A/N: I really wanted to explore Emma's childhood and well Peter Pan and this happened.

There was something about a heart that gave it a distinct rhythm, setting it apart from the rest. If you were attuned to the sound of the one you sought you could pick it out from across an ocean or even if it lay in a distant land. It so happened that the sound that was now engrained in him had led him here to this strange place where magic lay dormant and those who believed were ridiculed. It was here he lay in wait till darkness fell so he could finally make his move.

He didn't usually make the trips himself but with a job like this he'd never trust anyone else, not even his own shadow, especially not his own shadow. With the heart of the truest believer came power, enough power to set free all that he had spent decades building. He had come here alone and he would not leave without the heart or the one who possessed it.

The steady beating came from a ratty looking window in a dingy neighbourhood with no curtain to keep the chill out, how ironic, if only they knew what was housed inside. It probably wasn't locked either. A pity really, all the best fun was locked away and it was usually his job to break in. Ah well, there were other ways to have fun. Adjusting himself so he was cross-legged even as he floated, he reached for his pipe. He'd fill the night with a melody for the unloved and the lost and wait for them to wake.

Halfway through his second song he paused. There was a thrumming of hearts beating together in the room, not one or two but seven and they were all rising to his music. If he didn't know better he would even say that this was a-it was an orphanage, of course, he'd missed the dusty sign hanging at the front of the building. A home for lost children. It would not do to wake all of them; appeasing seven children at once was just a waste of time. No, it would be better to simply find the one he desired and leave.

He moved to the window, sliding it open with ease and stepped into the still dark room. It smelled of dampness and rot and he guessed it hadn't been cleaned properly in years. There were dark shapes stirring in their sleep, each curled up in a tiny bunk against the wall. With a wave of his hand he ensured that they would not rise until dawn. He had no use for them. Orphanages were too easy to prey on; there was just no fun in stealing away little boys who'd lost all hope. Pan liked them with fire and a will to live. He picked the ones who let themselves feel the magic that surrounded them when they heard his pipe even if they couldn't see it. Sure, it was a setback that the heart of the truest believer lived among those that had long since accepted their fate but perhaps its power had left it untarnished.

As he stepped out of the shadows so he could assess where it rested he felt something hard against his back. Stiffening by instinct, he listened; ragged breathing desperate to be controlled, an elbow knocking against the wall and the sound of a beating heart that he recognised. But something was wrong. After memorising the rhythm for years he'd be able to pick it out anywhere and while this one here was strikingly similar, listening to it now with only inches between them he could hear the subtle differences.

He clenched his jaw, Pan always got what he came for and he hated disappointment.

"Stop," cried a voice as he was about to turn. The thing against his back dug harder into his shoulder blades making him stand up straight. "Do not turn. I'm warning you."

It might as well have been an invitation. He turned to face the hooded figure, a foot shorter than him and armed with a broom handle. "That wasn't quite the welcome I was hoping for but it was rude of me to leave the window open I suppose," he shrugged. "Would you like me to shut it?"

"Leave now before I call the Police."

"They sound dangerous but I'm afraid I can't do that."

The figure shifted from foot to foot and he took the opportunity to summon a gust of wind, strong enough to make the nearest blanket rustle and blow back the hood from his assailant's face.

Her breath hitched as she took a half-step back before narrowing her eyes, apparently deciding to stand her ground.

His reaction would have been more eloquent had he not been so surprised. "You're a girl?"

She nodded, blonde hair still blowing wildly as she tightened her grip on the broom handle. "I know who you are."

"Really?" he asked, forcing his smirk back and tilting his head as he did when he was teasing his boys. "Tell me, Emma Swan. Who am I?"

"How do you know my name?" she demanded, weapon hand twitching dangerously. It really was quite amusing. Did she honestly believe she could assault him with that?

"I'll tell you if you tell me how you know mine."

"You're Peter Pan. They made a movie about you." She watched him suspiciously. "How do you know my name?"

"It's carved into your best post," he gestured to the only empty bed in the cramped room.

"Well what do you want?"

"Now, now, I believe it's my turn to ask you a question."

"This isn't a game, Peter Pan. You're not real. That song you played before wasn't real and I'm not supposed to be imagining these things anymore."

He pretended to be affronted. "Not real? How rude! To think I was all set to offer you the most marvelous adventure. Wait-you heard the song?"

She nodded soberly. "It woke me."

Pan reached for his pipe again, watching the girl carefully as he played. She shivered the second he began before swaying lightly on her feet like she was dreaming. "That's never happened before," he muttered under his breath. First it was the heartbeat and now she could hear the song of the Lost Boys. Who was this Emma Swan? None of the girls he'd played for before had been able to hear his music. To Emma he said, "Forgive me for intruding. It looks like you know all about me so I suppose you know what happens next?"

