A/N: This chapter was a beast to write as it meant combing through all of the notes I'd written almost five years ago, so I do hope it does justice to the rest of the story and starts to answer some of the questions people may have. It's a long one, and the next chapter is already roughed out (*hint hint* it will be a hard rated M, so prepare yourselves). As always, any reviews/critiques/or questions are always welcome. Thank you!
-Fara

"I've got you, Swan."

There was the reassuring warmth of her body against him, and though in this moment it was owing to fear, it was too easy to recall when it was something entirely different drawing them together. He held her tightly, this beautiful thing he had dragged down into his own personal hell—the world tumbling around them as the ship fell.

For a brief moment there was no sense of what had been above and what awaited below, only a weightlessness that was soon engulfed by a familiar oblivion, but to his surprise, he never stopped feeling her against him…

The wind roared like a beast unhinged as the Jolly Roger hit the sea, her planks and mast groaning in protest. Seawater rocketed skyward on either side before drenching the deck beneath a vast wall of water. Emma's knees buckled as the ship swayed, the world slowly rocking back into place. If it hadn't been for Hook's arm wrapped around her, she's not sure she would have stayed upright. That had been…unlike the last time she traveled by portal, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the magic that created it.

"Are you alright, Swan?" Hook asked, drawing back his support carefully as he jerked his hook from the rail. "It takes some time getting used to, I'll admit."

"Yeah," she murmured, her thoughts elsewhere as her gaze was pulled to their surroundings. "I'm fine, just a little off balance."

Her senses were overtaken, the world around her almost mirage-like in its intensity.

"Hook, this is…it's beautiful."

The sky, a brilliant and rich blue, spread around them in an endless expanse, not a single cloud marring its perfection. It bled almost seamlessly into the horizon, the sea itself an unnatural shade of turquoise, each white capped swell flawlessly etched on its surface. Leaning over the rail, she watched as schools of vibrant fish darted amongst coral reefs that stretched as far as she could see, each color a heightened version of what she knew it to be. Rising out of the tropical paradise loomed an island, so close she could see the pearly opalescence of shells littering its white beach, the rich jade of the palms swaying in a gentle breeze. The shade beneath the canopy beckoned, promising a cool retreat.

"Careful, Swan," a voice whispered in her ear, and she felt a comfortable warmth jump in her skin as fingers wrapped tightly around hers, pulling her safely back from the edge of the main deck. That was strange, she didn't remember walking down here.

"You mustn't let it lull you into complacency. I assure you, it's not as it seems."

"Right," she murmured, pushing the birdsong she could hear lilting from the island to the back of her mind. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Aye, it's beautiful—but that's true of many a deadly trap. Don't trust it, Swan, or those we meet while we're here."

Don't trust it."

Emma never would have called herself a trusting person. In fact, there were very few things—and perhaps only one person—she did trust, but there was something disarming about this place, something that soothed those warnings in her gut. The feeling only intensified once they had rowed ashore, the longboat filled with the extra cargo that Cowry had purchased at port. The moment her boots dug into the sand, it was like the wind ran free from the jungle to greet her, whispering across her cheeks and stirring images in her mind. The water lapped softly against the shore and the trees beckoned, promising rest, but then she felt it, a hungry darkness nipping just below the surface.

She shook the contentment from her bones and reminded herself that there was magic about this place, and no telling what it wanted. The slightest hint of movement drew her eyes back to the underbrush as the men unloaded the cargo. Something was watching them. Fingering the rapier at her side, she surveyed the gloom beneath the trees.

"Neverland is capable of much deceit, Swan, but what waits over there is the least of our concern."

"Oh?"

She turned to see Hook making his way back from the other side of the beach, his manner on edge as he studied the spotless sky above them.

"At this moment, yes."

He stopped and turned his eyes to the crates, his hook nimbly cracking and flipping the lids onto the sand as he looked everything over.

"That will be good, Cowry. Get the men back to the ship. Leave the gig for Swan and I—we'll return shortly."

The men wasted no time, all of them happy to remove themselves from the island as quicky as possible, that much was clear to even an untrained eye.

"Come, Swan," the Captain gestured, moving down the beach and away from the offloaded cargo. "There are some details you'll be needing to know about Neverland, but while there is still time—we should speak of Pan. I'm sure he'll avail himself of our company soon."

