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.

60. Confessions

Hi, my dear readers!

Thank you for the feedback. I knew, the last chapter was more a kind of interlude, but I thought the most of you were curious how Peter reacts to all the new people – and, of course, I also liked to let our captain act in 'father-mood' once again.

In the new chapter a lot is going on. You learn what's going on in the orphanage after Hook got out Peter (and what will become to the house and its habitants), Peter and Wendy have their own kind of confessions, and then Mr. Darling comes back to London only to get the shock of his life and he acts on it. So beware (smile).

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 58 – Confessions

Daniel Kempton stopped in at the office of The Times on Fleet Street, acknowledging the ladies and the three boys as the Darling's Adler passed him, continuing to Bloomsbury. He hoped that his fellow reporter was still in the building, then he could bring him up to date about the orphanage. The other reporter was indeed at his desk, and Daniel had an idea how to sate his colleague's curiosity about this Mr. Primely, and how to help the children.

"I heard from a source that there's one of these old orphanages with all the practices of a Dickensian workhouse," Daniel told him, sugaring his tea. "But before we can publish that, I wanted to verify the report and went to said orphanage."

The other man nodded. "Thanks, Daniel. And is it as bad as you thought?"

"Worse," Kempton sighed, swiftly detailing his observations. "I pretended to be a member of the Ministry of Health, so they allowed me in, but they didn't show me everything. I had to 'get lost' a couple of times, and … really … the children do all the work in the washhouse next door, they are punished with no food, and the entire building is filthy."

After some additional details, the man agreed that something had to be done. "It sounds like those children need a righteous advocate. Perhaps I can mediate between them and a gentleman I know at the Ministry of Health. I'm sure he can check first-hand on everything and accommodate the boys and girls in one or a few of the Barnardo-orphanages around the town. They would have better lives in this properties."

Daniel grinned. "Thanks, that would be great, for what I saw upset my stomach."

The other chuckled. "And here I was going to suggest we go for bangers and mash at the pub."

"Thanks for the invitation!" Kempton replied and rose.

"What? Invita -" His friend began to laugh. "All right, you're invited. I suppose I owe you for a good exposé."

A few minutes later the two men were on their way to one of the inns on Fleet Street. Daniel was grateful that his friend was getting involved, and that the misery in that orphanage would end soon. He – sincerely – hoped the two fairies aboard the old galleon were telling the truth, and their friends had been able to erase all memories of Peter Pan and that particular afternoon from the director's and the warder's minds.

*** PP *** PP ***

It was an entirely different ride from the ship to home in Bloomsbury. Mary drove calmly, cautiously, stopping for vehicles and persons crossing the streets, never once blowing her horn, and never paying attention to the lamentations coming from Aunt Millicent about the 'insanity' of the day –Wendy's boldness in stealing the viscount's motorcar; her sister-in-law participating in a rescue-mission led by a pirate. Yes, the situation had been urgent "… but really, Mary, the way everything was done … !" True to form, Millicent Darling was still worried about the family's reputation. That is, until Mary reminded her calmly that Wendy and the boys were her responsibility, as was the family's reputation. It had been up to her to make this day's decisions and she didn't regret one single thing she'd done. And she certainly didn't regret that she had arrived at the docks before the viscount. George would surely agree with her when learning all the details, she was certain of it.

During the ride, the other passengers ignored the two older women. The two fairies and the pixie explained why there was no danger that the humans in the orphanage would tell what really happened that afternoon, or even the hours after Peter's arrival. At least Aunt Millicent listened to that part of their conversation, and was finally reassured that the police would not be showing up on their doorstep.

Reaching home, they were cheerfully greeted by the younger boys, embracing Wendy in a loud cluster; happy to have her back, all talking at once about the voyage from Neverland to London. Victoria was greeted as well, and the two fairies and the pixie. Then the three Good Neighbors vanished up the chimney of the closest unused fireplace and hid in the next tree, waiting for the last daylight to vanish completely. It was safer there than staying in the house because of Nana, who insisted on barking at the sprites.

The boys reported that Father had called during the afternoon and learned of Mary's trip to the harbor and the ship, and that he should be home that evening. She knew that he wouldn't like what had happened, but he would see reason when she told the entire story. Happily, she learned that his and Sir Edward's negotiation with the earl had been successful. George would certainly be in a better mood because of that.

*** PP *** PP ***

It was darkening when Kenly Fulsom parked the Wolseley in front of the orphanage. He looked warily at the windows which were unusually well-lit. Many children's voices were laughing and talking loudly. The two times Fulsom had visited before, only a depressed silence had hung over the building and most of the windows had been dark. It appeared there were no warders in charge. Fulsom had delivered Dalton and the three hunters to the Ashford's townhouse and was dismissed for the evening. He'd borrowed the Wolseley to drive to the orphanage to make sure that Elmer was all right – after all, that accursed pirate had been there. He sort of felt responsible.

Somehow that one-handed wonder had learned of the boy's whereabouts and stolen him away before the viscount arrived. Fulsom knew that Director Primely, Elmer and Joe would never allow a child to leave without official permission, and Kenly would bet his new hat that the captain had produced nothing official. Kenly was surprisingly concerned. He and Elmer had never been close, but they knew each other from school, and he had to make sure that nothing untoward had happened to his former classmate.

To his surprise, the entrance was unlatched. Pushing it open, he crossed the threshold. The sounds of laughter, singing and talking grew more pronounced. A pleasant smell of baking hung in the air and as he passed a shelf, he saw it sprinkled with golden dust. Odd! But that was forgotten when as he turned the corner. He could only stare at the scene in front of him.

Elmer and Joe lay there, on the floor, relaxed as cats, snoring loudly, with goofy smiles wreathing their homely faces. Close by sat one of the washhouse's warders on the floor, leaning against the wall, with a few smaller children gathered around as he told them … a fairy tale! From the kitchen came the alluring scent, accompanied by the clattering of pots and … was someone singing? The children's laughter seemed to come from the dining hall …

And something fluttered past him – something small, glittering. Spinning about, Kenley saw a fairy gliding through the hallway, sprinkling a trail of gold. Raising his eyes, he saw there were more of them – soaring and humming around. Fairies here in London? And so many? He felt dizzy. Other faint noises came from further away, sounding like knocking and muffled shouting. Was someone locked up?

Going around the sleeping Elmer and Joe – this had be the work of the fairies! – the viscount's driver approached the door and found the staircase leading into the cellars. Descending and following the noises, he finally reached the hallway lit by a torch at the end of the passage. Yes, the sounds were louder. And now Kenly could make out words – someone was calling for help. Was it the director?

Hook locked up Mr. Primely and those twinkling beasts hexed all the warders and the children! No wonder that cursed pirate could extract the brat! Hastening down the hallway, he found the key lying in front of the door. "Mr. Primely!" he called, "stand back from the door, I open it." Unlocking the door he shoved it open and found the bound director sitting on the floor. He had pushed aside the gag and had used his legs to kick against the door. He looked awful, and it appeared his nose was broken.

"Oh, sir!" Fulsom gasped, entering.

"Finally!" Lester Primely wheezed. "I've been shouting all day!"

'Two hours maximum,' Kenly thought wryly but didn't say it. Kneeling, he untied the large man. "What happened, sir?" he asked, even though he knew.

"That outrageous captain from that ship from The Times is what happened. He came for that, that lunatic boy you brought us!" Primely sputtered, groaning in relief as his hands were undone. He carefully massaged his wrists.

"He struck you?"

"What? No. That was a beast of fair -" He stopped, remembering. "A fairy," he whispered. "That ridiculous boy was telling the truth! There are fairies! One of them came along and…" He gulped. "If there are fairies then everything else must be true, too. The island, the pirates …" His words caught in his throat as he realized that the captain wasn't an actor at all, but a true pirate.

"Sir, shall I call the police?" Fulsom asked slowly.

"What? Are you daft, boy?" Lester snapped. "If this man really is a pirate, then it would be suicide to fight him. And who would believe us?"

"But -"

"On the other hand, it's irrelevant if this man is a pirate, a damn good actor or a madman. I only know that he was determined to get his son back. Well, all the better! I'm glad to be rid of him." He began to rise and Fulsom struggled to help him. The older man swayed and carefully touched his nose, wincing. "Hell's bells! That little monster broke my nose. How shall I explain that to my wife?" He wiped away some of the blood from under his nose.

"You walked into a door?" Kenly offered the excuse and got a glare in return. Then Primely frowned.

"What's all the racket up there?"

"Uh … the children seem to be enjoying themselves," Ashford's driver said carefully.

"What? At this hour? They should have had dinner and then gone to bed. Where are the warders?" Primely demanded, stomping from the little chamber.

"I think … there's a situation, sir," Fulsom began.

"What situation? Did that freak kill them, or what?" Primely demanded.

"No, he wouldn't risk being arrested," Fulsom sighed. "But you see, sir, the fairies … The one you saw wasn't the only one."

Primely stopped and turned towards him. "Not the only one?" he echoed. "You mean, there are more of those awful insects?" Fulsom shrugged and buried his hands his pockets. The director scowled and kept walking.

In the main hallway, Primely saw two of his warders sprawled and sleeping on the floor while a third one told stories to a few of the orphans, eyes glassy, a silly smile on his face, voice dreamy. And he didn't even respond when Primely shouted at him. Then – horrified – he saw a dozen or more flitting creatures in the air, leaving golden dust everywhere. Expecting an attack, he flung his hands over his head, but the fairies only flew around him, making him dizzy. But before he could be enchanted, he heard the clattering of dishes and pots, laughter, singing and a very pleasant smell of baking. "What now?" he whispered, turning toward the dining hall.

He saw most of the children on benches and chairs (or tables), eating … pancakes. Others were actually flying, playing tag in the air over the tables. Fairies flew with and among them, or stole bites from the pancakes. Jam and honey jars were on the tables together with bottles of milk, slathered over plates of more pancakes.

"Has Mrs. Ellis lost her mind?" Primely gasped. Turning on his heel, he strode to the kitchen – and stopped dead in his tracks. Fulsom had followed him and peeked around the rotund director, only to snort loudly with suppressed laughter.

At the prep table stood a stout lady in her fifties, wearing an apron and loudly singing a tuneless tune. But that wasn't the reason for Kenley's amusement. Pancakes were piled up on the table – hundreds of them. And the cook was making even more. There were large bowls full of batter, a heap of empty eggshells, an empty sack of flour and a tipped milk can nearly empty. The shelf that had been full of jam glasses was empty, as was the can of butter.

Primely sank into a chair. "This should have lasted for the next six months," he wailed. "However shall I cover the costs now?" He groaned loudly. "It's all their fault!" He shook his head, touching his aching nose. "At least I'm rid of the boy! I'll let the father take care for that nutter. I'm done with them! And I pray that I won't see anyone of them ever again!"

"You certainly won't," Fulsom said wryly. "G'night, sir," he added and turned away to go. These fairies made him nervous. Looking back, he saw how several of the creatures circled Primely's head, now sunk on his chest, blackened eyes closed. Curious, he returned to the older man and discovered that the director had fallen asleep. He was even snoring while the cook continued to sing and to make pancakes.

Fulsom was sure Primely would not remember any of that day by the time he awoke.

*** PP *** PP ***

Peter felt more like himself as he sat down at the table, hair still damp. He was relieved that Hook had been thoughtful enough to put a pillow on the chair seat. It was a lot softer, yet the boy's body still protested. A second bitter aspirin had taken effect, and the pain was subsiding. Additionally, the warm water had relaxed him; and he was quite happy to get rid of the smells of the orphanage. The grey clothes were now with the fuller, and Hook had given him a shirt and a pair of stockings. These were certainly too big, but after rolling up the sleeves and pulling the stockings almost over his knees, they almost fit.

Smee served the stew Cookson had made and as Peter's stomach began to grumble, both men had to chuckle. To be hungry despite his fatigue was a good sign that the boy was coming around now, and as Peter took the first large bite of the corn bread and sighed happily, Hook and Smee exchanged a sympathetic smile. The boy was half starved. Hook had been furious inwardly as he had seen the youth's ribs, how thin he had become. And this in only four days!

Even if the stew was hot, Peter somehow was able to empty his first bowl in a few minutes, pure pleasure on his face that was still red but the swellings were going down. And he had finished his second bowl as Hook finished his first. The captain smiled to himself. He knew the volumes of food the boy could devour when he was hungry.

Smee cleared, and Hook told him, "Tell Dark Owl that he can go to bed if he wants. I'll treat Pan's injuries with his medicine. And Mr. Smee?"

"Aye, sir?"

Hook was feeling uncommonly kindly toward his old bosun that evening. "We're in a totally new world. I would appreciate it if you informed me in advance when you leave the ship for a few hours. You're not only a member of the crew, but you are my right hand – figuratively and literally. You also hold the highest rank next to Mr. Herbs. Discipline can only be maintained when the officers practice it."

Smee sighed, brushing cornbread crumbs onto the silver salver. He had known that Hook would bring this topic up. "Sorry, sir, but I wuz carried away cuz I met a fellow countryman an' 'e invited me fer a drink."

"Ah, that Irishman Akeele mentioned," Hook nodded. "Well, I'm sure you know alcohol loosens the tongue. I hope you didn't tell stories not for strangers' ears."

Smee straightened. "O' course not, sir! I know that we've ter stick ter t'e story ye and Nibs come up with." He nodded towards the exterior. "But Cody O'Sullivan cou' be of help fer us, sir. 'E knows folks 'oo … well … could provide us wit' t'ings we need but can't get."

"You told him about our -"

"'E asked aboot th' fire aboard an' I tol' 'im all 'r papers got lost. 'E said if we need some 'assistance' 'e could help us."

James nodded approvingly. "Well done, Smee," he murmured.

The old Irishman smiled. "Thankee, sir. G'night, sir – an' ye too, Pan." He nodded at the boy, who had listened with one ear, eyes closing. They could see sleep wasn't far away.

Smee left and Hook glanced at Peter, who yawned. "Right, boy, time for bed." The youth simply nodded and rose, seeing a pillow, comforter and blanket on the settee. "You'll have more room to yourself there," Hook said.

"'S all right," Peter slurred, tottering over to the settee. "I've slept there before."

James looked thoughtful as he pondered the small boy in the large man's shirt and stockings. "Looks like it's time to do some shopping," the captain sighed. "You need something appropriate to wear. And I'm running out of shirts."

"You mean in spite of the two or three hundred you own?" Peter asked, teasing sleepily.

Hook rolled his eyes. "I had around thirty when I came to Neverland. But in spite of mending and washing, our adventures as well as Wendy's need for something to wear, I'm down to ten – this shirt included," he added.

Peter smiled wryly. "I remember the one you tore into strips to bandage my feet under the volcano," he said quietly. Both smiled as they thought back at that critical situation. Peter's feet had been cut up from all the running through the stone-lined tunnels, unable to fly. After that, Peter had assisted Hook with his waistcoat and captain's coat again – something awkward for both of them as mortal enemies. "You remember?" Peter added.

"Aye, I remember. You were so grateful for something to drink and wash in. Even that awful stuff tasted 'heavenly'."

"And you told me how the water got into the mountain," the boy nodded. He cast his eyes down, then lifted his gaze to the man in front of him. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I truly thought I would be sent where they chain the people up and … you know," he shrugged.

Man and boy looked at each other, then James replied gently, "You're welcome. And the next time I give you a clear order, do it! I know it goes totally against your grain to do what others say, but it would have spared all of us a lot of trouble if you'd stayed away from Ashford and his men."

Peter's expression was contrite. "It was a trap – set up by that redheaded oaf, Fulsom. I never saw it coming. And then …" He took a deep breath and glanced up at Hook again. "I watched you get killed … and it hurt so much!" His breath heaved as he remembered, tears springing into his eyes.

James knew the lad had been close to his breaking point. Pan had actually mourned him – James Hook! Considering their history, being on the receiving end of the boy's affection was … astonishing, James never thought it possible. He, too, had never imagined that he would care for the boy one day as deeply as he did now. Seeing the anguished look on Peter's face, Hook took him into his arms. The movement felt very natural, and it didn't surprise him when Peter wrapped his thin arms around him in return.

"It's been a rough couple of days, hasn't it?" he murmured into the tousled, sandy locks. "But I'm here for you." He took a deep breath. At least for now. He'd have to tell Peter that he wasn't returning to Neverland, but not right this minute. As the boy's arms tightened around him, he felt like a father and … well, … it felt good – to be needed and welcomed in this way. Then the boy relaxed. "Lie down. I don't think that Dark Owl's medicine will help, not after it's cooled. Lie down, I'll cover you with the comforter. It's chilly at night," Hook said softly.

Peter glanced up with a crooked smile: "You'll … tuck me in?" he asked quietly.

James shrugged. "I washed your hair, toweled you dry and gave you one of my shirts to sleep in. Why shouldn't I tuck you in now?" He winked at the youth. He suddenly wished it would remain like this – at least for a few years until Peter was too old to be tucked in. But it wouldn't. It couldn't. So he firmly embedded this moment in his very long memory, hoping he could revisit it many times in the future.

Peter lay down on the settee, and Hook spread the blanket and comforter over him, watching thoughts flitting across his features. Something important had to be going through his mind. "The professor," Peter whispered finally, "he was right."

"How's that?"

"When I was locked in that cage … and so sad because I thought you were dead, he came and gave me his own warm clothes and food. I tried to hide how … how I really felt, but he could tell. He … he said … that you were more than a friend, that you … you were something like a father to me." Peter's voice was quiet and hesitant.

Hook rubbed his beard, knowing that the boy was about to confess things they both hadn't dared to voice before: Feelings. Another way they were alike: They didn't admit feelings, not to themselves, nor to others. But now emotions overflowing in Peter's eyes were so obvious that James knew that they had to come out.

James Hook was many things besides pirate. He was also a cultivated and educated man with many years' experience. One thing he'd learned to do over the years: Listen. Knowledge was power – sometimes even a weapon – and so he had learned to listen closely when people opened up and spoke. Just like he had a few days ago on Neverland's beach when Peter told him about his deepest fear. He now listened attentively again. Not especially for advantage, but to understand the boy better – the boy he'd called 'mine' since the fateful day a fight went wrong and they'd both made a misstep which left him with only one hand. The reason he regarded Peter as his own had changed, but the possession was no less fierce, but stronger – this feeling that the lad belonged to him. Because of all the boy had been through. Because of the worry he – Hook – had felt on Peter's behalf.

Because he had come to love the youth like a son.

Sitting next to Peter on the settee, he asked quietly, "What did you say to the professor?"

"I thought he had to be wrong," Peter murmured. "I … I can't remember my father. I do remember my mother from time to time, but not him. I … don't know what it's like to have a father. The other boys mostly told me … how commanding and stern fathers are. But the professor told me that a father is more than someone who sends you to bed early or reprimands you when you're bad. He said a father is someone who listens when you have problems, gives advice, stands up for you, teaches you. He told me how a father spends time with a son, building kites or going fishing. He said, fathers teach you things you don't learn in school and that a father protects you no matter what."

James nodded slowly, remembering his own father with great fondness. Being the youngest of the five siblings his father spent more time with him than he did the others. And even if the Marquess Shalford had been a busy man – especially during those times of political upheaval – he always had an ear for little James and used any opportunity to teach him about the world around the manor. A real father was there for his children, no matter what. The professor had been right.