"You take me away to Neverland and we fight Captain Hook together and the Crocodile that swallowed the clock with Tinkerbell and her fairy dust although I really didn't like her that much... but that is...if..." she looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, "if you were really here."

"Emma Swan, you really are not as clever as I thought you were. Although I don't know why I thought you were clever at all. You threatened me with a broomstick!"

"I'm plenty clever," huffed the girl, the determined look back again. Good. He liked it that way. He dodged lightly when she thrust the broomstick forward to remind him that she still held it, or perhaps to reassure herself. "Edna says that if I continue to believe every ridiculous story ever told to me when I was a child she will toss me to the institute and do you know what they do to people there?" Pan shook his head. He had to admit he was intrigued by the creeping sense of fear in her voice and this Edna sounded like a pain as well. Perhaps a visit from the Shadow was in order? "They give you endless pills and dozens of injections everyday and once you're in there you can never escape."

It sounded a bit like Neverland but without the magic of it all. "Are you not a child now, Emma Swan?"

The seemed to have been caught off guard by the question. She considered it for a few seconds before tensing and shaking her head."No...I-I don't know."

"Well, where I'm from there is no Edna to tell us what we can and cannot believe. We have fairies and mermaids and ships that travel between worlds. I taught your Captain Hook how to open up one of those portals once."

"But Captain Hook is evil!"

Peter laughed. "No one is evil. Not really. I've never met anyone without something holding them back."

"So you didn't feed Hook's hand to the Crocodile?"

"I think you're tales are incredibly mixed up. What other stories have your people been spreading of Neverland?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you promise to tell me what really happened there."

"Excellent, let's make a deal."

"And you won't cheat your way out?"

"You'll just have to trust me. I don't know what they've told you about me, Emma Swan but I can keep a promise."

She bit her lip, staring thoughtfully at the pipe he still held in his hands. Finally she seemed to make up her mind and beckoned to her bed where they sat cross-legged together, heads bent so they wouldn't bump into the bunk above. "So, have you met Wendy Darling yet?"

She tried to explain the idea of movies to him, a concept he found quite fantastical really. It was unbelievable they had even survived in a land without magic but the things they were able to do had always fascinated him.

In return she'd listened almost studiously to every word and every tale he offered about Neverland. She watched him closely like she was trying to gage whether he was telling the truth and at times when he had to leave out some of the details like the true nature of the shadow or his own quest for the heart he had believed belonged to her, he almost suspected that she knew what he was evading. He swiftly moved away from those stories and talked instead of camp fires and feasts and the places he had explored with the Lost Boys for company. She seemed fixed on the idea of the Lost Boys. She listened almost wistfully, asking endless questions about life in the woods, taking it all in like she was making a mental note of it somewhere. Every time the story deviated from the odd ones she had learned she frowned but let him carry on.

It was easy to get lost in his own tale and it was easy to lose track of time. An audience captivated not by terror or the sheer force of his magic but by his words alone was a refreshing change from home. They talked for hours, until the starry night had faded to navy blue with hints of red signalling the sun's rise.

When he chanced a look out of the open window and realized with a start that he had spent far too long here. "Red sky at morning..." he murmured, shaking his head, "I have to go, Emma"

"Please stay, I haven't had anyone to talk to in so long."

She stared at him, wide eyes begging and he sighed. "What about them?" he gestured to the other children who were beginning to stir and cough and turn again as the sleeping spell began to wear off. "You have them."

"You don't understand. They-we can't be friends, not if we want to survive in this place. There's no such thing as friends here. We're all alone."

Aren't we all? He supposed it was like being with the Lost Boys – every boy for himself. It was lonely living that way. Wasn't that why he'd insisted on the endless celebrations and the jolly parties? He needed them to make his self imposed exile bearable. In all honesty he really could have built his island fortress and continued his quest without them but it was far too boring a thought to even imagine. Besides, they would adore him when he succeeded. Everyone in the magical realms would adore him. He didn't know what connection this Emma Swan had with the heart he searched for but he did not need to befriend her to find out. He owed her nothing.

"I can't take you with me. You're a girl. There'd be no place for you on Neverland. Remember what happened in the tale you told me about Wendy Darling. It would never work."

"Please?"

Peter shook his head, feeling a hint of sadness. He didn't like sadness. It was too raw an emotion and all it brought with it was loneliness and that he would not allow. He took it as his cue to leave, climbing up onto the window frame. He owed her nothing.

Emma let out a frustrated sigh, curling her hands tightly into her sheets. "Will you at least visit me tomorrow?"

"Perhaps I will."

To be continued. DUN DUN DUN!

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