"Pan, the things we brought, are they for him?"

"No, those are for some of the islands more…reluctant inhabitants, the Lost Boys."

A memory tugged at her, nagging—a storybook late at night, a small flashlight illuminating the pages under her blanket…heavy footsteps staggering down the hall outside followed by shouts. She remembered wishing she could disappear into the pages of the book where there were no screaming adults, no rules…just Peter Pan and the lost boys. It would seem that place was real after all.

"This place is Pan's island, and though he may look like a boy, he's a bloody demon."

Well, maybe it was just a little different.

"Great," she drawled, and then her attention was split as a figure emerged from the jungle. "Hook—"

"Ah," he sighed, turning to face the trees, a melancholic edge to his voice. "Those are Pan's boys. He used to have us bring back cakes for them from our forays to the Enchanted Forest—back when he cared to continue the façade of keeping them placated. His mood changed some time ago, however."

Another boy followed the first, and then a third, all of them clothed in rags and drab clothing, some of it looking more like pieces of bark tied together with vines. Their faces and arms were dusted with dirt and mud, and each carried a quiver of arrows and a bow across their backs. They eyed the Captain with wariness before hurrying to the boxes and rummaging through them. In that moment, Emma could see how young they really were, how much like children. Their faces brightened seeing the treats and cakes, the fresh cream and fruit. As the first began to stuff his cheeks, already digging for new treasures, a second wave of boys rushed out of the jungle. Her eye was drawn to one of them in particular, his build slight, his hair dark and wavy. He followed the other boys, but seemed sullen, his eyes lingering on her and Hook even as he searched for his own food. Standing so close to one another, she could see Hook's posture shift and the set of his jawline tighten as he watched the boy.

"You still bring them the food though."

"Aye, it's little trouble for us, and the more content those boys are, the less we need to worry about their dreamshade tipped arrows."

"I almost hate to ask, but…"

"It's one of Neverland's most insidious weapons, Swan. The slightest bit of dreamshade sap leads to a painful death, and the vines abound here. There's a cure, but it's not a cure to be taken lightly."

"As the Captain knows all too well," someone quipped from behind them.

Emma's weapon was in her hand before she'd even spun all the way around to face the interloper, but Hook's hand in the air and calm demeanor stayed her, and her stance relaxed, though she did not sheath the rapier.

"Well, well, well—what have we here?" a young boy teased, an eyebrow raised mockingly as he inspected her, his hands clasped his back, clearly not bothered by her weapon. "A new crew member, I see. A sight more proficient than our one-handed pirate with a drinking problem."

"Well, that's a new one," Hook retorted dryly. "Swan, this is Pan."

Emma nodded her head in Pan's direction, wishing they hadn't been distracted by the lost boys so that she had some idea of what their connection was with him. She could feel the magic radiating from him, and didn't think Hook's warning that he was a demon in a boy's body seemed far from the mark. There was something as quietly dangerous about him as there was this island.

"I was just beginning to explain the details of our arrangement."

"I'm sure," Pan said, his eyes jumping to the lost boys momentarily before returning to her and Hook. "You don't look like the usual type I see with the Captain. What's so special about you, Swan?"

She didn't like the way her name fell from his lips, like it was a distraction, like he already knew far more than her name.

"She's a thief," Hook added. "I thought she would come in handy should that image of the boy ever reappear on your little…magic paper."

Pan's features darkened and the island itself seemed to quiet, the wind dying down and the tide seeming to pull away from the shore faster than normal. If Emma didn't know better, she would say he looked like a pouting child, but she did. She could feel the rage beneath.

"Quite right, Pirate," he snapped, "and when that day comes, I'll expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. After all, the boys I have here are quite useless to me. It would be so easy to just, have some sport, perhaps a hunt—pass the time. I have so much time, Captain."

"I'm not planning on reneging on our deal, Pan—wouldn't dare. You just let me know when you have a face to put to the need, mate."

"Don't forget where your loyalties lie, pirate. I'll be seeing you."

And like that he was gone.

"I see what you mean," Emma said, sheathing her weapon. "It just radiates off of him."

"What does, Swan?"

