Hook and Wendy found passage on the Dream, a large ocean liner. They stood on deck and Hook craned his neck, looking up at the Dream's chimneys that were chugging out black smoke.
"When I was a lad, about fifteen or so, I ran away from home." He told her, his expression distant. "I ran to the docks and signed up with the first captain that would take me. I forget his name- a great big fat bloke though."
Wendy looked up at Hook, struggling to imagine him as a boy. With his large chin, strong nose and thick brows – he was lacking any soft childish features. "I worked in the engines, stoking the fires."
"How was it?" She prompted when he paused.
"Hard."
She nodded thoughtfully.
"Hmm, I've done similar work myself. Those places have a way of sucking the soul out of you."
Hook didn't reply, but he clenched onto the rail – a determined expression setting on his gloomy face.
Wendy didn't think much about their conversation and so didn't link it with Hook's disappearance the next day. She woke up to find him gone but shrugged it off, assumed that he'd taken a turn around the deck. But then he didn't show for breakfast or lunch. She searched the ship for him, growing anxious.
Fellow passengers hadn't seen him. They offered to help her look, curious and keen to help the sweet looking girl. Hook and her were back to being father and daughter, posing as wealthy foreigners. Wendy wore a ringleted blonde wig and frilly blue skirts, making her look like a perfect little doll – so long as she didn't smile too much. Hundreds of years of life had been unkind to her teeth, which were falling out.
By the end of the day, she was pacing their apartment – unsure what to do. If he'd been caught, wouldn't somebody have come to question her by now? The sun had slipped beneath the horizon when he finally made his way back to their apartment, his movements stiff as he closed the door behind him.
"Where have you been?!" Wendy outraged, sweeping across the room toward him. She frowned. "Why are you dirty?"
Hook wasn't wearing his dapper coat or hat. Instead, he'd donned on his darkest breeches. His shirt was drenched with sweat and was clinging to his sinewy body. He'd tied back his dark hair and his face and hands were begrimed with soot. Hook headed for the drink's cabinet. "Where were you?" Wendy repeated.
"I worked a shift."
"In the engines?"
He nodded, pouring himself a stiff drink.
He closed his eyes as he drank it, savouring the taste.
"Why? We don't need the money?"
Hook sighed and dropped down onto the settee, kicking off his boots.
"You don't need money." He corrected. "I can't sponge off you forever. I owe you too much already."
"I don't expect you to pay me back. I don't need it."
"I'm a gentleman, a bit of a rogue admittedly, but I have some principles still. I'm a man of my word and I'd like to have a shred of honour to my name."
Wendy considered this.
"I..." she looked down at her hands. "I never meant to make you feel like a... a kept man." She mumbled.
Hook snorted at her choice of words. "You're my friend."
"Your companion."
Her forehead creased and she looked away, feeling confused. Companion, was he agreeing or was he correcting her?
"And I'm yours," she added uncertainly.
"Let me do this then."
Wendy bit her lip. He sounded tired, was he tired from his shift or was he tired with her? She nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak. She retreated to the bathroom, mentally chiding herself. She was hundreds of years old, she should be passed feeling sensitive – but just then, irrational tears were pricking her eyes.
Hook continued to work in the engine room, creating a buzz of speculation on-board. A first-class passenger had never before undertaken paid labour and they couldn't fathom what would motivate him to do such a thing. Hook remained mute to all questions, not matter how cleverly they were phrased.
The crew determined that he was an eccentric. The first-class passengers exchanged horrified whispers that he was insane, clucking together that they thought he should be sent off at the next port. The matrons and dowagers declared that they were scared for their lives when they passed him in the corridor, 'for you see there's something quite beastly about his eyes.' The ladies giggled and sighed over him, thinking him tragically romantic.
Wendy endured the pitying looks that were cast her way. As the days passed, she grew more and more glum and surly. It was noted by the gossips that, 'there's barely anything child-like about her' and is was agreed that she was, 'the queerest of children.' For she never played any games with the other children. When she was on deck she preferred to stand alone, looking out to sea.
Eight nights into their crossing, Hook and Wendy were barely speaking to one another. Wendy maintained a sombre expression as they ate and Hook thought she was going to fall asleep without exchanging a word with him, as she had the night before. But instead, she went to the bathroom and came back with a lotion.
"It's for your back." She explained.
"Thank you." Hook murmured, feeling strangely awkward. Wendy couldn't bare him being polite with her. She wanted things to return to how they'd been before, not to become strangers to one another.
"Remove your shirt," she directed briskly.
"I – you don't – I..." Hook stammered.
Wendy shoved him into a chair, unbuttoning his shirt herself.
"I've seen it all already, no need to be modest." She chided. Her fingers brushed against his smooth chest and Wendy felt her cheeks heat up. She shook her head, hoping that he hadn't noticed. Blushing, that was for teenagers – not ancient folk like her.
She put the oil on her hands and rubbed it into his shoulders, massaging out the knots. She worked in silence at first but her gaze fell on his hands. The nails were dirty and broken. Wendy remembered working in engine rooms, they were hot like a furnace – filled with smoke and noise. "Please stop this." She hadn't intended to say anything, but the words came out unbidden.
Now she'd started though, she supposed that she might as well continue. "Don't punish yourself like this. I'll spend less money if it bothers you, only stop."
Hook jutted out his chin proudly.
"Didn't you once work like this? You slaved away to make your riches. I can't dine on your sweat and tears."
Wendy considered this. She'd had many grim jobs – on ships, down mines and up chimneys but that hadn't been the only source of her income.
"I enjoyed earning that money. I told you I worked in an engine room, but that was a long time ago. I made the cash I have now from writing."
Hook turned to look up at her, trying to see if she was lying.
"Writing?"
She nodded.
"I've written stories and plays. Years ago now though, I invested the profits and that's what made me wealthy."
"Which master pieces are your own?"
Wendy told him her various pen names. Some he'd never heard of, her early work had failed to gain any popularity, but some stories he was able to name just from the pen name. There were considered classic literature now. That was strange. He knew she was immortal, but still – knowing how old some of her stories were now was a stark reminder.
"I studied one of your plays, it was dark. Wait, my old schoolmaster said the writer was a pupil of theologian Vu. You knew Vu?" Vu was famous, he was the father of modern medicine. Wendy shrugged.
"I gave him the money to open his first school."
Hook's grin matched her own.
She gave his shoulders a squeeze.
"So, stop working so hard. One day, I'll buy you a ship and a crew – and you can make me back my investment tenfold, like he did. Until then, keep me company. I'm bored without you with me."
He barked a laugh.
"And here, I thought your entreaties stemmed from caring – but it was in fact a selfish request."
"Very selfish, will you grant it?"
Hook considered this.
"I will make you millions," he promised.
"I expect not a penny less." Wendy hugged him from behind, smiling happily. All her anxieties and depression of the last few days had been lifted by a single conversation – and having Hook smile at her once more.
Hook smiled also, resting his hand over hers. She really was the most remarkable thing he'd ever encountered – he just couldn't compete. He'd never be her equal. The radio buzzed in the background.
"Is it broken?" Hook asked. Wendy shook her head.
"I've been tinkering with it."
She let him go and walked over to the coffee table. The radio was a mess of wires in the back from her operations on it. She carefully turned the dials. "I've set it to pick up the captain's transmissions." She leant closer, her tongue sticking out in concentration. "He must be receiving something."
The static voice came through.
"....requesting immediate assistance!" In the background of the transmission they heard it – TICK TOCK. It was the crocodile's countdown. Hook paled. "I repeat. We are under attack – bloods help us, they're taking the children!"
Hook swiped at the table, knocking the radio over and terminating the transmission.
"Hey, what-?!" Wendy exclaimed, but then she saw Hook's face and her words froze.
He'd covered his ears and was hunching over, his teeth clenched as fear clawed through him. The tick tock, the endless ticking – it sent a coldness through him.
"They'll be transmitting to nearby ships. We must be close to the island that came from."
Hook sank down into a chair, his legs turning weak beneath him. "This isn't a war vessel," Wendy mused, "the captain isn't going to put the passengers at risk. He'll turn around and make for a safe harbour."
