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proper-goodnight

4 years ago

Like A Light (Rey) (01)

Summary: "I was happy when you took your place at my side and raised your saber to fight with me. You saved me, and that has to mean something to them just as much as it does to me." They couldn't be, the two of them, and she constantly kicked herself for that fact. The resistance wouldn't accept him and it was the only place she felt as if she belonged. Well, except for right then.

Pairing: Ben Solo x Rey

Warnings: Cursing, Violence

Words: ~4K

Rey had never imagined what her death would be like before now.

It would not have been a bad idea to contemplate the possibility. After all, she had been close numerous times. The majority had been before her Jedi training had started when she was nothing more than a scavenger in the scorching deserts of Jakku. Never mind her battles with Kylo Ren, with the Supremacy in the throne room, and basically every strike she had made against the first order since.

Naturally, it had to be her grandfather that finally struck her down.

Family drama at its finest.

Regardless of the how, it was likely that the sensation was very much the same-inviting itself to embrace her with open arms. Welcoming, and warm.

It was urging her to rest. To close her eyes and let her journey end there in the caves of Exogol among the dirt, the ash, the blood.

In the end, it was her exhaustion that won, aching and tired muscles practically screaming. The brightly lit sky blurred above her, ships crashing into flames were becoming mere shapes and the sounds of people screaming-some cheerful, others calling out in outrage, and in scorn-deafened in her ears.

The stench of death and smoke grew further away, her broken body left lying there in the remnants of the war.

Except what she had expected of death never came, she realized as she opened her eyes to nothingness. Unless, this is what was meant to be on the other side?

A voice called out to her; called her name.

She whipped around in the darkness towards the soft melody that housed an edge of authority. It urged the barest trace of a smile that overtook any previous fear she had felt of this unknown place, this in-between.

"General Organa." She greeted the translucent silhouette, her heart practically leaping inside her chest. The previous general's life had transcended the force during her fight with Kylo Ren on Endor, when she had given her own life to pull her son back to the light. Was there some other purpose left unfulfilled?

"Did I fail you, Master?" One tentative step forward, if only to prove that she could. Even if it felt as if she were moving underwater, even if she felt detached from her own body. Her previous master may not have been touching her, but she felt the weight of an embrace holding her upright.

Leia shook her head. Transparency softened her features, her movements fluid and without the burden that came with age-unless that was merely another thing that death would offer, a gift that could come from this place. It gave the woman a more youthful look about her, something akin to peace. "Not yet, but there is more that I need from you."

Rey's head swiveled around like a panoramic view, looking through the very depths of the in-between as though what was needed of her would magically make itself known. It didn't. "This is it." She shrugged helplessly, an eerie sense of calm settling over her. "Why am I here if my journey still continues?"

"The dyad is strong. Even death cannot interfere in some cases."

Her brows pinched together, a different sensation tugging at her subconscious. Something lulling her into a sense of security. It began as a scratching in the back of her head, searching for something inside before giving way to a surprising warmth. Usually, such a sensation she'd shut out, ignore it and hope it would go away of its own accord. Only because it meant that she would give more than she intended, would show a vulnerable side of herself to someone that had no reason for seeing it. Someone she never had the strength to so easily shove out of her life.

Like a voice in the back of her head, he was always there.

Ben.

"It is Ben." Leia voiced her thoughts aloud, echoing into the void. Into nothing. "He is giving you his life force. Destiny speculates that he should come join me and his father, Luke and his grandfather, but the force is demanding otherwise it would seem." She laughed at that, a small dry laugh that didn't quite match the otherwise stoic expression on her face. "There are still plans for you. Both of you. Don't give up on him, Rey."

Rey smiled fighting back tears of joy. A sense of relief welled inside of her. Ben was okay, and Rey-she'd get to go home. To the resistance, to her friends and newfound family that she had found on her own. And to Ben who had every reason to be given a second chance. "I won't." She promised. "I won't let your sacrifice be in vain."

Leia's lips had moved once again, but this time it was inaudible, and no extent of squinting could make out her words. Her transparent figure faded into fog, sweeping away into the non-existent wind and throwing itself into the never ending darkness.

The tugging sensation that she had felt previously yanked her backward into the dark. Then, her back hit nothing. The force knocked the breath from her lungs, and as her eyes flew open, she gasped inward attempting to breathe. It tasted like ash, like smoke, and like death but she was alive. Back in the caves of the Sith.