Peter watched the face of the man sitting next to him. Those usually piercing eyes were filled with a calm melancholy, as if he were remembering something. His own father? "You … you did the same for me since … since we stopped fighting," the boy continued. "We didn't go fishing or fly kites … we have real dragons, so no need to build any made of paper. But you did give me advices. And you came running to protect me – back in Neverland when I thought you were killed in front of my eyes. You came this afternoon to get me out of that awful place." Peter shrugged, nearly helpless under the onslaught of emotions he was admitting. "So, the professor was right. You're … something like a father." He lowered his gaze. "And that's confusing."

Hook had no idea how to reply. What the boy had said was a confession of love from a son to a father. And coming from the proud and independent Peter Pan, it was significant. True, the boy had needed him at different opportunities. During the battle with the wizard the lad had been in desperate need for support and even rescue; he had needed Hook when Ashford kidnapped him; and he had needed his former nemesis today – not only in that 'awful place,' but also for comfort. Even now, lying here on the settee, ready to go to sleep, the boy needed him. His strong young hand slipped into the rough fingers of the pirate's hand, seeking the physical contact he usually avoided.

James closed his eyes. Good God, how was he going to tell the boy that they would have to go their separate ways – now, after they'd grown so close? How could he let the boy return alone to Neverland? It felt like he would be letting him down. But did he have a choice?

He felt the boy's hand squeeze his and looking down at him again, seeing the almost sheepish smile. "Shocked?" Peter asked wryly. He wondered if Hook might reject his confession. But he didn't have to worry. James Hook was not a coward, and when things changed, he faced them.

"I am a bit shocked, aye, but in a good way," he admitted; forcing his sadness away at the prospect losing his newly acquired 'son.' "From 'dark and sinister man, have at thee' to 'you became something like a father to me' is a … a very long and … twisted journey." He watched Peter begin to smile. "But it shouldn't come as a surprise. Change is not a problem, but a challenge. And you make a new life wherever you find yourself."

"Aye!" Peter nodded. "I'm the best there ever was!" His cockiness was talking, and now Hook really did laugh. That was a hint of the old Peter Pan he knew so well. No, he couldn't and wouldn't break this cozy atmosphere by giving the boy the bad news – that he, James Hook, had to remain here and Niam's ultimatum that Peter only could return if he hadn't grown. And the boy was already 'sailing close to the wind' by becoming so attached to him, Hook. They would speak of this tomorrow.

Patting Peter's shoulder, he rose. "Sleep, m'boy. You need the rest."

The old/young blue eyes watched the man. "And you?"

"I'll read one of those books Wendy loaned me before I sleep."

"Huh, books I carried all the way to Neverland," Peter pointed out.

Hook looked down at him. "For which I'm very grateful. I would pity you, but I know how strong you are, it certainly wasn't difficult," he teased, which earned him a wide smirk – that changed into a grimace.

"Ugh … I can't even smile without hurting my cheeks," the boy complained.

"Another cold washcloth?" James offered.

Peter shook his head. "No, it'll only give me a wet pillow."

James nodded. "I leave of the windows ajar so that Tinker Bell and her friends can come in without bothering either of us when they bring that balm from Niam's daughter."

"Thanks," Peter murmured.

Hook went to the desk and picked up the book he had already begun to read: Moby Dick. Sitting down at the table, he poured himself a glass of berry wine, leaned back and opened the book. A glance at the settee showed him Peter was already dozing off – expression peaceful and so amazingly innocent. What would James would give to see this every evening – together with his beloved Wendy at his side!

Sighing, he began to read the next chapter of the story whose captain was until now more a phantom aboard the whaler ship than an actual person.

Hook couldn't know that the evening was far from over, that the book would be a mirror of what he had almost become a few years ago …

*** PP *** PP ***

Mary, Millicent, the two girls and the boys had a longer dinner at home. They were quite hungry after the long hours of reunions and exchanges of news. So the four women (and Liza) ate their fill at every course, ignoring etiquette.

The smaller boys had to find out what exactly happened. They were overjoyed that Peter was rescued and now safe and sound aboard the Jolly Roger. They praised Victoria for her courage to stand up to her cousin and cheered at their mother when they learned that she had been a part of the rescue team. They also admired Wendy for her pièce de resistance as she fled the manor by stealing Ashford's motorcar.

"That's our Red-Handed Jill!" Curley laughed, face flushed with excitement.

"AYE!" came the response from the other boys, including Slightly and Nibs, while John only shook his head. Liza grinned and winked at Wendy, who returned the gesture.

"I don't think that your sister stealing something is reason to cheer," Millicent threw in; she was completely ignored except for Slightly, who murmured, "Mother, let it go. Everything turned out well in the end."

"Hm, I ask myself what will George say about all this?" was her only reply. Well, the master of the house wouldn't be at home before midnight or so, and then the children would be asleep.