Hook breathed deeply, in through his nose – out through his mouth. "Hook, are you ok?" Wendy asked, crouching down in front of him. He nodded, but put an arm out – gesturing for her to stay back. Wendy bit her lip, puzzling on what she should do. Hook was clearly experiencing a panic attack but they needed to react fast if they were going to help the islanders. She forced herself to be patient for a couple more minutes. Beads of sweat were shining on Hook's forehead but his hand did gradually unclench.
Satisfied that he was going to be alright, Wendy straightened up and rushed to her bedroom. She quickly changed from her dress and into a more sensible shirt and pants ensemble. The laces of her boots were fiddly and she was stressed out about how much time she wasted when she finally grabbed her satchel from the side and hurtled back into the living room. Hook was on his feet now, a fresh drink in hand.
Darting to the coffee table, Wendy opened the drawer and pulled out the dagger she'd hidden inside. She secreted the blade in her boot. She had a firearm in her bag also, hidden in the satchel's lining. The colour had returned to Hook's face. He saw what she was doing and stared at her curiously.
"I'll pay the captain to set us down in a rowing boat." She explained. Hook grabbed her wrist.
"You can't mean it?" He questioned, horrified.
"You heard them, they need help."
Hooks fingers were cold and clammy. He kept shaking his head, not meeting her eyes and Wendy's heart sank. "You're not going to come with me?" She realised.
Hook dropped her wrist and hung his head shamefully. He couldn't explain to her, not in words, what it had been like to be the Crocodile's prisoner. He'd rather die than return to that hell.
He'd set himself on fire first. He couldn't find the words but he knew, knew that he could never row a boat towards the Crocodile's flag ship. His feet rooted to the spot, refusing to take a step toward her. He couldn't do this.
"They need us," Wendy argued, her gaze beseeching. "It's the right thing to do."
Hook's expression lost and afraid.
"I can't," he moaned. Wendy clutched the strap of her back, her knuckles turning white. "Don't go." He pleaded. "If you do, we might not find each other again."
Wendy turned her back on him, her steps slow and heavy as she approached the door. Never be cowardly, it had been her promise to herself. Pan had nearly destroyed her but she'd sworn, as a way to survive the years that crawled by, that she would live by doing what was right. She stopped in the doorway.
"We probably won't." The idea of being alone again made her shoulders tremble. She turned back and suddenly seized Hook's face, kissing his forehead. "I wish that you'd come with me."
"I can't."
He watched her leave, her frail form silent and shadow-less as she ran down the corridor, tears in her large baby blue eyes. He covered his face, stooping over and released an anguished cry. The one thing he'd never thought he'd do, he'd let her go.
Captain Disney retreated to his quarters, his pocket weighted down by a fat wedge of notes. The stars shone above, in a clear night's sky, but he didn't spare a glance at them. He sighed as he shut his cabin's door behind, hoping to shut out the events of that night. He'd resisted Wendy's request at first, she was only a child after all, but the money had bought him in the end and he reasoned that he could deny it all later.
He'd claim that she'd stolen the boat if he was ever questioned about it. Nothing could be proven against him. He hid the money in a pair of shoes. It would pay off all his dates and pay his sons tuition fees. In the end, it had been too much for him to resist.
On the deck, two crewmen quietly helped Wendy to ready a lifeboat.
"Ah, Mister," one of the crewmen straightened up suddenly, "you come for her, sorry we nearly helped her away – was the captains orders."
"I've come to help." Hook retorted gruffly.
Hook helped to get the boat ready to lower over the side. With his directions, they were quick. Wendy watched him in silence. She furtively wiped the tears from her eyes, hoping that he wouldn't notice. Hook turned to her without comment, lifting her up and setting her down into the little boat. Then he surprised her, by getting in opposite her. There wasn't enough room for his long legs, so he stretched them out either side of her.
"Lower us," he commanded.
"Are you sure, mister?"
"Come, come – you blithering idiots – do as I say." He snapped. His thick brows were so furrowed that he looked like a furious owl.
"You're really coming with me?" Wendy whispered. They were jerkily lowered down into the sea.
"I'm going to look after you." He was glaring out to sea, a man steeling himself for battle. Wendy swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.