"Instead of going up and over the mountain pass, we can go around the peninsula. It'll cut a day off the journey," I tell Peter, tracing my finger along the path I've planned out on the map: out of the fjord, around the peninsula and just barely up the foothills of the Northern Mountains. I'm rather impressed with myself that I've managed to navigate this good of a plan. I glance up at Peter over my large map and across the breakfast table, where my plate of fruit and pastries and cup of tea lie, half-eaten and mostly forgotten, and see that he hasn't even looked up at me.

Instead, he has his cheek propped up against his fist, completely engrossed in my copy of Pride and Prejudice. I lent it to him yesterday.

A small smile settles on my face, thinking back to yesterday. Of course, waking up yesterday morning, feeling like a complete failure still and lashing out at Peter, was hardly the best way to start off my day. However, after being consoled by Peter's words and mouth, it ended up being one of my best days in a long time. We decided together that perhaps after nearly two and a half months of constant travelling and arguing and hurting and searching, that a day of rest may do us both some good. And that's how we spent the day, Peter building a fire in the small fireplace in our room, playing cards by the window, sitting with shoulders (and hands, occasionally) touching as we watched the boats come in and out of the fjord, and eventually discovering that Peter is extremely well read and more than willing to have lively debates about all the books we have collectively read. And that was how I discovered he had never read my favourite book, Pride and Prejudice.

"It's about what you would do for your family and for yourself, about misjudging and misunderstanding people, seeing that perhaps their motives weren't as you expected all along… Forgiveness…" I had told him. Neither of us mentioned that all those things are tightly weaved into our own lives. Peter simply nodded to me and that's how we found ourselves, both sitting on the bay window overlooking the harbour, sitting so close that I could smell Peter's scent of rain and soap, feeling his warmth brush up against me, both of us looking down at the book as I flipped the pages, making sure he had finished reading.

"Elizabeth reminds me of you," Peter remarked to me, softly. I glanced up at him, my mouth curving into a small grin. His mouth was also turned up into a small smile. It's been harder ever since I kissed him to keep my eyes off his mouth. "She's a heroine," he affirmed. "Like you."

I closed my eyes and smiled. "Thank you," I told him, my hand resting on his forearm and squeezing it in thanks. I know he was, and still is, trying to make me see that I'm not a complete failure and that I'm a good sister and hero. It makes my heart warm just thinking about it. He's good at making me feel good.

But beyond that, after acknowledging that, a frigid sinking feeling crept into the outer edges of my mind. Not cold enough or big enough to ruin my good mood or make me pull back from Peter, but just enough to make me realize that this day we were having wasn't what our reality was or is or perhaps ever will be. Peter is still a villain, who ruined my life, tearing it apart bit by bit over an entire century, who kept me trapped on Neverland, who killed people, who abandoned his own brother because he didn't want the responsibility. The fact that he makes me feel warm and fuzzy and cared for doesn't fix anything, it doesn't make me forgive him or forget what he's done, it doesn't solve the issue of Neal. It won't stop any of the fights and arguments we'll have. It won't stop him from being angry with me or me being angry with him. It won't stop all of the hurt that's inevitably going to happen, no matter what. It doesn't fix anything.

For those precious few hours yesterday, we were just pretending that we weren't a hero and a villain, with a hundred years of hatred and hurt between us, who are only just now beginning to tolerate each other.

I press my lips together now, still watching Peter, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes skim over the page. He's grown into his age. When he first came back, he always seemed repulsed and distraught about the fact that he had obviously been aged by his death. But now, he seems comfortable and accustomed to it. It seems even as if he likes looking like a handsome, twenty year old, with his broad shoulders, a strong jaw, impossibly dark hair and icy blue eyes. He doesn't even seem bothered anymore by the roughness of his stubble over his chin, jaw and cheeks.

"Peter," I say. "Did you hear me?"

He looks up at me, startled out of the book. "What?"

"I said that we can save a day of travel if we go around the fjord instead of up and over the mountain," I repeat. His eyes flash over the map and then up to my face. "Are you alright with that plan?"

He nods, simply. "Of course," he says. He glances over at my plate of barely half eaten food. He picks up a pastry and shoves it at me, the bread crumbling in his too-tight grip and splattering crumbs all over the map. "Eat it," he tells me gruffly, before realizing that perhaps his tactic was a little too rough and adds a small please to the end. I take the pastry and nibble on it as I continue to map out the way we'll go.

I'd be lying if I said that I didn't find the gesture endearing.

Soon enough, breakfast is over and we quickly go back to our room, pack up our few things and make our way over to the stables. We set up the horses and mount them swiftly and begin making our way through the foggy, sleepy little town and out of the fjord. We fall easily into a comfortable silence that stretches on through the first hours of the morning.

We continue along a road that follows the curve of the ocean beside us. The smell of the ocean hangs in the air; it's cold and crisp and smells heavily of salt and brine. It's a comfort, to hear the waves lapping up against the rocky edge of the water, to smell the ocean and have a cool breeze coming off the water, even if summer is just starting to begin. It's truly wonderful. I almost forgot how much I love the ocean. The sense that it just goes on for forever and ever, with adventure and mystery hidden in and around it, fills me with a wonderful sense of awe and respect. Even on Neverland, I hated how the jungle's heat and steam clung to me, but as soon as I broke out of the tree line and burst onto the white sand beach and stared out into the open ocean, crystalline and sparkling, I felt a sense of calm and peace overwhelm me. Even when I had been very young, Mother and Father would rent a stately house in one of the seaside beaches and John, Michael and I would spend hours exploring the caves and tide pools along the shoreline. I always imagined that when we were looking out at the ocean what lay across it was not just another part of Europe, but a far-off fantastic magical land filled with excitement and intrigue.

I want to laugh at the fact that I once imagined these far-off places, never dreaming that I'd actually travel to them, let alone live in them. It's more than a little ironic.

I smile to myself as I look out of the rocky shore and out to the open ocean. Some tide pools catch my eye and I look at them, immediately longing for those long afternoons with my brothers, exploring and laughing and just being together. I look to Peter, a smile still ghosting on my lips. "When I was young," I tell him, "my family would go on trips to the seaside. My brothers and I would spend hours exploring the tide pools along the shore."

Peter furrows his eyebrows, and I can see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to respond to what I've just said. I know it takes a lot of effort for him to respond with kindness and decency. It doesn't come easy to him. "Do you want to go exploring?" he asks, more questioning whether that's a correct response as opposed to questioning if I want to go.

"Yes, I do," I say, smiling. We both guide Ash and Samson down the rocky path to the shore and hop off them. We begin to walk down the shore, close enough that our shoulders bump together. We stop at the tide pools, examining them closely for signs of life. We scoop out small creatures and Peter explains to me the ones I don't recognize and I marvel at the magic in them. We continue on this way, exploring for a while, walking further and further down the beach. It's enjoyable and it's the second day in this long, long journey that's filled with happiness and I'm grateful for it. It pushes the pit of anxiety in my stomach to the back of my mind. I feel at ease simply exploring and talking with Peter. It makes all of the issues surrounding this journey seem far off and fixable. His presence for once makes me feel calm and assured.

But still at the back of my mind, sometimes the anxiety and the turmoil boils up and grabs hold of my thoughts, reminding me that this isn't my reality. That Peter is still the villain and that he has ruined my life and that Neal is in desperate need of my help and it looks as if that if I'm going to save him, I'm going to have to end up dying. The thoughts whirl around in my head and just as they're about to overtake me, I turn back to Peter and see his face or hear his voice explain something and the anxiety seems to ebb and flow away just as quickly as it came.

At one point, while I'm looking out over the ocean, caught up in one of my frequent anguish-filled reveries, Peter's voice breaks my tension. I turn to him, seeing that he's wandered away from me and the water's edge, closer to the mouth of a cave. "Look at this, bird," he says, pointing at the cave. It's large and cavernous, that much I can tell. The ocean seeps into the mouth of it, with a rocky ridge from the surrounding mountains winding into it, creating a path into the cave. "Let's go in."

I look at Peter, my eyebrows quirking up in question, unconvinced. Traipsing into some unknown, dark cave doesn't seem like the best idea. Seeing my look he deflates, his face going stony and blank. A swell of irritation rises up in me. He's just like a petulant child, not getting his way.

"Come on, bird," he says, exasperated. "Don't you trust me?"

"Don't use that against me, Peter. That's unfair and you know it," I chide him.

"I thought we were having fun," he tells me, eyes narrowing.

"We still are, Peter. Just don't try and force me to do anything," I tell him, trying to keep my voice even. "Don't ruin this day just because I won't do everything you say." Peter rolls his eyes and a wave of anger rises up in me and I've let it loose before I can tame it. "And may I remind you about the last time when I went into cave with you? Does Skull Rock ring a bell?"

Peter's face drops instantly, shame marring his ever-so-perfect glare. I regret the words immediately. He folds his arms, his jaw setting into a hard line and his face settling into that blank glare that I hate. "That was nasty, Wendy," he grits out.

"I'm sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have said that," I apologize, trying to show how sincere I am. But before I even have time to see whether or not he's accepted my apology, there's a flash of something dark green and slimy that whips out of the cave and grabs Peter by the ankle and begins to drag him backwards, into the cave. He's so surprised he doesn't even have time to scream and I'm so surprised I don't even see the second flash of green coming for me. It wraps around my waist and I'm immediately engulfed by the smell of salt, seaweed and wet rock. It pulls me into the cave in a flash and before I know it, I'm surrounded by darkness, hurtling towards back of the cave, with the sounds of the ocean lapping below me and my surprised shouts echoing in the cave.

Suddenly, the dark green mass stops abruptly and I feel my stomach finally catch up to me. I continue to struggle and find that what's wrapped around me feels slimy and wet and very, very much like a tentacle. It twists tighter around my waist the more I struggle.

"Peter?" I call out in the dimness. My heart thumps in my ears. I'm too scared and confused to try and hide the fact that I'm more scared for him than I am for myself. "Peter, are you alright?"

"I'm alright, Wendy," Peter's voice echoes off the walls of the cave, somewhere to my left. He sounds like he's grappling with something like the tentacle, but he responded which is all I need at this point. "Are you alright? Are you-"

Suddenly, a silky voice bursts around us. "Was that a lover's quarrel I heard? Oh you poor unfortunate-" The voice cuts off abruptly and then is followed by a confused grunt. "What in Davy Jones's locker? Peter Pan?" Lights immediately bursts forth and the cave is suddenly filled with light. I look around completely dazed to find that we're at the back of the cave now, where the ceiling of the cave has expanded and creates a floor covering the water. The room that it's created is lavishly decorated in dark green and gold, with large tables, comfortable chairs, gorgeous paintings and a ginormous chandelier. In the centre at the back, on a heavily adorned golden throne, bejewelled with dark gems, sits a gorgeous woman with golden blonde hair and coffee coloured skin. She looks like a perfectly normal human in a gorgeous sea green gown, except for the fact of course that her lower half is made up of large, green tentacles, ones that happen to be around me and Peter.

I look at her, bewildered and she looks back at us, completely surprised. She squints her eyes at Peter, who is being held upside down by her tentacles. He's still straining and struggling to get out and doesn't seem to have noticed his surroundings or that this sea witch seems to know him. Suddenly, the woman's eyes widen. "It is you, Peter Pan," and with that drops him headfirst onto the floor. He thankfully lands on his back instead of his head.

"Don't hurt him!" I protest. Peter just groans in response to my protests and the woman fixes her gaze on me.

"Oh, I'm not going to hurt him. He's an old friend," she laughs. I look to Peter, confused, to find him finally sitting up and looking around. His eyes find mine and lock onto them.

"Wendy, this is Ursula. Ursula and I used to team up back in the day to fight Hook in Neverland. Ursula, this is Wendy Darling, so please put her down," he explains, standing up and brushing himself off. Recognition of my name flickers in Ursula's eyes as she slowly lowers me down onto the floor and finally releases me.

Ursula grins, standing up from her throne and making her way over to a magnificently ornate dining table, decorated with gold. "Come sit," she tells us, sitting down at the head of the table. "You must be famished."

I look at Peter skeptically. I'm not really sure what's going on and who this woman is and whether or not we should be sitting down with her or booking it out of the cave as fast as possible. Peter gives a slight nod, saying that we're safe. We walk over to the table and sit down, Peter on her right and me on her left.

Suddenly, with a snap of her fingers the table is filled with all kinds of food. Lobster, fish, pasta, bread, wine, cake. Peter begins to dig in and Ursula follows suit, but I remain still. I don't understand why they're acting so cordially. Why is this happening? Why did she drag us in here in the first place?

"Wendy, come on, eat," Peter urges me from across the table as he cracks open a lobster claw.

"I don't- I'm not sure- I don't understand what's happening here," I rush out. "Why did you bring us in here?"