After dinner, the two girls retired to Wendy's room. Wendy was tired, and Vicky could barely wait to speak with her friend in secret. Slipping out of the day's clothing, they began to change for the night. The whole time Vicky asked about the captain. At first Wendy tried to avoid direct answers, but Victoria could be as stubborn as her friend, and wouldn't take 'I'm tired' as an answer. "What shall I say?" Wendy sighed finally. "It … simply happened that … that we … um …"

"Fell in love and did unspeakably wonderful things to each other in his luxurious bed in the oversized aft cabin?" Vicky grinned while getting rid of her petticoats.

"Shhh, not so loud!" Wendy whispered. "My aunt has excellent hearing. And if she learns … well …" She made a few waving gestures with her hands, while flushing. Her friend lifted both brows.

"And?" the young lady prompted.

"And what?" the other girl asked, otherwise occupied.

Vicky rolled her eyes. "Well … what's it like?" Her voice was lowered. "How does it feel to be … skin to skin, to have his lips everywhere on your body, and so on? Is it really like they write in those forbidden books that … uh, Wendy?"

Red Handed Jill, wearing only her camisole and the knee-length undies, had fallen onto the bed and sprawled on the mattress, eyes looking dreamingly at the ceiling. "It's breathtaking. You're flying without any fairy dust, you burn without fire, you soar between the stars, you turn crazy with want and … and more. But Vicky, listen to me." She was remembering the first time, the care and patience James had displayed, bringing her from virginity to fulfillment. She sat up again, looking at her friend. "You must be with someone who cares for you deeply, who is patient with you, or it could be … dreadful."

"I … I get the point," Victoria blushed, feeling her own body warm. "Of course it had to be that certain man who seduced you and turned you into a woman." She caught Wendy's glance and added, "Come on, sweety, you had a crush on him from the beginning."

"I did not!" Wendy protested.

"Oh yes, you did," Vicky retorted, tapping Wendy's knee. "Don't you dare deny it. Peter might have been your sweetheart, but – face it – even when you were younger, James Hook was a temptation for you."

Wendy sniffed. "Oh, I did realize that he was different for me than the others. I remember when I treated his back wound after he fought the harpies off which had attacked Michael and me. I remember his curls … they felt …" She bit her lower lip and stopped.

"Delicious? Forbidden? Unnerving?" Vicky suggested, leaning toward her. "Intimate?"

"I was twelve!" Wendy replied, shocked but realizing that Victoria was right.

"Well, the perfect time for a first crush," her friend laughed. "I remember the picture you drew from your book of his curls wrapped around your finger. There was an amazing amount of detail in it." She cocked her head. "And, if I remember your second adventure in Neverland correctly, you even took a huge risk riding to his rescue – especially since you didn't know how to ride. You don't risk your neck for someone you don't care for."

Her friend groaned and rubbed her face with both hands. "I cared for Peter! And James was … was …"

"He was the future," Vicky nodded. She smiled again. "You wouldn't have fallen so quickly and so hard for him if you weren't already in love with him when you returned to Neverland last week. And I'm sure it was the same for him." She sighed, sitting tall "Let's look at the facts: This man travelled between two worlds – literally – to come to your rescue …" Victoria paused as Wendy leaned forward and the ring on the necklace slipped past her camisole. Vicky's eyes grew wide as she saw it was … a ring … a heavy golden one crusted with filigree and a large red stone. "Sweetie …" she began slowly. "Care to tell me about that ring you're wearing between your breasts?"

Wendy looked down and sure enough, there hung James' ring – no longer hidden. And Victoria had seen it. Feeling her face heating up again, she quickly shoved it beneath the camisole. "Oh, that … that's … well …"

Victoria crept nearer – then she was beside her friend. "Is it … an engagement ring?" she asked, eyes shining. She pulled out the ring to examine it. The exquisite workmanship and large red stone bespoke the opulence of a previous century. Wendy could only stutter, a confession on its own, and Vicky began to beam. "He proposed to you, did he?" she laughed.

Wendy gulped and nodded. "Yes, he did," she whispered.

Vicky stared with a mixture of disbelief and happiness. "Captain James Hook, the villain of your stories, your secret crush – he asked you to marry him? Am I hearing you right?"

The other girl's face was pink from shoulders to brow. "He … he even went on one knee in front of me," she murmured.

For a long moment, both friends only looked at each other, then Victoria squealed in joy and threw both arms around Wendy, both landing in a heap on the bed, embracing each other and laughing as only two best friends could. "This is marvelous!" Vicky giggled. "It's … it's sooooo romantic! This will certainly be the highlight of your third book!" Bracing herself on her hands and glancing down at her beaming friend, she whispered conspiratorially, "Details, my dear, now! And afterward, we'll have figure out what to tell your father!"

Wendy's eyes grew wide again. "He will be appalled," she groaned, which earned her another peal of laughter from her friend. She had no clue how to tell her father that she was engaged – not to an English nobleman but to her personal villain and anti-hero. "He will be such a tough nut to crack!"

