<div style="text-align: center"><b>Tiger Lily</b><br/>
<i>On the path to Wendy</i>​</div><br/>It always circled back to Wendy.  It always had, starting from the first time her shape had been seen in the sky soaring high over Neverland until she was shot down and continuing until she escaped with Peter on the Jolly Roger.  Tiger Lily knew back then, all those years ago, that Wendy Darling had weaseled her way into the Captain’s mind and would be impossible to extricate.<br/><br/>A thump filled her head.  Lily’s head turned in the direction from which it came, staring into the distance.  The veil had thinned so much that the Jolly Roger had found her master.  They were further along the path than she’d originally thought.<br/><br/>Hook continued to press the issue that they must find Wendy, emphatic in his obsession that she was the one who could put everything to rights.  Yet he was only part of the solution.  They all had their parts to play to restore Neverland to its glory.  She would lead this hunt for him and she would help with what came at the end like she’d done countless times before.<br/><br/>“Come, Captain.  We will find what it is that you seek.”  Without another word, Tiger Lily set off down those cobblestone pathways and into the mist which parted before her.<br/><br/>There was no need to use the tracking skills for which her tribe was renowned. A string of fate bound them all together and while they could all sense it, Tiger Lily was the only one who could follow it. Lily led Hook along the circuitous trail Wendy blazed with James from the Starstruck to the neglected laundromat staffed only by the large man who still sat, cross-armed, in the same plastic chair. A street light flickered high above them, casting them in and out of shadows.<br/><br/>“She’s in there,” Lily said plainly, lifting one arm and pointing across the street.<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Wendy Darling</b><br/>
<i>Suds and Bubbles</i>​</div><br/><i>Everything...</i><br/><br/>The singular word hung heavy in the air between them.  The Suds was supposed to be her sanctuary from the insanity of the world out there, from the people who pressed and demanded, from the demands that being Wendy Darling had thrust upon her.  With one word, James had managed to breach her sanctuary.  The tension she felt in the Starstruck pulled back into her spine and shoulders until they felt stiff and iron-hard.<br/><br/>Wendy wished he had pretended to not know what had been done to her.  They could have continued on their jaunt around the city, enjoying their tequila and then eventually the cigars, before heading home to end a pleasant evening.<br/><br/>She could have continued to believe the lies she told herself that he cared about her wellbeing as a person and not as a paycheck.<br/><br/>Displeasure and sadness tinged her blue eyes gray as she lifted her head so she could really see the handsome face of her protector.  Words and accusations boiled in her head, stormy waves of thoughts that she sought to calm with a healthy swallow of her tequila.  It burned in the best possible way as it headed down her throat to her stomach but it quenched the anger wrapping its claws around her insides.<br/><br/>Wendy shifted from her casual drape across the leather couch, turning to face him, leaning forward so he could see her in the dim lighting as Delia continued to croon the next song into her old-fashioned microphone.   Her hand did not tremble as she found the pack of cigarettes and set one between her lips, lighting it quickly and taking a drag.  “My father told them to hurt me, Mr. Dameron.”  She opened her mouth to release the smoke with only the assistance of a minor exhale.  “Did he give you permission to do that too?”  The question slipped out as easily as if she was inquiring about the weather and was accompanied with a curious tilt of her head.<br/><br/>He had shown no signs of wanting to hurt her, not from when he burst into her bedroom a few hours before to pluck her from the grasp of her nightmare to when he saved her from Finley.  Then again, each doctor had started their time with her in much the same way, promising they could help her, promising they could help her forget Neverland and Peter.  In the end, though, it always came down to pain.  Perhaps James would be different than those doctors with their<i>experimental treatments</i>.<br/><br/>The next inhale was deep, the ember at the tip of the cigarette flaring hot and red.  Setting it down in the ashtray Paul had so thoughtfully provided, Wendy scooted closer until the side of her thigh was just barely touching his. Some sort of mixture of a knowing smirk and soft smile teased across her red-painted lips.  “Helpless? No...but I do need your help, Mr. Dameron.  I’m trusting you to keep me safe from<i>him</i>.”  But which him did she mean - Peter?  Hook?  Her father?  Finley?