Above her, fleets of ships plummeted toward the earth, lightning streaked across the sky clad in a red and orange hue, splitting through the clouds of smoke and splitting them apart. Like a light, it burned.

It was beautiful.

Making an attempt to speak had at first been fruitless, her lips parting but no sound coming out. Her throat felt dry, constricted, and flexing her fingers was met with resistance. One hand having grasped around her lightsaber, the other bunching the fabric at someone's waist. Through the damp cold that settled within the cave, warmth radiated through the clothing into her hand.

"Rey," The breathless whisper of her name and Ben was looking at her. Really looking at her, one hand braced around her back, the other coming to rest on her hand.

He helped her to sit up, and her eyes found his face at last.

Silence hung in the air between them only briefly.

"Ben," Came her whisper of response, a brightly lit smile etching itself on her face. "We did it. We won."

Hand coming to rest on his cheek, it tangled in the damp strands of his hair looking into dark but hopeful pools of brown. Tears held in his eyes, settling over a gratified expression.

Drawn in by a sense of longing, a sense of want, of a connection, Rey closed the little distance that filtered between them until their lips met.

Their kiss lasted only a second, lips against lips, his breath on her cold skin, the stench of war surrounding them, threatening to grab hold. At that moment however, nothing else mattered. Nothing except when they parted, and Ben actually smiled, a longing grin followed by a laugh of pure relief, pure hope. Something akin to a genuine happiness Rey hadn't been sure if Ben would ever feel.

He could only nod. His arms around her were tight. "You won." He whispered then, his forehead coming to rest against her own, breathing her in and reveling in the moment as though afraid she would disappear.

Rey didn't let him go.

Around them, the caves of Exogol were lurching, the cracks in the ground opening into bigger indentations that split into chasms. The bodies of their enemies fell through, colliding with the caves walls and disappearing into the endless depths below. Rubble hit the ground and shattered, aiding in the ground's dilapidating state.

It urged Rey to her feet, and although it was a gesture she regretted it was one that had to be done. Untangling herself from Ben, she pulled him upward, catching his slight stumble and the weight he was refusing to put on his right leg. Draping one of his arms across her shoulders, her other hand wrapped around his waist and ushered him forward.

He was hesitating, keeping the majority of his weight on his own. Being much bigger than she was, his weight in his current state was not something she felt he could handle.

"Just lean on me!" Rey ordered, adjusting him on her own. The pair caught each stray stone and crack that happened in their path, and she had to adjust him every few feet, but they pressed on to the only exit that hadn't been blocked by debris or stone walls as the world quite literally fell apart.

Thankfully he listened, even if his eyes stole a glance up at the ceiling caving in. How the crashing ships only aided its impending threat. Briefly, Rey wondered if he was thinking of Luke's betrayal, how he had used his connection to the force to pull the ceiling in on them both…

No, no. Now was not the time to think about that.

They were so slow. So agonizingly slow.

Ahead, a light signaled an exit and she pressed on at a faster pace, even if the effort of supporting his weight warned her against it and her rapidly growing exhaustion. Ben nearly buckled at her side but she forced him upright as the ground continuously opened up behind them, and with every shake it forced her balance to readjust. Rey feared that they would be swallowed up and sent to a fate of nothing, to drown in the neverending darkness opening up…

"What do you want to do when we get home, Ben?" Rey was careful in putting emphasis on the word "we". Of course she wouldn't go home without him. If fate so willed it, she'd likely sit in the cave forever with him even if to rot. Only because if fate would deal him an unfair hand, she would share the burden.

"What?" Ben asked, breathless at her side.

"You can do anything you know," She mused, soft tired gaze fixated forward as she tugged him along. "We could go hunting. I could use a break from training courses for a while, I think." While a lame attempt to keep their focus on something else, Rey ever the positive one still took an attempt to try. To get him to see her, or at least see that he had her. He always did. She had wanted to grab his hand, and in the end she'd taken it. After the end she continued to hold it.

Right now it was one of the few things that made sense.

"I'm… not sure." He answered, breathless. "It… isn't on my list of concerns at the moment."

They burst through the cave's exit, the world outside coming into focus more clearly now. Around them, their world was crumbling, pieces tumbling through the brightly lit sky. When she turned to Ben, he didn't blink, instead gazing upon her as if she were the only important thing to him in that moment. His lips trembled, words forming in his throat but nothing coming to light. It stayed in the back of his complicated mind.