*** PP *** PP ***

The 'tough nut' was sitting in the first-class compartment of the evening train from Liverpool to London after having dinner with his superior. Sir Edward had dozed off and George was also tired. Yet he was too worried about his family to relax. He hoped that they were finally home. He hadn't had the chance to call Bloomsbury again before Sir Edward and he boarded the train. He thought about phoning at one of the stops along the way, but discarded the idea. He would have too much to explain to his superior. He frequently took off his glasses to polish them, a sure sign he was agitated.

So, as the train finally arrived in Euston Station, London, George Darling was quite the bag of nerves – overtired, concerned and unsure what the next day would hold. Leaving the train with a yawning Sir Edward Quiller-Couch, he found his way across the platform. Steam from the locomotive fogged the air, porters offered their services, flower girls and paperboys advertised their goods. Despite the late hour – almost eleven o'clock in the evening – the station was busy.

The two men followed the crowd toward the door to the Great Hall. George, carrying his own suitcase, he idly wondered why at this late hour so many people were still travelling. Then he caught the image on the front page of the Daily Mirror, held up by the paper-boy, the first so-called tabloid newspaper that specialized in salacious gossip and large headlines. George grimaced and shook his head. But the headline screamed at him: 'Pirate Romance in London'.

Mr. Darling sneered. Pirate romance, indeed. He had one at home, one might say. He certainly didn't need another, not even one with a photo …

George Darling stopped dead, causing a pile-up behind him. Somehow he managed to remain on his feet and apologized to the man at his back. "George, what's the matter?" Sir Edward asked. George walked to the paperboy; his gaze glued to the large image below the headline.

The picture had been taken from the dock next to the ship. It was an excellent shot of the ship itself, with the closed cannon hatches and carved decoration, riggings in the background. But that wasn't what had caught his attention. There was a man on the photo, a man with long black curls, wearing a familiar looking captain's coat, embracing and kissing a woman. The hook was obvious, and the woman had wrapped her arms around the captain's neck – both oblivious to the world around them. And the photographers on the dock. One couldn't see the woman's face, but Mr. Darling recognized the coat she wore and the hat that had just fallen, caught in midair in the photograph. Shocked, disgusted, thunderstruck, speechless, George Darling recognized that it was HIS OWN DAUGHTER in the captain's embrace; unaware of the world around them, fully absorbed in that kiss.

With open mouth Mr. Darling took one of the newspapers and stared at the image, but as often as he blinked, it didn't change. There was his sweet little girl Wendy, kissing that villainous Captain Hook! George felt as though he'd stepped off a curb unexpectedly.

"My, my, society really has changed. Has the woman no decency?" Sir Edward's voice pierced George's stunned stupor. Swallowing his astonishment, George turned his head to look at his superior, who appeared more amused than scandalized by the photo. "He really does look like a pirate," Quiller-Cooch continued. "Especially with that hook and coat. A handsome man, no doubt. The young lady seems to be very … fond of him. And the other way around as well." The bank director chuckled. "Youth of today! Yet, we were both young once, too, eh? But our indiscretions rarely ended up in the newspaper." He gave the paperboy a coin, took the newspaper and gave it to his employee. "Come on, George. I called home before we left the hotel. I'm sure my driver is already waiting … And there he is! Right on time!" They made their way to the motorcar and got in. "He'll drop you off at your home and then go to mine." He clapped the younger man on the shoulder, who held the rolled up paper in a death grip, looking pale. How odd, the older man thought.

George only nodded, not trusting his voice. He felt his body grow warm and his hands begin to sweat. If anyone else recognized his daughter on this photo … the family's reputation …! What was she thinking, kissing that thrice-cursed pirate in public?! And why, for God's sake, hadn't Mary stopped her? He knew his wife had gone to the ship, so she must have been aboard when this … this … outrage had taken place. Why hadn't she intervened?

It wasn't much later that George had found his voice and thanked Sir Edward for dropping him off at home. Standing on the pavement outside of his house, George looked around. The gas lanterns spread a soft light along the silent street, giving the night a peaceful touch, contrasting with the emotions roiling about inside of him. His motorcar – the Adler – was parked by the pavement, and except for a single cat trotting by, he was all alone. Looking up, he saw all windows dark; his family's house lay in sleep.

Sorting through his keys at the front door, he left himself in. Placing the suitcase beside the door, he switched on one the new electric light. A soft whining attracted his attention. Nana greeted him with a snuffling, and he absent-mindedly patted her on her head. "Good girl, everything all right?" Looking about, he saw that there was still light in the living room, so he peeked in.

There sat Mary in one of the armchairs, asleep. She wore her dark red housecoat, her hair free and undone. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful, George felt some of his ire vanishing – replaced by the desire to go to her and to wake her with a kiss. But first he had something to deal with. Something that had no admit of delay.

Returning to the entrance hall, he took the car key, whispered "Go to Mary and watch out for her," to Nana, switched off the light and left the house again. The front door clicked softly closed. Nana watched the door curiously for a moment, then trotted to Mary's side.

