AN: Okay, so I can't help it, I saw tension between Pan and Emma and this happened. Only, I felt creepy, because Pan's so young… so I tried to make it less creepy… by playing of the fact that Pan is in fact older than all of them, but it's still creepy. Sorry.

~O~

Meeting her was different, so very different, from how he thought it would be. She hadn't hesitated to flick her wrist; changing the angle on the knife, as she surged forwards, invading his personal space with a rough sort of force that no one had dared try with him in years. And she didn't even realise, her eyes were steel—as was her tone, as she'd demanded the whereabouts of her son.

He hadn't expected the shiver, part fear, part pleasure, that tingled down his spine.

It was odd. And so very unexpected.

The boy—Henry—had been a certainty. A true believer, with a heart that pulsed and flared like a beacon, and now he was here; in Neverland, and Pan was unsure how he ever could have missed him. How he could have ever thought anyone else would have owned such a heart. Impossible.

But this woman, something about her—something unique and wholly unexpected, captured his interest like lighting, sudden and bright and dangerous. A tongue darted out, trailing along his bottom lip at the thought. She was beautiful too, in an unconventional way, as her appearance—soft and fair—became rougher around the edges, the fierceness of her spirit chasing away flawless statuesque beauty and morphed it into a living, and breathing, surviving masterpiece.

Pan could appreciate the roughness; the fire that bubbled and spluttered under the surface, until it couldn't be contained.

He rolled his head backwards against the tree, arching his neck and baring his throat to the world. A breeze, hesitant in its undertaking, licked across his skin. His lashes fluttered shut, feeling not a breeze but a blade against his skin. The hands that held him immobile, one crossed across his chest the other poised by his ear; the sharp sting of metal acting as a bridge between the them, never shook. Not once did a tremor ripple through her fingers, not once did the hand that pressed him to the tree lessen its pressure. He trailed a finger, slender and smooth, across his neck. Had their encounter left a mark? Perhaps a thin red—though more likely pink in its fading anger—line now marred his skin. A spark of pleasure jolted along his nerves.

The memory of her warmed his chest, his mind recalling the heat of another pressed against him. The thrill of danger tinged with—he would say desire were it not a foolish notion, the woman was barely more than a girl and beyond that, when compared to his own life, little more than a babe still struggling to steady the feet beneath her—excitement. He remembered each point of contact, her hand; fingers and palm, her forearm, study and solid across his chest…

He exhaled.

This certainly wasn't part of his plan but he couldn't just ignore her… she was hanging around with the pirate after all. A feeling of distaste rose quickly at the mere thought and all of a sudden Pan wasn't playing anymore. A masterpiece such as she didn't belong in the grubby hands of thieves.

With little more than a thought Pan rolled to his feet, the movement graceful in its effortless execution. The branch upon which he'd been perched barely bowed under the shift in weight.

For now, though he loathed to concede any form of defeat—even if it was merely for the moment as he waited for the correct time—he'd allow the pirate the sizzling presence of the woman a little while longer. Henry was more important. He hadn't waited all these years to succumb to the distractions of a woman. This was why he collected the lost boys. Boys didn't crash through his forest, with eyes that carried storms, and an unflinching, unwavering determination that lit a fire in his blood. Boys didn't move in ways that personified the very idea of the word challenge and defiance and strength.

But until he was through with Henry, he'd push this Emma to her limits, tug at her sanity, uncurl the promise from her lips until he can poke and prod at the darkness he senses lingering just beneath the surface. He'd find out exactly what she was made of—explore how much of a lost girl she truly was…

Neverland has always welcomed survivors, and Pan had always enjoyed testing their resolve.