Their urgency remained the priority despite both clearly wanting to stop for rest. Whatever it happened to be was a conversation that had to wait, everything still descending into chaos and the ship that she had driven to Exogol was thankfully intact.

The hand that braced across her shoulder had curled into a fist.

"Come on." Ben said. "We have to go."

Pieces of shattered Star Destroyers and X-Wings crashed nearby, followed by another, and then another. Being in the direct flight path of remnants from the battle, the cracked earth swallowed up the majority of the debris, but she would not let it swallow them up as well.

Readjusting their weight once again, her hand clutched tightly at his own, the other coiling tighter around his waist as they hobbled on to the X-Wing that she had taken there, old but thankfully unscathed. She caught Ben looking around with vague confusion as though something were missing, but for the moment Rey decided against asking him the reason.

Luke's X-Wing should not have made the trip, being submerged in the ocean of the isolated island as long as it was, but Rey was hopeful that it could make the return trip home. Truly, they didn't have much more banking on them than that. "I'm going to have to squeeze you behind the cockpit." She mused aloud much to Ben's distaste as she left him leaning against the rusted metal to climb up one of its wings.

It would be a tight fit, but it had to work. It had to.

Adjusting the pilot's seat forward, unfortunately in Ben's position he wouldn't have enough leg room to stretch out comfortably, but leaving him behind was not even an option she would entertain.

Activating the inner computer, it beeped rapidly as it activated its core systems. The control panel's switch lights turned on one by one, the ship shuddering to life before it was ready for take off.

Behind her, a loud crash forced her to whip around, her gaze catching Ben whom had darted to the side of a flying piece of shrapnel that tumbled into the abyss at their side. She smiled sheepishly at his vaguely irritated expression, climbing down the ship once again to help her companion inside.

To say that she had ever seen Ben annoyed was an understatement. Watching him squeeze behind the cockpit of the X-Wing had been an amusing enough experience as it was, his knees pulled against his chest and squeezed into a corner. It had ushered a laugh from Rey-one that was met with a gentle glare-but she didn't wait around to hear any complaint, settling into the pilot's seat and fumbling for the controls.

With practiced precision, her hands flew over the consoles flipping switches and pressing buttons until the hatch closed over their heads and the hum of the ship drowned out any attempt at conversation as debris pounded relentlessly against their glass cover. She could feel Ben behind her though, his labored breathing, his soft intake of breath as he struggled to deal with his injuries. She couldn't look now, instead focusing on pulling the ship into the air. The communications buzzed as signals attempted to make it through the chaos.

As they ascended into the atmosphere, a signal finally managed to come through. Excited. Cheering. Genuine happiness and celebrating victory.

The resistance.

She jumped as a voice boomed over the comms, filling the empty space in the ship with demanding insistence.

"Rey?! I see the X-Wing. Tell me that's you!"

"Poe, we-" She froze, deciding how much was too much to tell him at that point in time. Already imagining the outrage, the hatred, the demand for answers if they knew the infamous Kylo Ren was on her ship and on his way back to the resistance base. "I'm okay." She assured him, steering directly past the mass of other ships crowding the sky. All resistance, all numerous than what they had originally started with.

So they had heeded their call…

Her heart sank.

"Do you need assistance? We're rendezvousing back on Crait-"

The comm was flipped off with an insistent click and silence settled inside of the cockpit once again. There was nothing. Nothing other than the inner mechanics of the ship and its engine.

Out of the corner of her peripherals, she just caught tousled dark hair propped against the wall, head leaned back with an expression of passiveness. If his pain tolerance was not very high, she may have just heard him gasp, wince, groan, something. Instead, the only sounds that escaped him was his labored breathing and one last tired sigh.

They had made it. Rey had made it. And it was finally quiet.

She was relieved, too.

Until Ben finally spoke.

"I doubt your… friends… the resistance will be happy to see me." She heard him muse from behind her, his words raking her own fears down her spine.

"I know."

"They're only going to see me as Kylo Ren."

"I know."

Rey could feel it, his eyes burning into the back of her head, tense and with a mock anger marking his soft features. Some sort of spark suddenly lit in him, and she didn't have to look back to know that he was frowning, mouth pulled into that usual tight line. "They won't understand. I'm not like your resistance friends. Kylo Ren is still a part of me, even if you refuse to see it. I killed their friends." She heard him inhale sharply. "Their families. Me."