Mary was asleep, but a part of her was wary; waiting for George's return. So it was no accident that she woke as an engine started – a noise she knew very well. She rose, then hastened to the entrance hall. There she saw her husband's suitcase. What in the world …? Opening the front door she looked out and saw the Adler drive away. Where was George off to? At this hour? Why hadn't he woken her?

A chill wind was blowing, and hugging herself, Mary closed the door. She turned to pick up the suitcase and newspaper that lay on it. The Daily Mirror? She knew George never read the gutter press. Switching on the light, she saw the photo, and gasped. Now she knew where George was off to.

"Oh dear!"

*** PP ***PP ***

James Hook sat at the table, reading. He thought he'd only read a few pages, but Moby Dick had captured him. He couldn't help but recognize the resemblance between himself and Captain Ahab. They both had lost a limb to an enemy, an opponent they thought easy to defeat – a boy, a whale. They both had been marked for the rest of their lives. They both were out for revenge, obsessed with their nemeses, ready to stop at nothing to make the enemy pay.

With one big difference: Hook still possessed his sanity. Ahab had crossed the line to insanity, infecting his own crew with it.

Yes, James had been close to madness a few times, but the situation (or people) had brought him back before he lost himself. And there were things Ahab did, he – James – would have never done, like denying the other captain his help to find his son who had been lost at sea. Ahab had also given up a safe booty when he learned of Moby Dick's whereabouts. He twisted every memory of poets and even the Good Book into words of hate – and now, at the end, he even sacrificed his crew and his ship. All things Hook would have never done, even if it meant missing a chance to catch Peter Pan.

" 'To the last I grapple with thee; from Hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.' " James read over Ahab's last words before the literary captain was pulled down into the sea, bound to the white whale with the rope of his own harpoon. Ahab was doomed – along with Moby Dick who destroyed Ahab's ship as his last act.

James frowned reading the last lines of the book. " '… and went down with the ship, which, like Satan, would not sink to hell till she had dragged a living part of heaven along with her, and helmeted herself with it. Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago'…"

So, neither survived their lifetime pursuit, and all the others died with them except for the young man, 'Ishmael,' who lived another day to tell the story. James took a deep breath as he closed the book. He was glad that he and Peter had a different outcome. Hate only led to more hate, he'd learned that much – a cycle that could only be broken by an attitude that, if looked at objectively seemed almost magical: Forgiveness. James smiled ruefully. He knew why Wendy had selected this book for him: She was showing him what could have become of him – a second Captain Ahab. He whispered a short prayer of thanks that love had won! Love for her, love for the boy – his eyes and his mind had been opened in the conflict with the dark warlock; the beginning of forgiveness, of redemption.

With a sigh, he placed the book on the table and reached for the carafe of wine, but there was a knock at his cabin door. James frowned. At this late hour? He had no clock in his quarters – thanks to his trauma with that accursed crocodile – but ship's bells indicated it was approaching midnight. What was so important that one of the crew disturbed him now?

Rising, he threw a glance at Peter – sound asleep – and went to the door. Opening it, he saw Bollard, his night watch, and two additional shapes behind him in the dark. "Capt'n, I'm sorry t' disturb ye t'is late," the older pirate whispered. "But ye 'ave a viz'tor."

James stopped abruptly. A visitor? Now? At this hour? Irritated and curious, he saw a man waiting between Bollard and a wary Canary Robb. The stranger was perhaps an inch shorter than himself, wearing glasses and … and features resembling his own; hair was short as was currently fashionable. Captivating blue eyes looked at him.

"Iss Mr. Darlin' – 'r li'l gel's father," Bollard murmured. "Th' dock's night guard allowed 'im into th' area, 'cos 'e said iss a private urgent matter 'e's t' speak wit' ye about."

James blinked in surprise. Wendy's father? And it was urgent? "Mr. Darling?" he began quietly as the man stepped forward. "Has something happened? Are your children all right?" he asked concerned.

The other man looked piercingly at him, which should have been a warning, but Hook was completely caught off guard by what came next. The last thing he saw was a fist flying towards him, then there was a blow at his chin and he was falling …

TBC…

Well, I think you all and Hook have one thing in common: You never saw this coming, am I right (snicker). Yes, Mr. George Darling, decent, rather diffident and cautious banker, just punched Captain James Hook! I think, this is in the whole fandom a new one (laugh). And I know you imagine the reactions of the others, but certainly not Hook's response to this attack. Just wait for the next chapter, in which Peter also will learn about Hook's and Wendy's relationship and that the captain is banned from Neverland. So expect a rather wild emotional rollercoaster.

I hope, you liked the new chapter, including what happens at the orphanage, the 'girl-talk' between Wendy and Vicky, and – of course – the last part as Mr. Darling stops to act like a gentleman (grin).

I would appreciate to get a few more reviews.

Have a nice rest of the weekend,

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight