Author's Note: You guys are so sweet! Reviews make my day!

So, this is another fluff/angst chapter.

No plot here, really, which means there's still at least one more chapter from Emma's POV left in Neverland.

To the reviewer who said I was heading into M-rated territory: Could you please explain what it was that pushed that way? I think of this as being a very PG-13 story, but I don't want to upset/confuse people if I've incorrectly rated it. I appreciate your feedback!

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Chapter Twelve

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She was going to be the death of him.

How had he, Killian Jones, lieutenant of the royal navy-turned-pirate captain, become besotted with a princess-turned-lost girl? How had he set aside his quest to best Pan for a pair of gray-green eyes?

Killian was acting the fool, and he knew his brother would chide him if he could see him now.

"Bad form, Leftenant," he muttered to himself as he marched deeper into the jungle. Thoughts of Liam always darkened his mood.

Killian had sworn to take vengeance on the demon-boy who'd let his brother die. But after the greater part of a century spent on the damnable island, Killian was no closer to finding a weakness in Pan than the day he'd first arrived.

So, if killing the lord of Neverland was a fool's errand, was it not better form to take the hero's journey presented to him in the rescue of a princess? Wouldn't that be the proper choice?

And what of the princess herself? Killian didn't even know the girl's name, and he was smitten. He felt as though he were back in grammar school, when he'd plucked flowers and written sonnets for a pretty little dark-haired lass called Milah. He remembered the way his heart had soared when she'd stolen a kiss from him behind the oak tree near her father's house. She'd laughed and run away after kissing him, and he'd sat there, stunned and blissful until he'd heard Liam calling for him.

Of course, that had all been before Killian's world had turned sideways and he and Liam had been thrust into a life of chaos and pain. He'd heard someone say something once about "sins of the father," and it seemed to ring true to Killian.

What a long way he'd come from the boy he'd been, and yet he was still felt like that little boy some days.

Right now, he was painfully aware of the fact that he was a man. It seemed to be a recurring problem around the Swan girl. She affected him very strongly, but he felt like it was something more than just physical desire—And that scared him.

And she was a princess! He didn't stand a chance. No sailor—let alone a pirate—would be allowed to court an heir to the throne.

Killian stopped walking, his throat going dry.

Court her. Is that..? Did he..?

He stood alone in the jungle, gaping like a fish as the gears in his head turned around that question.

Aye, he decided finally, if it was within his capability, he would do just that: He'd pluck flowers and write sonnets as he'd done as a boy and he'd leave them gladly at the feet of this enigma of a girl.

Girl, he thought, shaking his head. She was just a lass, barely old enough to attend her debut ball before she'd been swept away to Neverland, island of nightmares. She'd never even been kissed before! She'd probably only just begun being called on by potential suitors. He imagined her walking arm in arm with some stuffed-shirt prince with diamonds in his pockets, a gaggle of chaperones trailing behind as the crook-nosed royal declared all the things he'd buy for the beautiful princess.

"How 'bout that," Killian muttered darkly to himself. What could he offer the princess? He had no future or family tree.

With a sigh, he looked around for suitable fire wood, trying to at least attempt to do what he'd told Swan he'd entered the jungle to do. What he'd really done was fled (like a coward, he told himself, very bad form) to cool down after the intensity of the kiss they'd shared. Objectively, it had been such a soft, simple kiss, and yet what the kiss exposed to Killian was far from simple.

He was bewitched.

The Swan girl called to him like a siren, and he could feel the pull in his very bones. He knew he'd follow her the rest of her days if he were allowed.

For decades, he'd served no man but himself, but that was done in an instant.

Killian had already sworn his allegiance to her in his heart. He was no longer his own man; he was hers.

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- Elsewhere -

Snow White woke up with the strangest feeling of déjà vu. Her eyes were burning, as though she'd spent the night crying. How odd.

The sheets next to her were cool, indicating that David had already risen, so she got up, too.

She rang for her maid, reaching up to grasp the bell-pull. The gesture hurt, as if her hand were injured. Confused, she examined her hands. A few of her nails were torn and her knuckles were painted with fresh bruises and abrasions. Her right hand was swollen, and she thought there might be a broken bone there.

Snow White had no idea where the injuries had come from. She hadn't been in a fist fight in over a decade.