The ship lurched upward with Rey's growing irritation, her motions on the controls becoming more agitated as the ship flew at a much unsteadier pace, away from the resistance fighters, further and further until they were nearly hitting the atmosphere at lightspeed. The ship groaned in protest, but she pushed it harder, even as it quaked fighting against gravity, even with the diagnostics flickering across the screen and warning her against it.

It was a chance at a distraction, focusing all of her attention in keeping the ship in the air. His words stuck with her, each a thread weaving in her mind and forcing her to come to terms with the fact that Ben was right. He was absolutely right, no matter how much she wanted to run from the truth.

The resistance would cast him out to the deepest parts of the galaxy. Alone. They would sooner see him dead than welcome him as their own. He'd taken so many of them, had wreaked havoc amongst the resistance fighters, and they would want to see their vengeance answered. On Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, either way to them, he would always be the same person.

Except, she had promised Leia that she would look after him. That stayed with her, etching itself in the very deepest parts of her being, and she hadn't any intention of breaking it. And Han. He'd given his life in proving that Ben was still inside of Kylo Ren somewhere. It had only taken enough sacrifices to finally pull him back. Their sacrifices couldn't be in vain.

"I know." Rey found herself whispering.

Another sharp intake of breath, and he was gritting his teeth. "Do you remember how you looked at me when we talked back on the island? About how I killed…" He hesitated, and for a moment she almost turned around to see if he hadn't suddenly killed over on her. But then he continued, attempting to form sentences that couldn't quite piece themselves together, or rather trying to pick a certain word. "Han. It's exactly how they will feel, and how they should. They'll remember."

Perhaps it was ridiculous to think that he could wedge himself in with the resistance fighters and attempt to make something of his life. Some things simply didn't heal with time. The legacy of Kylo Ren was one of those things.

But there had to be a way. Had to.

"I will see them all every time I close my eyes. I'll hear them plead and cry before I took their lives from them."

Once more, he paused.

"And I'm sorry."

His apology came so softly, at first she hadn't been sure if she'd heard it. She'd felt it however, that sorrow. His despair, and his grief connected them by a thread through their dyad. His doubt and regret had been kept at a distance, overshadowed by the rage that had pulled him to the dark side because he had been abandoned in a world that didn't make room for him. Because the people closest to him hadn't been there.

The vulnerability she'd felt had initially opened her mind to him. Their shared visions, and with those shared visions, she'd been able to label him as something other than a monster that so many others saw him as.

And Rey wanted to reach for him, wanted to pull him close and break the ocean of emotions constantly threatening to pull him away from her and drown him.

Except, she had her own demons to face first, the truth of her lineage having come to light. It'd been easy at first to push away when she was dying, only because then it hadn't mattered. It'd been easy to pretend the truth wasn't there in her attempts at pulling Ben from the caves. Now that they were there, alive, she had nothing else to do in the uneasy silence than to reflect.

Kylo Ren had been honest with her about the darkness that plagued her bloodline. Coming face to face with her grandfather had slapped the truth in her face, and suddenly the constant pull to the dark side had made so much more sense. It's unwavering enticement, the magnification.

Setting the coordinates, the ship lunged into hyperspace rattling them in their tight confines. Rey turned in her seat just enough to catch Ben in her peripherals, how very human he looked right then in the unwavering solemnity. His walls were gone, his guards shut down. Whatever biting remark she could find died before it could leave her lips and instead she raked a soft glare over him, her lips moving with uncertainty.

"I don't care. I'm not going to leave you." She had promised Leia, and the resolve in her voice was steeled by that. At least, that's what she assured herself it was. It didn't have anything to do with genuine feelings tugging at her heart. No, it was just a promise.

"I was happy when you took your place at my side and raised your saber to fight with me. You saved me, and that has to mean something to them just as much as it does to me." They couldn't be, the two of them, and she constantly kicked herself for that fact. The resistance wouldn't accept him and it was the only place she felt as if she belonged.

Well, except for right then.

She shook her head willing the thoughts away and turned to face forward again. Stars sped by them in burning streaks of light, illuminating the dark vastness of space.

"I don't know if they will see it the way you do." Ben attempted to convince her. "One act of kindness will not atone for several years worth of damage. Several million lives over just one." He reached forward through the cockpit, his fingers brushing against her arm and sending chills down her spine. "Please, Rey." He sounded so soft, so defeated. "I didn't save you to lock you in any sort of debt. I did it…" Again, that hesitation as he picked for the right words. "Because I wanted to. I was worried about you, and I knew that I could."

All at once, his hand retreated, leaving a cold uninviting space between them. The burning sensation left her as he shifted away, instead diverting his attention elsewhere. Not that there was very much to look at in the first place. He must have taken her silence as a well enough answer, as he spoke no more instead leaning his head back with a soft exhalation of breath.

Perhaps he would finally attempt some sort of rest, and her thoughts came true as he requested she wake him up when they arrived, his voice no more than a whisper now as sleep willfully took him over, pulling him into the realm of dreams and nightmares all at once.

She could hear it. His head sliding sideways until it embedded itself in a corner of the ship, labored breathing becoming more soft, his tousled hair draping in front of his eyes like a curtain. Rey spared another glance, and for once he looked at peace within himself, less worried, less alone. A sort of content rested upon his sleeping face, his hands tucked into his lap until the rest of his body followed suit into the corner, a slight arch in his spine.

Turning away and leaning her head back against the cockpit, Rey silently prepared for the worst when they returned.

As The Days Went By You’ve Lost Your Mind

Summary: It did this. Ensured that it would survive through belief and magic if just to change the belief in him, turning him into more of a nightmare than a dream. The Lost Boys’ loyalty grew, but only out of fear, only with the knowledge that he was all they had. The island grew darker, the sunlight bled away and pixie dust became useless. It was Peter’s reality now and it didn’t take long to revel in that change. Strangely, he had learned to enjoy this newfound ferocity.

Pairing: Killian x Wendy, Peter x Wendy

Warnings: Violence, strong language, eventual gore

Chapter 1: Prologue 1 (Wendy)5 Years Prior.

“You know, I quite fancy you from time to time.” He didn’t evoke the same reaction from the crew as Captain Hook. Killain Jones was younger; more inexperienced but easily the tallest person on the main deck. The grace that often came with age hadn’t caught up to him just yet–proving to be lanky and a little awkward as something strong and much more profound held steadfast to a body not fully developed.

When he approached, it was with a sense of ungainly superiority.

The crew, who had been so jovial before, remained as such despite their co-captain making himself present. Had it been their more esteemed captain, they would have only dared to catch each other’s eye as he stalked by, affable only by the mere fact that they had been given permission to shirk their duties for the time being.

“When you’re not yelling that is.” Killian stopped at her side, neglecting to throw his superiority over her. Instead, he leaned over the side of the ship, forearms pressed against the fine woodworking, his head sinking between hunched shoulders to fix his gaze on the steady waves lapping against the port. “Then again, I believe there is more to fear when you’re quiet.”

He meant no ill will, even if every action taken against her and Peter had suggested otherwise. So he had whisked her away from Peter’s company for the second time since her arrival to Neverland? So he had expected her to remain civil despite his clear indifference for Peter and also somewhat clear fascination with kidnapping her?

There were worse things. Standing on the deck with the moon reflecting off the ocean and the sky nothing but cluttered starlight was the farthest from worse that it could be. Quiet had settled into a dreamy haze, the pricking of guitar strings and distant night calls from various creatures echoing. Killian’s voice–the most profound thing–was a deep timber that was as threatening as simultaneously comforting.

If one could consider Killian Jones comforting in any form of the phrase.

Remarks of Captain Hook’s more obvious dislike for Peter Pan were sworn to silence, discussions of the various ways he’d prefer the boy’s head on a stick held steadfast, angry spiteful words that stomped on his name for the sake of his captain nonexistent tonight, nothing but his solid form against torchlight promising that he were the same boy at all.

The same boy with hair an organized mess of brown, facial scruff spotty patches from being in his late teens and only now beginning to grow it in. He wore the proper “pirate attire” so to speak, but one would think of him as the captain if they didn’t know any better; a long coat, and a collection of jewelry that was more extravagant than all of the crew combined.

In a sea of riches, he stuck out amongst it all. She had no trouble recognizing him when he approached her on the island—when he’d approached her on the island and promised not to throw her in the brig, words devoid of harshness with any demand that she actually stay. It was extended as an invitation, while one that assumed would be answered with a yes, still extended with some formality.

Almost gentlemanly.

Wendy had fallen into silence while figuring out his intentions. There were several things wrong with the way his words settled in her stomach—settled a drastic understatement; the correct word verging more on a flip. She refused to focus on deciphering the meaning behind it, the steady breeze tugging flyaways into her eyes, rifling through the underneath of her dress.

Regardless, it still wasn’t strong enough to disturb the serenity of the tree line in the distance.

This too perfect scene, a beauty in the quality of the most picturesque painting in a place so peaceful that it could only exist in pure fantasy. She entertained the idea that it was a fantasy, a dream of the highest quality. Several other places came to mind that she imagined herself to be, none giving her the peace of mind that she found now.

That thought alone proved alarming.

Comfortable silence lingered. Her hands, still held at her sides, put great effort into keeping a divide between them, but her barrier was being chipped away, his voice scraping against its outer wall bit by bit. It was wrong. Everything that Peter had told her, and she was still here. She could have run, could have screamed for help—Peter would have come running. Instead, she had followed without a fight, and didn’t so much as voice a complaint.

Her only hope was that he didn’t catch her stark blush. That entry point, that something that drew one into a person based around the simple fact that he was here—in all of his mystery and impossibilities.

Perhaps it was his charm.

His looks.

No.

“I won’t be involved in any villainy against Peter,” she said with an authority appropriate for business dealings. The only contrast between this and business was the privacy and the intimacy of the moment that felt so unlike anything that she could have predicted.

Something indiscernible and undecipherable stirred inside her.

One look swept over his hands gripping the railing, as abrupt and swift as her many other glances that evening. A part of her wanted to read his mind and solve the mysteries inside that would help to satiate her childish curiosity. She searched for excuses within herself to downplay the conflicting feelings but she could only find a numbing, pricking, and incessant sensation at the center of her chest instead.

Killian cracked a smile, but she didn’t quite sense the joy behind it, but something more resolved. “I didn’t bring you aboard to ask as much,” he said it as mere fact, confident enough to deliver it as a simple truth without the guilt associated with a moral, empathetic man. She knew him as a man of honesty, however harsh that honesty may be.

He was never apologetic about who he was, and whenever she saw a glimpse of Killian Jones, the facticity of him being a pirate hit her full force. At that point, he was closed off to her and Wendy found herself at the very beginning all over again.

“I brought you out here for a toast, actually.” He shrugged, indifferent to her suspicions. “Without the champagne. Your Neverland Prince destroyed what little we had of that after his latest romping.” There was insult behind it, even with the seamlessness in which the words rolled off his tongue, the suaveness in the way he said it offering little room for correction regarding Peter’s honor. “So I’ll wager that you’ll have to make do with my company sober.”

Only when she took one tentative step toward him did he raise his head in order to see her–in all of her depths. The patchy scruff spotting his face was charming, and regardless of their difference in height, she still believed that she stood equal beside him–as equal as she could be. The wind brushed against him, the gentlest breeze pulling and pushing just enough to add something favorable.

It touched her too.

“He isn’t—Peter isn’t my prince.” Wendy retorted, albeit spat with empty defiance. A toast. It wasn’t some ruse to lure Peter from his camp–a space she’d flown upon only to be nearly shot from the sky because of a jealous fairy–nor a sick prank only to ultimately make her walk the plank and let that somehow hurt Peter in the process.

There was no reason for him to be hurt by her disappearance, let alone by her demise anyhow. They’d only just met several weeks ago, after all. Nonetheless, a nagging sensation pricked at the forefront of her mind—the possibility of this somehow being a trap, a game…

Or did he actually just enjoy her company in some twisted way?

Killian smiled, the beginnings of a laugh starting in his throat. Any retort that Peter was everyone’s plaything, that if one were unfortunate enough to end up in his sights, he would have them, was a retort kept to himself–just another harsh truth, if thought so at all. However heinous he may have found her answer to be, one hand shoved him upright from the side of the boat, dragging his attention from the island sitting eerily off the shoreline. He turned to her then, not taking any long moment to look at her, as had become customary between them.

Wendy tried not to appear disappointed.

She was deprived of a sweeping gaze, and a hungry curiosity that couldn’t be satiated and plucked over her form to linger. He’d seen what there was to see, what he wanted her to see, and what he’d found had been good enough.

Or enough to satisfy whatever current urges lingered there still.

“Next time you take it upon yourself to bring me here, you should at the very least offer me a glass of wine.” She dared on impulse, a desperate attempt to downplay the ridiculous softness of her tone before. An abrupt and puzzling longing to appear more grown up than she actually was surprised her, leaning with the small of her back against the railing, easing the tension in her muscles. Her stomach was a mess of excited nerves, her face a soft flush of color.

In a way, she felt as if she were following a rabbit into its hole with the striking knowledge and obvious exception that the pirate standing next to her was neither harmless, nor soft. The tension between them was something more akin to magic, but not quite—rather it was something more scientific and logical.

Despite falling in love with Neverland through the stories that she’d tell her brothers, being in such a place in person had caused her to love it so much more fiercely. Weeks felt like months, adventurous and cherished, spent in the company of Peter and his boys—in Killian’s company as well. Wendy smoothed down her dress, albeit still watching him, the corners of her mouth involuntarily twitching into a faint grin.

“Next time?” He cocked a brow. “I’ll be sure to take note for the occasion.”

Killian perched one elbow on the side of the ship, leaning his head against his fist. The other hovered between them for the barest second before it slipped into quiet submission into one of his coat pockets. He stood at his full overbearing height, turning his gaze out toward the sea, resigned.

“You could look past his petty facade and see him for the bloody demon that he is, you know.” A serious undertone did nothing to betray his lighthearted nature, jests that took his resignation and molded it into something casual. “You’re more intelligent than the average, I’ll certainly give you that, but your judge of character leaves something to be desired.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “What does that say about you?”

One corner of his mouth twitched, a hard solemn tap of his knuckles against the railing not introducing any specific beat, but signaled that whatever thought that crossed his mind had gone and passed.

“And he isn’t a demon.” No, he was just Peter: lively, curious, brave but stubborn Peter. The Lost Boy who would be baffled that she was conversing with his enemy. Every part of her presented the reminder that she should have left a while ago now. Yet she didn’t. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“I leave the hate for Pan to Hook. Their petty squabbles are of little importance to me, but I know how to properly judge a man, or rather a boy.” His expression twisted into a soft grimace, as if whatever unspoken truth that stood between him and Peter was all black and white. Simple, and yet undefinable. As gruesome a story as the one about how Hook gained his name, Killian didn’t seem to back that behind any sort of dislike for Neverland’s Prince.

His complete dismissal of the subject altogether, while disappointing, had been expected.

Her brows furrowed.

Killian didn’t treat him like an irksome fly circling his head; rather a snake swerving between his legs prepared to bite at any given second. Yet, he laughed.

One final time, that sweeping stare found her. It didn’t dwell, and held no lust behind it except for the barest possibility in its place—as if he knew or rather sensed something was unspoken there, some sort of interest of the other that had piqued them both. He hadn’t the gull to act on any form of instinct lest he be wrong, and while Killian may not have been a liar, he most certainly held his fair share of being wrong.

“Why don’t you join me?” He offered underneath a lowered brow.

What started out as a startling conviction ended with his chin jerking toward the middle of the deck, and the low strum of instruments along with the low hum of a tune whispering sweet nothings against their ears—albeit still struggling to dissolve the sudden spike of energy.

“For a dance,” Killian finished with a shrug; a smirk. “We don’t have much else to occupy our time without the wine this time around. Any leisurely activities are rather useless without it.” He spoke and held himself with such intimidating confidence, and she once again reminded herself that she should have left.

Somewhere buried, her mind couldn’t decipher what to do with Killian Jones. She thought about declining the invitation, but quite frankly didn’t have it in her. This was a man who had fought Peter Pan alongside his crew’s side countless times, had witnessed who was presumably a close friend lose his hand and watch it be fed to a set of crocodiles.

Most men would have retreated after such an event, made humble by defeat. He seemed confident, powerful, and maybe even more frightening because of his loss. Oh, how Peter had bragged; passed it off as mere child’s play—a game, but also an unnerving story.

She should have shunned his invitation, even standing there with him now. A part of her didn’t want to bury her head under the sand and keep quiet either.

Why wasn’t Killian angry?

And why wasn’t Wendy afraid? She’d lost her mind, surely. There was no real fear, and she reminded herself that there were certain rules in Neverland—not any she knew were written down for record, but figured were obvious enough for newcomers to figure out on their own.

Do not fall for a criminal.

Do not dance with a ruthless, cold-blooded pirate.

Rules were meant to be broken, with a crash and rebellion for someone who clearly didn’t fit.

“I’d be delighted,” Wendy quipped, dropping into a small curtsy. Her anticipation was difficult to mask, the timid smile upon her lips curving contentedly and betraying any attempt to remain stoic.

It was an impossibility to avoid, his charming manner evoking a child-like giddiness in her, very much like hearing a secret for the first time. It struck her with guilt, but she took another deliberate step toward him, an almost dreamy ease to her expression, eyes alert yet fluttering as if dosed with some form of sedative.

Killian’s expression mirrored her own, extending a gloved hand to her in order to lead her to an open space on the deck. He didn’t stop until his polished boots came to the middle, an area subconsciously reserved for the two of them—out in the open of the pirates, even Neverland itself to see them. Dark eyes freely strayed to her again, relieving his hands from their gloved confines—finger by finger, agonizingly slow before even they were retired to the pockets of his coat.

“My asking was me merely being a gentleman, but having your outright permission is swell indeed.” His bare palm pressed against her own, interlacing their fingers and raising them to a position where he could better glimpse—one flicker of a glance to the side that didn’t obscure his ability to look at her fully. To feel the growing warmth that resonated from his skin to hers made her entire being swell with heat. Not out of embarrassment or any general discomfort, rather quite the opposite.

Comfort.

Confidence.

Exposing his hands so freely to her made her imagine him as strangely vulnerable in a way, as if opening a part of himself to her that he shared with no one else: a thought that pricked her when his other hand snaked around her waist and gently lingered against the small of her back to tug her closer. She could bask in the warmth that he radiated, revel in the heat that flowed between their intertwined fingers.

Electricity surged through her body the moment he touched her. Her pulse pounded in her ears, harsh as thunder. He stood so close, the moment unspeakably intimate, like a quiet understanding or a word scribbled on a blank slate. Her steps were light and practiced.

How could a man who had the reputation of being so brutal touch her so gently, or sway with her so softly? With each thrum of her racing heart, Wendy felt her legs trembling. Everything else became more obscured, and a little more irrelevant.

But she couldn’t look.

In a strange way, it was easier to look at him when he was leaving, and in the beauty of the vanishing sunset in the distance, she wondered how she had never seen him before now. Actually see him. Really looked as she was now, mustering up the bravery to let eyes linger on certain aspects.

Killian took the first step. “Did they teach you how to dance properly in those London nurseries?”

"Luckily they did."

Wendy’s eyes fluttered when she forced her gaze upward, goosebumps running the length of her skin. She subconsciously squeezed his hand, delicately, shakily as if to make sure that he was really there, that this was somehow real. It was surprising how warm he was, having always assumed in her stories that such a villain was cold to his very core.

The vanishing sunset skinned the skyline, dark as a bruise but red as blood. A part of her feared losing this, the strains of her heartbeat telling her so. Losing Neverland. Losing Peter.

Losing Killian Jones.

The deck was hard beneath her feet. Her firm set jaw and pensive glare seemed to mark the fact that she was reflecting, slow dancing with the very pirate who was after her friend. It unnerved her. She could not fathom his purpose in all of this.

But her musings dissolved, gradually replaced by a fiery intensity burning in her stomach instead. She stared at him, savored a particular look on his face, soaking in the central feeling that he gave her.

Killian squeezed her hand in return, no particular reasoning behind it if only to copy her gesture without understanding its full meaning. At least for her side. Her steps were graceful—much unlike his own—but he managed to keep up with her well enough. The way she placed her feet one after the other was led by multiple dances in the past, multiple partners adapting to different styles.

But none quite like this.

“Well, I may not be the most well behaved man on the island, but-” He began, his voice finding a new sense of formality. It was as if his whole composure changed in the blink of an eye, as if he was coming to realize he shouldn’t be dancing with her. Though that switch only depicted itself in his tone of voice.

Killian actually drew her closer to his body, his foot hooking against the back of her heel and sweeping her feet out from underneath her into one final step in their dance; the dip. He lowered her in his arms, relishing to see the color drain from her face if fate willed it so and thought itself a comedian. A sly smirk found his lips. “I’ll wager I’m a lucky man to be given the honor of your company.”