Hook, line and sink her.

By

Paisley Rose

Disclaimer

I don't own it.

I just looked at it and said…

Why not.

Prologue

One of the last things Wendy had seen in Never Land was James Hook descend into the belly of the colossal croc. What she hid from her brothers, from the lost boys and even from Peter himself was the tiny feeling of remorse for the man who had just made her walk a plank. She whispered a silent prayer for him, for Capt. James Hook.

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Chapter One.

He who waits

London 1904

New Years Eve

Snow was falling silently on the old city, a sweet comforting blanket of purity. Peacefully the old year was coming to an end, and the New Year would begin. The Darling family was celebrating in high style. Even stuffy old Aunt Millicent seemed to be overcome with cheerfulness. Thanks to the wealth of riches that little Michael had tucked away when they left the pirates ship, they had been able to quickly adopt the lost boys who now were gladly sporting the last name Darling.

With just a little effort and a few moved belongings, the family had expanded the nursery into a nice little dormitory for the boys. Wendy moved into her mother's sewing room and the sewing equipment moved into what was left of the attic. Aunt Millicent had offered to move out of her rooms but the family and Wendy would not hear of it. Wendy didn't want any part of what had been the bastion of Millicent. She really preferred the little sewing room, as it was close to her beloved 'Lost boys'.

On New Years Eve, George, now a wealthy man was invited to the home of Sir Edward Quiller Couch, head of the Bank. Sir Edward felt that now, as George had come into great wealth, it was best to over look Darling's prior strange behavior. Wealth like Darling had come into could make his bank even more powerful, if Darling were inclined to invest and bank with him. For his part, George enjoyed the fact that with monetary worries behind him, he could at long last relax and be the man he'd always dreamed of. He happily accepted the invitation on his and his wife's behalf. Aunt Millicent and her son, now living in the Darling house, meant that George had a rather built in baby sitter for nights when he and Mary were out.

Aunt Millicent was happily seeing the pair off at the front door, from the landing all the children were waving good night. "Go, for the love of heaven." Millicent said with a happy face. "You don't want to be too late…Fashionably late is one thing George. Rudely late is another."

George kissed his widowed elder sister. "Good night, Millicent, dearest."

Mary smiled at her sister-in-law. "Have a good evening." She said in her sweet breathy voice.

Millicent looked up at the landing after closing the door. "Oh, alright, come down for another hour, and then you really all must go to bed." She had lightened up on her reigns, and had allowed herself to enjoy life.

The boys scurried down and rushed into the parlor to sit at the woman's feet and warm themselves by the fire. Wendy followed still giggling at some joke her brother John had told her upstairs on the landing. Millicent motioned the girl to be seated and to continue with the story she'd been telling when they had been sent upstairs before Mr. and Mrs. Darling had prepared to depart.

Out in the street, a few doors down and on the other side sat a dark coach. Its one inhabitant moved the dark fringed curtain slightly so it would not impede his vision. He watched the house with lights brightly shining. He could see the silhouettes of young boys moving around in the parlor, acting out some story being told to them. He could only imagine who the story teller was. Lowering heavy lids over the forget-me-not blue eyes, he swallowed the bile of being forced to be alone. Lifting his sliver headed cane; he tapped the roof of his carriage. "Move on," he ordered sharply. "I've seen enough for one night."

"Yes, master." A voice from the driver's seat acknowledged. "Where to, sir?"

"Home. Take me home." He looked out the window one more time. 'I will find a way to repay you your treachery Miss Darling, even if I have to wait centuries to do it.' He vowed as the carriage pulled away from the house filled with love and laughter.

The Darling house 1906

So many changes had occurred in the scant two years. John was now getting ready to go away to Eaton. Michael was no longer the baby of the family as that passion was now being filled by little Elisabeth. Aunt Millicent had blossomed into a happy woman. Motherhood, even late in life had given her a softness she has always had, but had never displayed. The lost boys now hardly ever talked about Never Land, and only mentioned the boy Peter Pan in almost sacred whispers. No one mentioned the name of the Pirate Captain, as if it were taboo or cursed.