It was the morning of Emma's sixteenth birthday. There was a ball scheduled that evening. Snow's brow crinkled as she tried to figure out what was going on. She was still staring at her hands when her maid, Anna, came in.

"Good morning, your majesty," Anna said, dipping her blonde head as she curtseyed.

"Good morning," Snow mumbled distractedly. "Anna, have you noticed anything strange this morning?"

Anna quietly wrung her hands for a moment before speaking.

"Actually, your majesty, I have had an odd feeling all morning. It's like today has happened before," she said. "But that's impossible."

"I have the same feeling," Snow said, meeting Anna's eyes.

"Maybe it's just that we've been dreaming of it, ma'am," Anna said. "Princess Emma's birthday. The ball?"

Anna sounded almost like she was trying to convince herself, but Snow White nodded at the words. That would explain her feeling of familiarity, but not the state of her knuckles.

Anna tended to Snow's wounded hand and got the queen coifed and dressed for her day. The maid had just set the crown on Snow's head when the door to the chamber burst opened unceremoniously.

King David strode in, his face a mask of determination and muted anger. Carson, the butler, and Emma's red-headed maid was right on his heels.

"Have you seen Emma this morning?" David asked Snow.

Snow looked back and forth between her husband and the concerned castle staff, a feeling of dread sinking into her bones.

"No," Snow White whispered, a protest rather than an answer to her husband's question. The word was full of pain as memories slowly coalesced in her mind. She had lived this day before, she was certain of it.

Looking at her hand again, Snow remembered her fist slamming into the stone wall the day before. She'd been trying to hit Regina, but the witch had evaporated in a cloud of smoke and mocking laughter before the blow landed.

"Regina!" Snow screamed, her voice full of rage. Her hands curled into fists. Her right hand protested, but she ignored the pain.

"Well, that's a new record," said the condescending voice from behind her.

Snow spun around, her eyes automatically searching for a weapon and her opponent.

Regina was gliding toward her from the balcony, her face twisted into an evil grin.

"You've never figured it out before breakfast before," Regina continued.

"Where is my daughter?" Snow demanded. As the words left her lips, she quite suddenly saw and heard herself saying those words before, over and over again. Hundreds of times in different ways: Angry, sad, pleading, demanding, defeated, eager, weary, afraid, and hopeful. She had said the words while crying on her knees, with a knife to Regina's throat, running through the castle halls, restrained with a noose around her neck, searching in the forest, standing on the edge of her balcony poised to jump, lying broken in the dungeon, riding hard across a grassy field, and cradling her husband's limp body.

"Of course, you do tend to work it out sooner when you have scars," Regina said as if Snow hadn't spoken. She gestured toward Snow's hands and the wounds disappeared. "I'm sure it will take you longer, tomorrow."

"Where is Emma?" Snow screamed, throwing herself at her step-mother.

Regina disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing on the other side of the room.

"What did you do, Regina?" David said, low and menacing, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Regina smiled wider, her eyes flicking to the king and then back to Snow White.

"Today," Regina said, her voice dripping with wicked glee, "I think I won't tell you."

Regina vanished in another puff of smoke.

Snow screamed her step-mother's name several more times. Then she collapsed to her knees and screamed her daughter's name. She yelled until her throat was raw and her voice was just a hoarse whisper.

David came to her and put his arms around his wife. He held her as she raged and cried, rocking her softly, but saying nothing. When Snow White had exhausted herself, he carried her to the bed.

Snow lay in bed the rest of the day, staring at the ceiling. She took no food and made no response to anyone who spoke to her.

David organized a search party, but they found no trace of the missing princess. That evening, the blue fairy revealed to the royal couple that they were suffering from a curse, but Snow didn't react to the words. She lay limply, even when David climbed into the bed beside her and drew her to him, trying to give her any comfort he could.

She didn't want to sleep. Snow White had had her fill of sleeping, but she could not fight the exhaustion (or the magic, not that she cared) when it fell over her at midnight. David had been whispering to her and stroking her hair. Suddenly, he was snoring lightly and Snow felt sleep claiming her. She tried to fight, but her limbs were too heavy and weak. Her eyelids drifted closed against her will and her body sagged into a deep, magical slumber.

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Snow White woke up with the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

Her throat was raw, as though she'd been screaming the day before. How odd.