<br/><br/>A pregnant pause hung in the small space between them.  Her stormy blue eyes searched his face while, at the same time, she reached for her cigarette, tapping the accumulated ash into the ashtray.  Another sharp flick of her thumb against the filter sent the last scattering of burnt bits of paper and tobacco into the glass dish.  Wendy brought it to her lips for one last slow pull, needing that last rush of nicotine into her bloodstream before turning it in her fingers to offer the crimson lipstick-stained cigarette to her bodyguard.<br/><br/>“What do I want, Mr. Dameron?” The syllables of his name were, as always, savored on her lips and tongue as they slipped out.  “You’re the only person to ask me that in forever.  Does it really matter in the end?  As long as I stay here, I’ll never get what<i>I</i>want.  I’ll be a money-making device for my father, the Darling estate, anyone who wants to use me for their own gains,” Wendy paused, her teeth catching then slowly releasing her bottom lip, “even you.”<br/><br/>Another shift in her weight and an elbow resting against the back of the leather bench.  Her head resting in her hand.  It could have been any sort of casual conversation, any sort of rendezvous in this secret speakeasy, at least to outside observers.  Thankfully, this wasn’t the sort of place with clientele who had a penchant for eavesdropping.  Too many secrets had been shared by too many people in this hidden room behind a laundromat.<br/><br/>Paul glided by on silent feet for an unobtrusive check on them and disappeared when he saw they had no current need for refills.  Wendy saw him out of the corner of her eye and made a mental note to tip him far better than she normally did.<br/><br/>She half-smiled at James.  “I think the better question is why should I want to stay<i>here</i>?”<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Tinkerbell</b><br/>
<i>The Darling Estate</i>​</div><br/>Being a fairy and normally of a small size - Peter’s magic must have made her grow - Tinkerbell was only capable of holding onto one emotion at a time and right now that emotion was fear.  Terrified soul-crushing fear.  She<i>knew</i>that if Peter went through that door, bad things were going to happen.<br/><br/>He pulled away from her, captivated by Fable’s mysterious ability to open a door that didn’t look like any door she’d ever seen, the strange door that protected them from whatever lay behind it.  Tink’s hands rose of their own accord, reaching for her Peter, clenching into tight fists as if she could cling to the air between them and use it to pull him back to her.  Peter was gone though, draped and pulled across Fable.<br/><br/>Craning her head to see what lay inside the too bright too white chamber, Tink watched the two men.  Peter caressed the spines of the books and she hadn’t been so scared, she would have smiled brightly at the sight.  Books held stories of grand adventures and Peter did so love his grand adventures.  Encouraged by the other, Fable picked up one of them and began to read words aloud that she did not understand but it didn’t matter.<br/><br/>Peter Pan was back in front of her, touching her, calming her,<i>soothing</i>her.  The black receded from her eyes until just the irises were as dark as a starless night.  Her eyes slid closed as she leaned her weight into him and whispered, “I don’t like it here.  It feels so evil, more evil than Hook.  Can’t we just go home?” Their noses touched and she opened her eyes, trying her hardest to focus on Peter’s shining out at her from beneath all his tattoos.  Peter would keep her safe from harm.<br/><br/>Fable droned on and one, using big words she had never heard about someone she did not know called The Subject.  Who cared about this and why didn't he just shut up already?  Peter’s arm came around her, his fingers curling familiarly against the bare skin of her waist.  The black faded a bit more.  “Rules<i>are</i>very boring, Peter.”  Gentle chiming bells rang in the background of her words as she leaned in to rest her head against his shoulder.  More of the inky darkness in her eyes dissipated.<br/><br/>Braveness must be contagious, able to spread like the wildfires that sometimes raged after the Lost Boys spent their nights celebrating their victories around raging bonfires.  She could feel Peter’s courage spreading through her body and making her feel so so brave.  The darkness that saturated her eyes was almost gone now, just lingering enough that only someone who knew her well would notice that her eyes were a shade darker than normal.  Determined to show Peter how brave she was, Tink gave a little shake and her wings a flutter then squared her shoulders and pulled herself out of his grasp.<br/><br/>Fable swallowed thickly as he watched his new companions set off to explore.  His eyes lingered on their backs, one in a black leather jacket and one with delicate wings sprouting from the shoulder blades.  With a rise and fall of shoulders accompanied by a large sigh, he returned his attention to the large book full of small cramped handwriting.<br/><br/>A large leather-bound book that was identical to the journal on a desk elsewhere in the manor house full of sketches of boys who will never grow up and a pirate with a scar and a hook.<br/><br/>The whole room was stark white.  The walls, the doors, all painted so white that it hurt Tinkerbell’s eyes.  Resisting the urge to screw her eyes up tightly against the sharpness of it all, she marched over to the first door.  It looked heavy and impossibly smooth, not like the doors the Boys had managed to fashion out of scrounged pieces of driftwood and other bits and pieces.  There was an opening in the strange door set right above her head, a window perhaps.  It did have glass in it.  She reached up and pressed her fingertips to the glass and pressed lightly.  Nothing happened.<br/><br/>“... insulin-induced coma…”<br/><br/>Tink moved on to the next door.  This time when she leaned forward to peer through the window her weight, ever so slight, caused the door to swing open.  She didn’t bother to hold back the murmured exclamation of surprise.  A quick peek was all it took to notice that the walls, ceilings, and floor of this strange room were soft and squishy and covered in something that seemed slick and smooth.<br/><br/>“Duration of today’s coma was ninety minutes.  Subject experienced three seizures during this time period.  Twenty-four-hour monitoring required after treatment sessions.”<br/><br/>“Subject extremely combative.  Restrain in supine position during waking hours.  Restraints should be applied in such a way as to restrict mobility of head.  If subject continues combative behavior, use of sedatives is recommended.  Leave lights on in subject’s room at all times to make observations easier.”<br/><br/>One foot extended, cautiously pushing against and tapping across the strange floor of the room.  It was soft!  What a curious place this was, tucked away in Georgie’s house.  Moving slowly, as if she expected the floor to bite, the human-sized fairy made her way through the door.  A quick laugh burst out as she stumbled forward a few steps.  The floor was squishy!  Not much but enough that she sank down with each step she took.  It was like being on the rolling deck of the Jolly Roger!  Bells filled the confined space as she laughed and bounced her way across the floor further into the room.  This was fun!<br/><br/>But there was something in the corner.  How curious!<br/><br/>A whir and a buzz filled the air as her wings lifted her into the air until her toes just skimmed the strange soft floor and carried her toward the odd pile of fabric, straps, and buckles.  Cautiously, she hovered in the air above it, head tilted curiously as it tipped first one way and then the other.  It was made of the same stuff the pirates used to make the sails on the Jolly Roger.  Tink gasped - was this a place for pirates??  Reaching out a finger, she poked quickly at the pile of maybe pirate sail.  It shifted and jingled as a few buckles came into view.  It wasn’t a sail then; sails didn’t have buckles.  They had ropes, lots and lots of ropes.  And were much bigger now that she thought about it.<br/><br/>One foot then the other alighted on the floor.  Her wings gave one last beat against the air then folded neatly down her back.  Bending neatly at the waist, Tink leaned down and picked up whatever it was that had been left here so curiously.  As she stood back up, the mess of fabric straightened itself out.  It was a jacket with far too many straps and buckles and sleeves that were all out of proportion.  Maybe Fable would know what it was.  He knew so much about this strange world.  They were so lucky to have found him!<br/><br/>There was a loud rustling and some thumps as Fable flipped from the middle of the book to the first page.  “Peter…?”  His voice broke.  “This person, the<i>subject</i>they keep mentioning in here....it’s Wendy.”<br/><br/><hr class="bbc-hr bbc-hr--3"/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><b>Hook’s Men</b><br/>
<i>Cliffside</i>​</div><br/>The sound of a succession of great splashes filled the private cove beneath the cliffside house perched high above the tall main mast of the Jolly Roger.  Several men in each dinghy took hold of the palm-smoothed oars and began to pull the small pirate-laden boats toward the cliffs.<br/><br/>Wood scraped against sand and men grunted with effort as they pulled the boats onto shore, high enough to keep them away from the lapping waves.<br/><br/>“Up we go, men!” came the shout from somewhere in the group.  A dozen other voices raised in noisy agreement as they rushed toward the cliffs.<br/><br/>Thuds and grunts and the sound of metal hitting rock rang out, a cacophony of noise that served to warn all who listened that Hook’s pirates were on the move.