't even conjure the mental image of the Danube as it flowed while the orchestra played 'The Blue Danube.' He has no imagination at all. Then to suddenly believe in a magical island? Or believe I'm there?" (Only now she realized that their fingers were intertwined, their hands hung relaxed between them.)

"You and your brothers," James pointed out. "Your absence in London certainly didn't go unnoticed."

"I left mother a letter telling her that the boys and I returned to Neverland – and that you and Peter would look after us, so she had no reason to worry," Wendy mused. "Mother and father know that we visit Neverland and-"

"And your father sent you to Paris during a summer, and then off to a boarding school to prevent your return to Neverland. And he agreed that Ashford could court you, even though you obviously don't want it, hoping to marry you off. He is determined to keep you away from here, but he failed. Maybe this is part of the challenge we're looking at."

Wendy cocked her head. "You mean, he could have asked Ashford for help? I don't think so. That we visited Neverland – that Neverland even exists – is a well-kept secret." She imitated his thunderous tone: " 'No one outside the family shall ever learn of it!' – his words, not mine."

"Yet Ashford does know about Neverland," Hook reminded her. "Could he have found out about your visit here by accident?" He watched her concentrating, remembering.

"He wanted to pick me up Monday afternoon at my home for a stroll in the park and a visit to a café," she said slowly. "But if I wasn't there and somehow … perhaps mother or Aunt Millicent revealed the truth. He might have believed them if he already knew about Neverland." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "But … how could he travel here? He cannot fly, that's for certain. Not even with all fairy dust of the world," she said disgustedly. "Not him! But if are there other ways …" They were quiet a moment. "The portals! The portals, Giliath and Panther spoke of! If Dalton could open one of them …" She hesitated. "But you need a lot of magic to open one, as Panther told us yesterday. You need witchcraft and … oh! remember? Dark Owl saw an old woman who stole something like a cauldron from a church that angered the pixies. Then the old woman hurled the owl away with some invisible power. Maybe she is this witch." She tossed a stray lock away from her forehead. "Maybe she is the one who can open …" She shook her head. "No. I don't think Dalton believes in witches. He too much of a realist to even consider magic."

"Yet he believes in Neverland." Hook reminded her. "There was something odd after my vision that night. There was a … a tightness, a soundless vibration in the air. Then there was a high-pitched voice like that of your Hobgoblin friend, but rougher. It echoed through my quarters as though through a fog …" He concentrated. "It addressed me as 'Master Jamie,' the servants called me that when I was a child. It said that the fairy realm I'm in now isn't safe anymore and that I have to be careful." For a moment he could almost see that brownish face with the big nose again that had briefly popped into his mind along the other memories he had gotten back, then the image vanished again.

"Maybe … a kind of house sprite?" Wendy guessed. "One that still remembers you?"

Hook shook his head. "There are no magical beings on the Mainland, my dear," he scoffed.

"Huh, Peter was rescued and cared for by the fairies in Kensington Gardens. Dark Owl spoke of the 'greenish spirits', meaning pixies. There are stories of the Little People all over the islands," she reminded him.

The branches around them rustled with a rising night breeze and from somewhere an owl was calling, otherwise it was quiet, and growing cooler. This was normal, and Hook noticed that Wendy began to shiver, and frowned. "Where is that blanket you took with you?" he asked.

"Behind you," she sighed, gesturing. "I put it around you when you collapsed."

Rolling his eyes and swearing under his breath about 'silly little girls behaving like mother-hens,' he reached for it. "Come here," he told her, inviting her to his left side.

Wendy looked at him uncomprehendingly. "What…?" she began and he looked at her exasperatedly.

"Kitten, you're chilled and a blanket alone won't help, so come here."

Seeing what he meant, she blushed yet again. The decent Miss Darling began to protest inwardly, but, as it happened when it came to the pirate, the more daring Red-Handed Jill won, throwing the Millicent-conscience away into the night. She nestled against Hook's warm chest. The moment he wrapped her in the blanket and his arms, she could tell how cold she really felt, and started to shiver.

"Careless little whelp, sitting here during the coldest part of the late night only in a nightgown!"

"W-w-who w-was it th-that d-d-d-dragged me ou-out of b-b-bed?" she muttered through chattering teeth. The more the warmth of his body transferred to hers, the more she felt cold. At least at first. After she bid 'adieu' completely to the well-brought-up daughter of the upper middleclass, she snuggled as closely as possible to Hook, twined her arms around him and buried her face in the ruffled collar of his shirt. Finally, the chill began to leave her. Sighing, she closed her eyes and began to relax.

"As soon as your icicles melt, I'll take you back to Pan's hideout. And you'll stay in bed this morning, understood? I don't want you with that runny nose." His voice rumbled in her ear through his chest, together with the strong, steady beat of his heart.

Usually Wendy was momentarily tempted to rebel against his "orders," but now, feeling herself at peace, she felt how tired she was. Breathing deeply and feeling utterly safe in his arms, she smiled unconsciously and relaxed even more.

'What, no protest? She really is tired,' he thought wryly, and leaned back onto a tree trunk. Watching the flickering of the candle in the lantern, and listening to Wendy's soft breathing, he too began to relax. There was so much he had to think about. He needed to be alone to face all his memories. This might take days, if they had them. But for now, he held the girl in his arms and allowed the peace of the night-becoming-morning and the nature around him to soothe him.

Yet he didn't fall asleep. He wrapped his mind around the many riddles he still had to solve. He pushed aside the thoughts from the past, from those moments he learned that his father and brother had been executed … his other brother had been killed while defending his mother … and that the family's manor had been given to their accusers …

Ashford!

Of all the noble families in England, Wendy had to stumble over a girl born to the Ashfords and got an Ashford as suitor. Hook snarled soundlessly, hoping that this Dalton bloke really would come to Neverland. He would make certain that the cursed boy wouldn't get near Wendy ever again. He wouldn't allow his sweet, kindhearted storyteller to be victimized by an Ashford's evil ways.

A hook was a useful tool.

Looking at the sleeping girl in his arms, his old sorrow and his newly arisen hatred for the Ashfords were dispersed by the warm flame of tenderness the sight gave him. Bending, he placed a gentle kiss on Wendy's hair and breathed in her familiar scent.

'That bastard will not get you, my beauty,' he thought. 'I will NEVER allow that!'

TBC…

Well, this was a rather though chapter with a lot for both going on. To be confronted with all memories, which had been denied Hook for so long, he really had a hard time to stomach everything. At least Wendy was there to be his 'anchor' and finally she begins now to realize what fundamental change in their relationship happened – and what her feelings for him might be. But despite her crush on him she holds on her own what is no wonder being proud and stubborn in her own way (just like he, *snicker*).

In the next chapter, Peter will realize that Hook knows his hideout, there will be a meeting with Panther, Dalton visits the Darlings and John will confront Wendy, because – really! – following Hook at night into the woods and staying with him 'til the early morning is not within the usual agenda of a well-brought-up girl (grin).

I hope, you liked the new chapter and how both almost found out the truth of Dalton's deeds and intentions, but also how both came each other nearer on a new level. I would be really happy if you would let me know what you think of the chapi, so please don't forget to click on the review-button.

I wish you all HAPPY EASTERN

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight