Well, I should probably say something at the beginning of this chapter, shouldn't I? I've been mulling over this story for about a month, and finally decided I should act upon it. It's writing incredibly easy so far; this chapter was written and editing over the course of twenty four hours. Hopefully that fact doesn't show too much. XD It hasn't been brought up so far, but I figured I'd cover it now before it does: I am aware that OUaT already has an Abigail character (Catherine, aka Midas' daughter, aka Charming's former...fiance/wife? This is somewhat confusing...). I really don't care. Abby was the name that's stuck in my head since I came up with this, so Abby it is. P.S. don't expect chapters to pop up quite this often most of the time. I just so happened to have today off from work, and therefore had gobs of time to write this. Constructive reviews are always appreciated. :)

2 – "To die would be an awfully big adventure." J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan

Abby awoke in an entirely different circumstance than she ever would have expected, given her last memories. As she groaned, gently rubbing the back of her head where a rather solid lump had developed since the last time she'd checked, her chocolate brown gaze scanned her surroundings. She had been laid down on a small but comfortable bed, pushed up against a bookcase in what appeared to be a sudden manner. The room was a vast one, with another much larger bed across from her and a desk nearby. The wall opposite to her held a second bookcase, both filled to the brim with novels of various sorts and nautical themed trinkets. Maps hung along the bare walls, portraying countries both familiar and strange, and a magnificent portrait of a ship suspended behind the desk. Half of the room was basked in the halfhearted, goldenrod glow of sunrise, given off by the long line of curving windows behind the main bed. Overall, it was a better living arrangement than her own home, though she hated to admit it.

She pulled her knees up to her chin, resting her cheek on them as she assessed her arrangement. While seemingly pleasant, it was less than ideal. She had become a prisoner of Neverland's pirates mere minutes after her arrival in the country, much to her anger and amazement. She was being held in an excellent, yet unknown at the moment, location. The blow to her head had lost her very nearly an entire day, if not more, seeing as her entrance had been midmorning originally. She had been stripped of her dagger, slingshot, bag of rocks, and, surprisingly, her belt buckle. It wasn't the first time it had been taken; this one was the fifth made by her in less than a year. Yet each time it was taken, it left her somewhat hollow, as if they took a portion of her soul with it. She winced inwardly at the ridiculousness of such a glorified metaphor; she could easily make another, after all, and certainly would at the first opportunity, but she had been particularly fond of this one. It was created from the skin of a chimera she had fought, predominantly coming from the snake tail portion of the beast. While snakes were common enough creatures in themselves, the snake of a chimera possessed a unique bluish tinge and very strong magical properties. She adored that buckle almost more than the original one she made the day she set off on her adventures, but she attempted to push her foolish sentimentality aside. Once freed, she would find more material and make another, simple as that.

Deciding that her relaxed position had been sustained long enough, she stretched her legs over the side of the bed, gingerly allowing her bare feet to brush the polished wooden floor. She leaned forward and her head spun, a rushing sound filling her ears. Perhaps standing was not the most brilliant plan of action she could take as of yet. As she slowly leaned her head back against the bookcase, a sudden yet subtle movement from the opposite bed jolted her forward. She grimaced as her scull throbbed, but she forced herself to stand, wobbling slightly as the floor shifted, proving that wherever she was, it was located on the sea. She cautiously and slowly approached the bedside, curiosity beating out sensibility. What she found was startling, to say the least.

He was a fairly attractive young man, possibly a bit older than she was. His black hair fell lazily over his face as he slept, an ever so slightly distressed expression set into his jaw. The beard and mustache, certainly well taken care of in most situations, had turned somewhat wild, as if he hadn't the time to care for it properly the day before. He lay completely outside of the covers, leaving her to assume that his exhaustion had allowed him only the chance to reach the bed before he slumped down upon it. His breathing, while uncomfortably low and mellow, had a slight hitch to it, hinting at a bad dream that kept him from fully sleeping peacefully. Where his left hand ought to have been, a shining, lethal looking hook resided instead.

"What are you doing?!" a voice, half-demanding and half-terrified, asked from behind her. Abby whirled about, momentarily catching a glimpse of a rather plump man in a ridiculous red cap before her knees buckled, setting her onto the edge of the bed with a hard thump. Her head reeled, unsettling her stomach greatly as she attempted to clear her vision. Surprisingly, the sleeping man did not react to the sudden movement so close at his side. Once she could see properly again, she glared at the man in the doorway.

"I won't ask again," he said, the grumble in his voice akin more to a quiver of fear than anger. "What were you doing?"

Her irritation at the stranger resulted in unintentional sarcasm, her eyes rolling as she replied. "That blow to the head one of your men was kind enough to deliver had a dangerous effect on my intelligence, I fear, causing me to instantaneously fall in love with this man here. I was just about to awaken him with a kiss when you so rudely interrupted. Dear God, man, whatever did you think I was doing?"