Ursula sighs and says, almost reluctantly, "I heard you two bickering out there and thought you were an angry couple. I usually make exchanges with people who want something that I can provide- a magical fix to a mundane problem. I thought you two would be the same." The way she says it, it seems almost like she's ashamed of doing it. "But obviously, it turned out to be Peter and you, so now I'd like to catch up because last I heard, Pan was dead and he obviously-" she motions to him "-is not. And it's fairly obvious to me, he's had some pretty big changes in his life considering that you're travelling with him."

I almost scoff. Peter has had some ginormous, monumental changes. I look over to Peter and his face seems blank, giving off the perfect air of disinterest. Classic.

"Now, would either of you like to fill me in on what's happening? Because I'm the one now who doesn't understand," Ursula says, grinning at me. I grin back now, the old feeling of unease and uncertainty slipping away as Ursula jokes with me. I like her, I decide. From what I can collect, she doesn't appear to be overly malicious or malevolent, and seems to be quite observant and humorous. "Well, come on, now, Pan," she says, nudging him. He looks over at me and I almost laugh. Within the last two days, we've met Hook, both mine and Peter's old enemy, and then now, we've met Ursula, who shares Hook as a common enemy with Peter. It seems to me, the universe is trying to force Peter into showing everyone from his past how he's changed for the future.

Peter sighs and reluctantly begins the story about how he was brought back from the dead by Neal, who was in search of his father and who also merged himself with his father by giving up his own heart, when I interject that I was in fact searching for my brother Neal and stumbled across Pan, explaining how we formed our rocky arrangement. Peter then goes on to explain the various mansions we traipsed through and the numerous dangers we've faced, all in hope of finding a spell to undo Neal's predicament. Then I explain that only in the past little while, have we discovered that there very likely is no spell to undo Neal's magical attachment to his father, and that the only real possibility of saving him is by way of giving up a heart to Neal.

Ursula listens to the tale, completely amazed and fascinated by it. Laughing along with us at the irony of it all and sympathizing with me over the heartache I've endured. We leave out the excruciatingly painful parts about our own broken and ever-changing relationship, but I'm not even sure Ursula would need us to tell her. By the way she talks about it and to us, it becomes pretty clear that she's aware that Peter's trying to give up his old ways. Then after hearing about the recent development with Neal, she scrunches her eyebrows together and leans forward onto the table, silent for a moment and then saying, "I don't mean to sound as if I'm a know-it-all when it comes to magic, because I most certainly am not, but haven't you considered splitting hearts?"

Peter chokes on the lobster he's eating and begins to splutter as I just look on at Ursula. I've no idea what splitting hearts means, but Peter obviously does and it's obviously significant and distressing to him. "Keep coughing, Peter," I tell him from across the table.

Eventually, Peter stops choking on his food and I turn back to Ursula. "Splitting hearts? I don't understand what you mean by that."

"Well, sometimes, a heart can be shared by two people and both of them can continue to live just fine with half a heart," she explains. "So you could split your heart with Pan. He could then give his to Rumple because they're a blood relation and definitely have a similar amount of blackness to their hearts. And then Neal's heart would go back to Neal. And then your problem would be solved and no one would die."

I feel so happy that I might just float off. The thought of being able to save Neal and not die in the process becoming a reality makes me feel like I've just entered through the pearly gates and I've left every single worldly pain behind. Never mind that I'll have to share a heart with Peter; I can save my brother and myself. I look over to Peter to try and share my happiness, but my heart drops when I see his face.

He has that same blank, stony glare on his face. His jaw is set in a firm, strong line and his eyes are glassy and cold.

Something's wrong here.

He just slowly shakes his head. "It won't work," he clips out and casts his gaze on the other side of the room.

"Why not? Is the spell specific about how the two are separated?" Ursula asks. "Because I'm sure that we can find a-"

"No, it's not the spell," he grinds out, still refusing to even look at either of us. "Wendy and I can't share a heart." Ursula makes a small 'oh' sound and I just look between the two of them, still confused.

"I still don't understand why it won't work," I interject.

"Because," Peter tells me, icily, still refusing to even glance at me, "to be able to share a heart with someone else, you need to love them and have no reservations about loving them. You haven't even forgiven me. And you probably never will." He finally manages to meet my gaze with an cold glare. "That's why we can't share a heart."

I look down at my hands in my lap. There it is. That shattering of my happiness and my hope for both Neal and me. For the umpteenth time, Peter's gotten in the way of me saving my brother and ultimately, my family, but this time, I'm not furious with him. All I feel is heartache, that I can't forgive him and that because of this, I won't be able to save my brother. It's not that it's my fault even that I can't forgive Peter. But it makes me wish, just like on the pier or yesterday or even this morning that perhaps, that forgiving him is an attainable possibility. That both of us working towards a relationship that isn't filled with anger or hatred or hurt isn't a far-off, impossible idea, but something that's possible.

Ursula just shakes her head. "I apologize for assuming," she says softly, almost as if to comfort both of us. "I didn't realize. And I'm sorry, Wendy, that I got your hopes up just to have them dashed down."

"It's alright," I tell her. "You never meant us any harm. You were only trying to help." Ursula just nods sadly.

I come to realize that perhaps our visit with Ursula should definitely come to end right about now. So I slowly begin to stand up and say my goodbyes to Ursula.

"You'll find a way," Ursula assures. "I believe in you and I believe in Pan. Perhaps one day you'll get to that place where perhaps my plan will work." She smiles. "Either way, I wish you all the luck in this world and the next. I've loved getting to meet you." She shakes my hand firmly and then pulls me into a warm hug. She then hands me a bag that's filled with food and warm blankets and supplies for the road. I thank her kindly.

After this Peter finally stops sitting sullenly in his chair and moves to say his brief goodbyes to Ursula. She claps him over the shoulder. "You're on your way, Pan, in more ways than one," she tells him. He simply glowers at her. I'm not surprised to see that Peter is still more than capable of being a grouchy ass. "Good luck with everything, Peter."

We then take the stony walkway out of the cave and burst back into the daylight on the beach. The fog has cleared away and left behind a dazzlingly bright day with a cold, crisp wind that whips around both of us and turns my cheeks pink.

"Come on, Peter, let's go back to the horses. We definitely shouldn't be leaving them alone for so long," I tell him. I begin to walk a few paces away before realizing that he's not following me. I turn around and look at him. "Come on, you can sulk on the way to the next inn."

He stares at the ground, his eyes hard and icy. His jaw is clenched again and his balls his hands into fists. Finally he looks up at me and I'm shocked when I see a look of total pain and heartache evident all over his face.

We both just stare at each other for a moment before Peter breaks the silence, "Was I right in there? That you'll probably never forgive me?" he asks, quietly, but still with a certain hard, icy clip to his voice.

I let out a deep breath and look away, out over the fjord. "I honestly don't know," I tell him. I press my lips together. "These past few days, how you've acted, has made me feel like perhaps the possibility of forgiving you isn't such a far off, impossible notion." I let myself look at him and I find his face filled with timid hope but also grave reality. "You brought me back from the brink, you've been impossibly kind, I enjoyed spending all of yesterday just being with you." I try and offer him a small smile but he just looks at me with that awful blank glare.

"But?" he prompts. "There's always a but."

"But," I admit, "it doesn't change any of what you've done to me. It doesn't change the past one hundred years. It doesn't even change the fact that you've hurt me beyond belief. There's always going to be that hurt. I don't know how I could ever get past it. How I could be aware of anything that's bigger or more demanding or prominent in our relationship than that." I sigh. "I don't know if it's possible. I don't even know if it's possible to not always be upset with each other or yelling. You saw our spat earlier. It was inevitable." I pause and glance at Peter's face that's now dropped away from being blank and cold and is now just extremely sad. "Sometimes, I wish it wasn't like that. Sometimes, it doesn't even feel like that. Sometimes, it feels like I already have."

Peter nods. "Like when you kissed me."

"Yes," I say quietly. "Like when I kissed you."

Peter pauses for a moment and looks lost in thought. I'm quite certain that we're both thinking of the same thing: that deliciously, warm, tender kiss that made all the pain and hurt flutter away, that blissful moment.

Finally, he snaps himself out of it. "I don't want you to force yourself to forgive me for Neal. That's not fair to you and it's not right," he tells me. "So don't do it."

I smile. He anticipated my train of thought. I'm more than impressed. "I won't."

"If you ever do forgive me, and it's okay if you don't ever, it will be because you want to," he explains. "Not for any other outside reason." I nod back at him.

"Agreed."

Another pause, awkward now since both of us have lain our feelings so clearly out on the table.

"So where do we go from here?" Peter asks, an uncommon uncertainty in his voice.

I shrug. "It's just like Ursula said, I suppose. We'll find a way."