He hadn’t turned to look at her yet, but he could fairly feel her sudden alarm as he poured himself a glass of very fine rum. Billy Jukes had informed Smee that she was crying in his cabin. And Smee, of course, had dutifully come to his captain with the news.
Most likely, she hadn’t wanted him to know about whatever it was that had her upset. But James Hook very much did want to know what had upset her. And he intended to find out.
It took her a good while to reply, but he waited patiently, his back to her, and sipped at the rum in his crystal goblet. It helped a little when it came to dealing with Wendy. She had an uncanny and increasingly alarming tendency to set his nerves on edge when he was around her. It was the way she bit her lip. Or, perhaps, the way the sun caught the highlights in her hair. Or the new depth to her gaze that had not been there five years
ago. . . .
“It was nothing,” she finally replied. Hook almost laughed, but managed to hold it in. He did however allow himself a small smile. He’d expected her to say those exact three words.
“I’m fine now,” she added.
Hook turned slowly and pinned her with a searching gaze. “Are you?” He noticed, with some amusement, that she had picked up the button from the floor beside her. He wondered where it was – in her pocket?
He remembered that particular button.
It had been ripped from his red brocade coat. The one he’d worn as he’d fought Peter Pan on that fateful night. . . . In fact, it was the first thing Hook had destroyed after the battle. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be the last.
Wendy nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. Her knuckles were turning white where she intertwined her fingers. She was very nervous. At that moment, James would have given anything for a glimpse at the thoughts most likely spinning in her head.
“I really am fine,” she insisted, adding a quick nod for emphasis. “Any sign of Peter?”
Hook watched her for a moment, not certain that he was willing to let the subject drop just yet. He had always been a curious individual. And when it came to Wendy Darling, whom he would bet his good hand was somehow connected to Neverland, just as Peter Pan was, his curiosity was much more than piqued.
She stood there stubbornly, however, and waited for him to address the new issue.
“No,” he replied, simply.
“I gather that our trip ashore has been postponed?”
He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “The leave would take most of the day, hence there is not enough time to make the trip and return before the storm sets in.” He paused and glanced toward the windows, where lightning flashed, followed by a quick peal of thunder that boomed at first and then faded into the distance.
“Storms in Neverland are sporadic. And unpredictable. There’s no telling how bad this one will be or how long it will last.” There had also been no warning as to its arrival. Hook was frustrated; in his world, the world he’d been torn from centuries ago, he’d been able to read the skies with apt proficiency. It was a skill lost on Neverland.
Neverland was erratic, capricious, and arbitrary. Somewhat like its favorite little
boy.
“Hook,” Wendy’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. A small part of him flinched at the sound of his last name on her lips. It was strange and unexpected to think it – but he would have paid dearly to hear her speak his first name instead.
“Yes, Wendy?” he asked softly as he brought the goblet to his lips once more. He watched her over the rim of his glass as she struggled with her next words.
Finally, she seemed to square her shoulders and she looked him dead in the eye. “What are you going to do with me?”
The directness of the question took him by surprise. A voice in his head whispered, keep you forever. . . .
But he ignored it, set down his goblet, and pinned her with a gaze that he knew through experience was difficult to argue with. “I haven’t decided as of yet,” he told her, firmly. “However, I’ve little doubt that the answer will make itself known soon.”
Lightning flashed at every window and thunder followed immediately on its heels, thrumming through the room like a shockwave. Wendy jumped and hugged herself. Hook straightened and watched the windows warily.
Normally a storm meant that Peter Pan was in a foul mood.
However, Peter was not in Neverland at the moment. If he was, surely he would have attempted to rescue Wendy and her brothers by now.
He wondered, therefore, what was causing the storm. And what it meant.
At that, he glanced back at Wendy and narrowed his gaze thoughtfully. “Do you still tell stories, Miss Darling?” How easy it was for him to slip back into the roll created for him. He would have marveled at it if it hadn’t been for the way Wendy’s sparkling eyes captivated him so.