A smirk came to the man's face, leaving Abby to wonder if her sarcasm was not quite apparent enough. He strolled forward, thumbs tucked into his jacket, to stand at her side.

"Funny you should mention it, actually," he stated, the smirk furthered in his tone. She narrowed her eyes in response. "That's precisely why you've been brought here, you see."

She refused to allow her shock to show on her face. Was he insinuating what she thought? That she was this man's…plaything? She supposed it could be worse – he was rather handsome – but she had not spent the last ten months proving her worth to become a pirate's pet. She certainly refused to be spoken of in such a way by this pathetic excuse for a man.

Even in her stricken state, she was able to stand and firmly grasp the fellow's throat in her iron fingers before he could even consider reacting. He let out a strangled cry, face bright with surprise and honest fear, as she furthered her opinion with her words.

"I'm afraid there has been a rather grave misunderstanding here, sir," she muttered smoothly, emphasizing the mocking sentiment. "You see, Abigail Taylor is not one to be commanded about in such a manner, and certainly not one to do anything she does not please. Therefore, you will understand when I state rather firmly that what you may be implying shall not come to pass. I suggest you chose your next words wisely."

He let out a bellowing gasp as she released him, sinking to his knees as he attempted to gather back his breath. Once he had done so, his gaze raised to hers, an inkling of respect in his small eyes. "I did not mean to sound so…improper," he sputtered, slowly rising to his feet. He glanced at the sleeping man, a slightly troubled look crossing his face. "Perhaps this is not the place for such a discussion. Would you care for some tea, Miss Taylor?"

She sat at a high counter, a simple cup of tea grasped in her hands. Considering it was the galley of a pirate ship, the room was exceptionally clean and well kept. Her companion sat across from her, studying her intently rather than enjoying his own drink. Using him as an indication, she did the same, brown eyes meeting his blue ones steadily. Finally, she broke their silence.

"You know mine; now might I inquire as to your name?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea. She'd had better, but it was a pirate ship, she reminded herself. He seemed startled by her question, his cheeks instantly growing red. He attempted to hide his embarrassment in his tea.

"Smee," he managed, clearing his throat. "My apologies, Miss Taylor, I hadn't realized – "

She brushed his comments off with the wave of her hand. "No need, Mr. Smee. And please, it's Abby. It's pointless to refer to your prisoner in such cordial terms."

"It is not our intention to hold you captive, Miss Abby," he replied, causing her to smile grimly. "I'm simply following orders."

"If I'm not a prisoner, what precisely is my purpose here? May I leave whenever I please?'

Smee chuckled, startling her. "Afraid not. You see, we need you to do us a…ah…favor, so to speak."

She watched him stoically, motionless except for a single finger stroking her mug. "And if I refuse?"

"Then our circumstances change."

She paused to consider. She came in search of adventure, didn't she? What was to say that this was not what fate had intended for her? Though she thought little of the idea of fate in general, she could not help but feel foolish if she did not mull over an opportunity when it was so easily provided for her. She could hear his proposition, if nothing else; certainly there was little harm in that. "I'm listening."

Smee rose to his feet, motioning her to follow. They made their way back to the room she first awoke in, where the man still slept. She was astonished that all of the activity from before had not caused him to stir. Smee led her to his side.

"This is Hook. Our captain." Her eyebrows rose slightly as she studied him with more interest.

"His name is Hook?" she asked, unable to hide the mirth from her voice. "How…original." Her gaze darted amusedly between the man's hook and Smee's face. Smee did not share her amusement.

"His real name is Killian Jones," he barked back in annoyance. "After he lost his hand to the Dark One, he decided a name change was appropriate."

So the captain had had a disagreement with Rumplestiltskin as well. She wouldn't consider herself a direct enemy of the sorcerer, but in the few encounters she'd had with the man, they did not see eye to eye. The sudden connection made particularly curious to discover more.

"What he calls himself isn't important," Smee continued, a slight shadow crossing his face as he glanced down at his captain. "He's been cursed. A sleeping spell."

"Hmm." She sat at Hook's side, reaching forward to lift one of his eyelids. The bright blue eye that greeted her was emotionless, watching her indifferently. She let the lid fall and turned back to Smee. "But he appears to be breathing – I thought sleeping curses made their victims seem nearly dead."

Smee shook his head, shrugging. "No one knows what exactly happened. He was alone at the time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment, handing it to her. She took it and quickly read. On it was only a single word.

"'Enjoy'?" she asked, raising a brow. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"We don't know. We can't even be sure who it's from, but we have a guess."

"Rumplestiltskin," she muttered, studying the script. It sounded like something he would say, and he was more than capable of manipulating such a spell to meet his needs. She handed back the note and stared at him pointedly. "I'm beginning to understand my purpose for becoming your crew's guest, Mr. Smee, but I can't say as I approve."

He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "Yes, well…you're probably right." He sighed, rubbing his arm and pointedly avoiding making eye contact. Finally, he allowed his gaze to meet hers.

"We need you to kiss him."