Once in a while young Miss Darling noticed a strange carriage parked down the lane. But being a young lady with living on her mind she paid it little heed. Wendy had more important things to do than to worry about some dirty old carriage. Young Miss Wendy Darling was becoming the darling of literary circles thanks in part to the works of one Mr. J. M. Barrie who had penned her adventures after hearing her recount them to the lost boys on a night when he was a guest in her parents home.

James Barrie, who fancied himself her mentor, had introduced her to his publisher. Having praised the girl to the heavens, he suggested that the publisher give the girls own works a good read. That had started her on the way to where she was now, authoring wonderful tales of mystical and magical lands. That is when Phillip Darling, second cousin to George and Millicent came into Wendy's life.

Phillip had written George and asked for a meeting. He had inherited a good deal of wealth from his mother's side of the family and wanted to invest it wisely. He had always enjoyed the company of George, and asked for him to mentor his investing.

Phillip had the Darling eyes, and mouth. He also had the Darling gift for imagination and well spoken words, if only to one person at a time. He was a good ten years old than Wendy, and was very well schooled. He was tall, and dark and devilishly handsome. He was seated in the parlor discussing investments with George when Wendy returned from walking with the nurse in the park with little Lizzie. Upon her entering the room, Phillip stood, opened his mouth and lost his heart.

Wendy smiled at her distant relation on her father's introduction, and offered him her gloved hand. "Hello, Cousin Phillip!" Her voice was still enthusiast.

George asked his daughter to join them; sitting back and watching her mesmerize the young man.

Wendy had walked Phillip to the door and was standing at the door saying goodbye, she noticed the dark carriage, but paid it little heed again. She was far more interested in the handsome young man who was asking if he could call on her, personally.

The eyes from the carriage, darkened. Young Miss Darling was turning into a very handsome young woman, just as he'd known she would. Just has her features had promised she would. When the young man had departed, and the pretty girl had returned to the safety of her family's home, the man in the carriage ordered his driver to take him home.

The Darling house 1908

Spring.

Wendy looked at her mother and her father though the veil covering her face. "Well, will I do?" she asked saucily.

George snickered as he did often these days. "You'll breathe their hearts!"

Mary rushed forward, pressing her cheek to that of her daughter. "I'm so happy for you. For you both."

Aunt Millicent had already taken the boys down to the church. Wendy had only a few moments to spend with her parents before their carriage would take them to the little church for her wedding. When they stepped from the house, no one seemed to notice the dark carriage parked across the way, nor did they take any notice when it followed them to the church.

Wendy had begun her walk up the isle when a stranger in a long handsome coat moved to sit in the last pew of the church. He rested his left hand on a striking cane with a silver head. His right hand was buried deep in his coat pocket. He watched with a blasé indifference that was as natural to him as breathing. Only when the minister had asked if anyone had an objection did he stir in his seat, but he remained silent. He felt the hinge of his jaw crackle with tension as he watched the bridal couple exchange their first kiss as man and wife. Having been a witness to her first kiss ever, this one merely annoyed him.

The stranger who kept watch was glad of the darkness in the back of the church. He was overjoyed that happiness had made everyone take little notice of his presences. He sat quietly while others rushed out of the church to give good wishes to the bride and groom. When the church was empty he walked leisurely to the doors and watched at the happy couple were conveyed away in an open carriage. He waited until the rest of the happy throng had departed, then went to his carriage.

"Home, master?" The driver asked.

"Yes, thank you." He said with a hateful smile, he knew that when the bride and groom arrived at the home of the bride for the reception, they would find the little gift he'd left her.

After receiving the guest's good wishes, the bride and groom mingled until George told them to open some of the gifts that had just arrived. He was preparing to give them the surprise gift of his own. The gifts on the table consisted of the usual silver tongs, platters and tea service items. One little box, gaily wrapped drew attention from Wendy. There was something about the box that called to her. She opened the lid carefully and peered inside, her mouth falling open. A miniature silver figurine of a ship was nestled in the tissues. Carefully she raised it, gasping as she did so. On the deck of the little ship stood one lone character, a man with long curling hair, dressed in handsome garments with a fancy plumbed hat in his hand bowing dramatically toward her. Wendy went pale.

"Dearest, are you alright?" Phillip had asked courteously.

Wendy hurriedly dropped the little ship back into the box and closed it up. "I'm fine." She assured her husband.

George picked that moment to hand a large envelope to her. "Open it." He said in a merry tone.

Within the envelope was the deed to the house they were in, and it had been sighed over to Wendy.

"Father?" She looked at him.

George put an arm about Mary, "Mother and I have bought a lovely cottage by the sea. The boys will love it there! I want the house to remain in the family, and I know how much you love the place. It's yours my dears."

Through the years.

The man in the carriage watched and waited. He had seen her first born brought out of the house and had even sat in the back of the church as the child was baptized. He had seen other children born to Wendy. He had watched her grow older. He had been watching the house the night her daughter Jane had flown out of the nursery window with the boy who would not grow up.

The watcher had seen her children grow into men and women. Had been witness to their weddings. Had seen the family deal with war in 1917, and again in the 1930's. He watched and waited, every now and again he sent Mrs. Darling a gift. Ones she never displayed but hid in a trunk in the attic.

The watcher was there on the day that Wendy had buried her husband Phillip. He had seen her son Phillip Junior move to the Americas. Once or twice he had passed her in the park as she took her strolls with her grand children.

Wendy grew older, and older and older. In winter of 1989 her namesake and great, great grand daughter had arrived from America to celebrate the 85th anniversary of her wondrous journey to Never Land. Wendy was surrounded by the many generations of her line. Wendy Mora Angela Darling was ninety nine years young. Looking at a sea of happy little Darling faces in her parlor. She read from the book that Barrie had written, and then from one of her own. She asked for a few moments with little Wendy.

Little Wendy sat beside her Great Granny and held the old woman's hand. "You must always be careful," the elder warned. "You are the image of me as a child."

Little Wendy, only five years old didn't quite understand but made her promises to her Great Granny.

The next morning from a dark limo parked across the street, a stranger spotted the child that didn't seem to fit in with some of the other Darling children he'd watched. "Who is that?" He asked the detective he'd hired.

"That would be Wendy Darling, descendant of Phillip who went to America, sir." Came the answer. "She's five."

"Five, and the image already of…" the voice paused. "America you say?" He tapped the cane. "I see." He looked at the man seated across from him. "See to it that she is watched, just as the others are."

"If you wish." The detective sighed.

"Wendy Darling, eh?" The watcher tapped his chin with the prosthetic hand that he now sported on his right hand. "You bear watching, child."

The Darling house 1990

Just days before the 86th anniversary of Wendy's adventure, the Centurion Wendy Darling passed peacefully away in her sleep, dreaming of the night a boy who refused to grow up came to her window, asking for help to find his shadow. She was buried next to her beloved husband, and beside a son who had died in the First World War, and a grand son who'd died in the second, all in the meticulously cared for family plot.

Mourners from around the world came. When all had left the cemetery a lone figure stood at her grave, in his hand was one single flower. A bird of paradise which he placed on the head stone monument, while on bended knee. Leaning close to the stone he whispered. "Death is a great adventure, enjoy it dear Miss Darling. I however intend to live…and I have found a way to repay you your treachery Miss Darling. You see, my dear, I've the advantage of not having to worry about death." The wind rose up, whipping at his face as he sneered. "Why Miss Darling, did you really think I was just going to rot in the belly of that beast? Hardly. I may not be able to get even with young Mister Pan directly…but I can and will exact my revenge on you both though the sweet little child named after you." He rose from the grave. "Sleep well, my dear."