<div style="text-align: center"><b><u>Wendy Darling</u></b><br/>
<i>Starstruck on the Wright</i>​</div><br/>The weight of his hands on her shoulders grounded her, made her focus on the right here and the right now.  Even the gentle squeeze kept her mind from wandering off down a million little paths of What If.  Still, her eyes were wide and darting up to the sky then back to his face over and over as she sucked down the cigarette in deep drags and long exhales.  James had faith in her, he wanted her to go inside very much, but he just didn’t understand.<br/><br/>“It’s not Peter,” she whispered.<i>It’s Hook.</i><br/><br/>The tone of his voice, so cold and logical and precise, was enough to draw her focus away from the spiral of thoughts and to his face.  He was stern, the lines between his eyebrows deeper as he stared down at her.  It reassured her.  Mr. Dameron was not like the doctors and nurses and others her father had hired to look after her.  He indulged her thoughts and memories then pulled her back before they threatened to swallow her.  It appealed to her.  She watched his cigarette butt arc through the air then bounce on the pavement then took one last pull from her own cigarette before dropping it to the sidewalk.  Wendy didn’t bother to rub it out with the toe of her boot.  It would go out soon enough on its own.<br/><br/>Squaring her shoulders and steeling her spine, Wendy slipped her arm through his, glad for the safety and security of being pressed up right against his side.  “You will keep me safe, Mr. Dameron.”  It was an odd statement, half question and half declaration, but revealing confidence in his abilities to protect her.  Father thought he would be a fine man for the job and thus far, she had no reason to believe otherwise.<br/><br/>They presented a picture-perfect couple as they stepped through the door, Wendy tucked right up against his side.  The delicate jingle of the bells over their heads announced their arrival and yet made her stiffen.  Only briefly, however, for surely what she had heard before was<i>not</i>Tink but rather just the bells over the door.  A brief smile, just a tug at the corner of her lips, made an appearance as she decided she was being silly.  The dream of Hook coming for her was still clinging to her, that was all.<br/><br/>“Flying is a wonderful thing, Mr. Dameron.  Shame you’ll never get to experience it,” she replied with a genuine smile.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b><u>Tink</u></b><br/>
<i>Darling Estate</i>​</div><br/>George was always so<i>loud</i>and now he was so<b>fat</b>!  Tink pressed her face up against the pane of glass, peering in at the fat man who used to be one of their Boys.  Her nose wrinkled.  He looked so<i>old</i>.  He should’ve stayed in Neverland so he could have stayed young and handsome, just like Peter.<br/><br/>Peter…<br/><br/>Tink sighed and turned her face, leaving her cheek smooshed against the window.  A golden tinge bloomed in her cheeks and spread upward and outward to her hair and down her neck to her chest.  He was so very clever to think of having Fable bring them here and even more clever to see if George could help them.  She smiled brightly then laughed when he laughed, filling the air with the sound of tinkling bells.<br/><br/>Inside, the large man snorted and smacked his lips in his sleep.  Quick as a flash, the golden hue disappeared and was replaced with green.  Not the brilliant emerald green she had in her eyes when Peter talked about Wendy but a drab pukey sort of green.  She didn’t even want to go near him but Peter did and where Peter went, Tinkerbell would always follow.<br/><br/>And so in through the window she went with Fable clambering in after her, doing his best not to touch her wings.<br/><br/>Placing her bare feet carefully on the thick carpet, Tink crept closer to the once-lost-but-now-found Boy and leaned in to examine his face.  So many wrinkles creased his face and the red bloom of too much alcohol indulgence decorated his nose but underneath she could see the old George.  “Peter,” she hissed in a stage whisper, “it really is him!”  One finger poked his enormous gut, right between the straining buttons of his shirt.<br/><br/>Mr. Darling grunted and shifted, one hand twitching on the arm of the chair.<br/><br/>“Georgie, what in Neverland happened to you?<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b><u>Wendy Darling</u></b><br/>
<i>Starstruck on the Wright</i>​</div><br/>The crowd welcomed them in with a crescendo in the room’s volume before settling back down to the low buzz of constant conversation.  Wendy’s grip tightened on his arm as they wound their way through the room toward the bar and its pockmarked surface.  Luck was on their side as they found two stools down toward one end of the room.  The seats were still warm as if they’d just recently been vacated, but that didn’t bother Wendy.  Seats in a place like this were at a premium and beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers.<br/><br/>“What can I getcha?” asked the suddenly-appearing bartender.<br/><br/>“Don Julio 1942.  Two of them.”<br/><br/>The man nodded and slipped away to prepare their drinks.  Wendy leaned close so she could speak into James’s ear over the noise of the room.  “If you’ve never had this tequila, Mr. Dameron, I think you’ll like it.  It’s meant to be savored.”<br/><br/>As if by magic, two glasses appeared on the bar, right at their elbows.  “Here you go, Wendy.  Let me know if you need anything else.”<br/><br/>“Wendy?  Not<i>the</i>Wendy?” Her name drew the attention of the fresh-faced young woman sitting on the next stool down.<br/><br/>She ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, toying with her piercing as she reached for the tequila.  The glass only shook a little bit as she brought it to her lips.  Pouring far more into her mouth than she should have, Wendy took a deep breath and plastered on a smile.  “Depends.  Do you think I’m the real Wendy?”<br/><br/>“I’m not sure.  I’ve heard the real Wendy went off the deep end, lost her marbles, went cuckoo… you know, batshit crazy.”<br/><br/>The smile slipped and she covered by taking another swallow of tequila.  The other hand slid into the pocket of her jacket, fingers curling around the treasures hidden within and drawing out her own pack of cigarettes and lighter to place them carefully on the bar.<br/><br/>“Wendy? Did I hear someone say Wendy?” The crowd parted like the Red Sea as a barrel-shaped man with a bald head and thick beard crossed the room.  “So you’ve come crawling back, have you?”<br/><br/>The rest of the Don Julio went down easily.  Lowering the glass carefully, she set it down on the wooden bar top as her eyes moved up to lock with James’s.  It wasn’t Peter or Neverland that kept her from wanting to come inside.  It was the<i>other</i>people and their demands and gentle patronizing.<i>...please</i>pleaded her eyes even as she signaled for another glass of tequila.