Chapter 2
Hands on her hips, Regina waggles her head back and forth. "Hook, our leader? I don't think so!" Defiantly, she snaps her fingers in the air and little purple lighting bolts issue from her manicured nails.
Snow chips in, "For once, I agree with you." The snapping fingers catch her eye and she can't help but reach out, steadying Regina's hand so she can admire the nails. "Oh, your nails are perfect, Regina! That color matches your lipstick exactly. How do you keep your nails so long? Mine chip so easily."
"They are nice, aren't they?" Regina flutters her fingers, admiring the paint job. "Sharon from the Shangri La Spa does my manicures. And the secret is vitamin E, keeps the nails from breaking."
"Sharon! Yes, I know her. I've always gone to Lula—"
"Oh no, dear," Regina clicks her tongue and takes Snow's hand, surveying the nails critically. "You've got to switch to Sharon. Make an appointment as soon as we get back—you've got a nail emergency here. Just tell her I—"
They are interrupted by a shrill whistle, and both dark heads turn to find a scowling Emma with her fingers shoved between her lips. "That's enough for the girl talk! Geesh, we got pixies flying around everywhere, we got Lost Boys out there who'd as soon bash our skulls in as say hello, and who knows where Henry is and what they're doing to him?"
Regina and Snow hang their heads shamefully and mutter an apology. Hook points up to the aforementioned pixies, then blinks and stares at his own fingernails.
"Oh no, not you too," David grumbles. "Isn't the guy-liner enough? You got to fuss over your fingernails too?"
Blushing, Hook shoves his hand into his coat pocket. "Course not!" he barks. "It's just weird, that's all, without my hook." He glares at Rumple. "I wish you'd change it back."
"That trademark you're so proud of, dearie, could be the death of us," Rumple grunts. "Rest assured, as soon as we have Henry on board, I'll give you back your hook." Under his breath he adds, "Right between your shoulder blades."
Emma whistles again, and when the two pairs of mortal enemies stare at her, she throws her hands in the air. "Henry?" she asks in a demanding tone.
"Yeah. Henry. As I was saying." Hook points at the sky again. "You were asking who knows where Henry is. They do."
"So stop wasting time and ask them already," David suggests.
Rumple grins maliciously. "Tick tock, dearie. Tick tock."
"Shut up before I go all Crocodile Dundee on your ass," Hook growls.
Snow shakes her head pitifully. "Oh, Killian, for shame. You've been watching late-night TV, haven't you?"
Hook shrugs. "It was a Dundee-athon. I was handcuffed to a hospital bed for three days. What else did I have to do?"
"Ask her already," Emma snaps, pointing at the pixie princess, who's perched on the ship's railing, standing shoulder to shoulder with her entourage, all of them chowing down, clumps of Peep in each hand.
"May I remind you, my blonde bombshell, that they chose me to lead the lot of you? I'll decide when—ow ow ow," he protests as Emma seizes the ring dangling from his right ear and yanks. "All right, all right!" Emma releases the ring and makes a sweeping gesture toward the railing. He makes more of the tinkling bell/dentist's drill noises.
The princess chews thoughtfully, taking bites of Peep as she listens and stares hard at Hook. The expression on her face says it all for Emma; the savior murmurs, "I agree a hundred percent, sister. He's thinks he's a world-hopping ladies' man, but the smarminess rolls off him like cheap cologne."
"Hook! What are you saying to her?" David demands.
"Relax, Charming. Show some respect for your leader," Hook says.
"He flirted with her—obviously unsuccessfully," Rumple reports. "She's even more suspicious now."
"You made a pass at a woman no taller than your pinkie finger?" Snow clucks.
"What would a Freudian make of that, I wonder," Rumple giggles.
"It's expected!" Hook snaps. "It's part of the culture. Like most royalty—present company excepted—she expects a little—what's the term you Americans so colorfully and crassly use? She expects a little brown-nosing before we get down to business."
"Well, look at her," Regina says. "You've pissed her off."
"I don't blame her," Snow wrinkles her nose. "I'd be pissed off too."
"Me too," Emma adds.
"It's unanimous, then," Regina says. "Four out of four royals agree: your come-ons are crap, Hook, so knock it off and get back to the task at hand."
David wiggles his sword back and forth in its sheath as a reminder he won't hesitate to use it. Hook rolls his eyes. "You people have lived in the concrete jungle far too long. You've lost your class, that's what. But very well." He addresses the pixie again.
She's still scowling and chewing, but at least she's thinking. She swallows, then spins on her heel and jabs her sticky finger towards Rumplestiltskin and barks at him.
"What's she saying?" Emma nudges Hook with an elbow.
"Shhh."
The princess continues yammering for several minutes, then she takes a ferocious bite of Peep, tearing the marshmallow with her tiny white teeth (which, the humans notice, are pointed and sharp). When she falls silent, Rumplestiltskin nods, thinks a long moment, then answers her.
She nods back at him, her forehead smoothing; whatever he's said has placated her.
"What'd she say?" Emma nudges Rumple this time. "What did you say? She looks like a happy camper now."
"Well, she said plenty. I didn't catch it all, but—correct me if my translation is amiss, Captain—she said clearly she was mistaken when she saw leadership qualities in Hook; he isn't fit to lead a rout of snails. And her opinion went downhill after that. Something about. . . hmm. . .the audacity of a male who acts as though he carries a cobra in his pants when in reality what's there wouldn't impress a caterpillar."
"Slug," Hook corrects, red-faced.
"Ah, yes, I stand corrected. Wouldn't impress a slug."
Emma leans on David's shoulder, the two of them laughing so hard their eyes tear. Snow bites her lip, struggling. . . struggling. . . and then she falls into Emma's shoulder in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Shall I rescue your honor, Captain?" Regina slides up to the pirate, her eyes traveling down his leather trousers, her tongue moistening her lips. "I could take a look and offer my expert opinion on your. . . First Mate."
"Crocodile!" Hook holds his hands out in warning and backs away from Regina. "Give me my hook back before this witch manhandles me!"
"And reveal your true identity to the pixies?"
"You brought this on yourself, Hook," Emma comments. "It's about time you got a taste of your own medicine. Go ahead, Regina; I'll hold him down for you." She inches forward menacingly.
"Your Majesty! Snow! Rescue me!" Hook pleads, still backing away. "Charming, help! You have to—you're a hero; you can't refuse a request for help!"
"Turnabout's fair play, Hook," David remarks.
"But—Henry. What about Henry?" Hook pants.
"What, did the pixie say something about Henry?" Emma snaps back to seriousness.
"Not yet," Rumplestiltskin says. "But she did say she's changing the conditions of her deal with us. She now wants Emma to be our leader."
"Really?" Snow grins with pride. "Emma, she trusts you!"
"Remember, Ms. Swan, why she chose Hook in the first place. Are you capable of killing a freckle-faced fifteen-year-old clad in leaves? Because, to your eyes, that's how Pan will appear."
"I. . . I don't know," Emma says slowly.
"You can't hesitate," Rumple presses her. "He won't. In the seconds it would take for you to raise your sword, Pan would kill Henry."
Emma's jaw clenches, and Rumplestiltskin nods. "As long as you remember that, you can do what may have to be done."
"It doesn't have to come to that," Snow argues. "He's just a boy; surely he'll listen to his elders."
"Or get turned over my knee," David grumbles.
Hook, now no longer the butt of Regina's ribald humor, says to Rumple, "You're going to have to show them. You know, with"—he flutters his fingers to suggest magic. "They've got to be prepared."
"Yeah." The wizard's face darkens. "So they won't make the same mistake I did. As soon as our parley with the pixies is done."
"What about it, Emma?" Regina asks. "Are you tough enough to lead us? Because if you're not, I have no problem destroying the kidnapper who stole Henry, no matter how old he appears to be."
"And isn't," Hook adds. "Time is different here. In the time it takes the Lost Boys to put on their shoes, you in Storybrooke will have celebrated a dozen birthdays. Bear that in mind, lovely lady."
"It's true," Rumplestiltskin says. "You'll have to learn to look not with your eyes but with your heart here, and remember everything Hook and I teach you."
Emma thinks a moment, then nods once, sharply. "I can do it. For Henry."
Hook starts to say something to Sabina, but Emma interrupts. "No, let me. I want to talk to her, woman to woman. How do I say, 'Yes, I will do whatever I have to, to save my son? Yes, I will lead.'"
Hook starts to translate, but Emma throws a talk-to-the-hand gesture in his face. "Not you." She juts her chin at Rumplestiltskin. "You."
"I am less than eloquent in Pixish—"
"Do it." Emma demands.
He stares at his feet as though there might be a dictionary there that only he can see. He picks through words the way a fussy chef would pick through a fruit bin. Several times, he backs up and corrects himself, but at last, Emma, repeating the words he selects and offers to her, gets her message out.
The pixie drops her handfuls of Peep and floats up to be on eye level with Emma. She makes a reply, but her expression is so unequivocal that a translation of her words isn't necessary.
"Tell me how to ask her," Emma says, "when we can attack, and how."
Rumplestiltskin gives her the translation. The pixie answers and he translates again, "She says let's go down to the galley and sit and talk."
An hour and a ten-pound bag of Reese's Pieces later, the leaders have mapped out their battle plans, with translations by Rumple and corrections by Hook, who is finally allowed back into the fold after a profuse (but, everyone knows, insincere) apology.
"The Lost Ones awake with the sun," Sabina informs them. "Pan awakes them with his crowing."
"Then we strike an hour before dawn," Emma decides, and Sabina nods, pleased with the answer.
Sabina and her three sergeants, Tanji, Yuna and Kiri, bow to Emma and bid her farewell, then fly away with a promise to return in full force—ninety pixies—one hour before sunrise.
Once they've gone, Snow pours herself a cup of coffee and reseats herself beside her daughter. "Is it true, all pixies are female?"
"It is," Hook says.
"Then," she muses, "where do baby pixies come from?"
Hook and Rumplestiltskin exchange a stunned glance. Rumple shrugs. "The pixie stork?"
Emma sniggers.
"Perhaps, Ms. Swan," Rumple suggests, "when the battle is won, you can take advantage of the bond of trust you have with your pixie counterpart and ask her."
"Just not in front of Hook," Regina advises.
"I am not asking a pixie how she reproduces," Emma refuses. "No. Just no." Before any more jokes can be made, she thrusts a finger at Rumple's chest. "Now, you were going to tell me about Pan."
"Ah." He sighs, then conjures a small appliance in the middle of the dining table.
"An espresso maker!" Regina exclaims, then conjures a set of espresso cups.
"We're going to need better than that." Rumple snaps his fingers and the cups are replaced by soup bowls. "Settle in, dearies, and behold the enemy." As Regina pours coffees all around, the Charming family and the pirate make themselves more comfortable at the long wooden table.
Rumple picks up a salt mill and waves his hand over it, his long fingers flowing gracefully through the air. "Hey, you do that really nice," Emma says. "You could work in Vegas. Seriously. You and Regina could work up an act, be as famous as Penn and Teller."
The two mages look at each other and shudder.
"Never mind, Ms. Swan, never mind. Just watch." Little rocks of salt rise, dance around the mill, spinning in a cloud, and in the center of the cloud a small image forms. Rumple moves a finger smoothly through the cloud of salt and the image grows until it's as big as the espresso machine.
"Wow," Snow breathes.
"Yeah, wow," Emma echoes.
They're looking at a hologram of a pug-nosed, freckle-faced boy with a thick thatch of dark hair, all elbows and ears and knees like a teenager, but in his almond eyes a jaded coldness only an adult could feel.
"He's dark," Snow blurts, and she's not referring to the lad's appearance. "There's something in his eyes that's even darker than yours"—she looks at Rumple—"or yours"—she looks at Regina.
"He's dark as they come," Hook agrees. "He could have made Cora shiver."
"You fought him," David says. "You beat him."
Rumplestiltskin shakes his head. "No."
David is surprised. "No?"
"I lost."
"Peter Pan defeated the Dark One," David repeats slowly before turning to Hook. "And you?"
"Yes, I fought him, many times. Usually to a draw."
"How does he fight?"
"Have you ever seen the movie Scarface?" Hook asks.
"Yeah. You did?"
Hook shrugs. "Three days handcuffed to a hospital bed. And Pulp Fiction?"
"Yeah."
Emma mutters, "I should've set the channel on the Disney Network and took the batteries out of the remote."
"Since you didn't, I had a broad sampling of what passes for entertainment in your world." Hook sneers. "Personally, I think bear baiting is more intellectually satisfying."
"Your point, Hook?" David prompts. "About Pan?"
"Yes. Well, Pan is part Tony Montana, part Jules Winnfield and part Curly from the Three Stooges."
David grunts, but Emma just stares at the hologram.
Rumple lowers his voice and sets his hand on the savior's. "Can you do it, Emma?" When she meets his eyes, he nods at the boy in the hologram. "Can you kill him?" She doesn't answer immediately, just stares at the hologram. "It's okay to say no. I can't do it." He doesn't explain whether his can't refers to a moral choice or a simple lack of ability to overpower the enemy.
"He has Henry," Emma reiterates. "I'll do what it takes."
"I see."
"Gold?"
"Yes?"
Emma forces herself to look at the hologram. "How old is he, again?"
"Centuries, Emma." He waves his hand and the features of the boy in the hologram alter; in an instant he becomes a grown man, and in another, he's a graying, wrinkled being. "If he lived in your world or mine, this is what he would look like."
The tension leaves Emma's shoulders. "Thanks. That helps. Can you do that for me when we meet him in the flesh?"
"Yes, but you can do it yourself. You have far more power than you realize. You're going to have to be willing to use it."
Emma tosses back her espresso as if she were a cowboy tossing back redeye in a saloon. "Maybe you'd better show me a few things, huh?" But before he can answer, she clutches a hand to her mouth, leaps to her feet and skitters up the stairs to the poop deck.
She doesn't make it.
Rumplestiltskin materializes at her side, holding her hair back as she doubles over. "Lesson number one: know your limits. Lesson number two." He gestures to the splatter on Emma's boots. "A little magic will clean that right up, dearie."