"The magic, something dark. You can't feel it?"

"Neverland exudes its own sort of magic, it's almost impossible not to feel it, but I've never noticed anything different around Pan. I simply know from experience that he is not what he seems."

They turned their attention back to the beach, but the lost boys had already emptied the crates and disappeared back into the jungle.

"What exactly do we do for him, Hook—and why?"'

"I made a deal with Pan long ago, when I came back to Neverland. In return for passage to and from this realm, I would do some minor tasks for him…"

"The food for the boys. What else?"

"He had a drawing, Swan, a likeness of a young lad—a boy he claimed he needed to ensure his control of this realm remained unchallenged. I was to keep a lookout for this lad, and should I see him, bring him back to Pan."

"But you said the face was gone, from the paper?"

"Aye, some time ago, too many years to count, it simply disappeared from the paper—at least that's what Pan said. We didn't linger here—it was not a safe place to be with his temper. As far as I know, the paper—gods only know where it came from—has remained empty ever since."

"So, for now we simply stay on his good side, deliver a few cakes, and in return we can come and go from Neverland as we please?"

"Aye, love, that's the idea. Speaking of good sides, I think it's time we row back to the ship—notice the sky?"

"Yeah," she puzzled, taking in the once blue sky overhead, now turning shades darker far quicker than was normal. "That's strange."

"As I said, this is Pan's island, and it tends to follow his moods. Let's go before we lose the light. I don't relish the thought of rowing back once these waters turn dark."

Mess was a raucous affair despite the quickly blackened sky. The hold was full of more than just the cargo they'd brought for the lost boys, and the men were more than happy to take advantage of the rum and other scarcities. Hook was nowhere to be seen, though he normally didn't partake with the crew. She'd eaten her fill, but somehow the lightness and laughter didn't sit well with her—the sky too dark and the waters too still. There was something building out there, and she found her mood getting darker the longer she listened to the crew make merry.

The solitude of the berths called out to her, and she decided sleep was just what she needed— it had been a hard thing to come by lately. Her thoughts drifted back to the island, to the lost boys with haunted faces, half-starved looking and as wild as anything. Hook had receded to his quarters once they brought the gig back in, and she hadn't laid eyes on him since. Being here seemed to weigh on him, and she wondered if the boy with the sullen expression had anything to do with that, or was it all due to the danger of being near Pan and his capricious temper? There seemed to be more he wanted to tell her, but Pan's interruption had set him on edge. She could feel sleep tugging at her, thick and heavy. The sea rocked the ship gently and her eyes fluttered shut. For now, she was where she needed to be. She was safe here on the Jolly with the crew still carousing not far off.

No—they were screaming, crying. Emma bolted upright, any remaining thoughts of sleep gone. The sobs grew in volume, racking, breathless sobs. She scrambled from the berth and headed back to the galley, the familiar ruckus of the crew growing louder—the laughter, the friendly scraps and thuds of tankards on wood—but beneath it all, she could still hear the cries.

She searched for the source of it, covered her ears, but the crying only escalated, so she did the only thing she could think to get away from it. Stumbling toward the deck, she hoped if she could just breathe in the wind and sea it would stop, she would be fine. She would stop seeing that locked closet, her nails scraping the door, pleading…crying. She barreled through the cargo hatch and burst onto the deck, filling her lungs with a deep heaving breath. There was silence for the most fleeting of seconds, and then the ghostly dirge started again.

Neverland at night was ominous. The wind had died to nothing, and the sea nudged the ship cautiously, like a predator measuring whether or not its prey was truly unaware. Stars blanketed the sky, but between them the veil of darkness seemed like a living thing.

Maybe it was.

Hook.

She needed him.

Her fingers shook as she tested the latch to his cabin—open, thank gods—and she descended the ladder, her feet slipping as she reached the bottom. She expected to find him already there, his hook poised at the less than graceful intrusion, but instead she saw him limp, draped across the table, an empty bottle of rum rolling against his hand.

"Hook," she called quietly, not wanting to startle him.

He didn't stir. It occurred to her that he may have been drinking since they came back aboard earlier, the cabin certainly smelled like it. The planks creaked as she took a few tentative steps forward, but he merely rolled his head to the other cheek and mumbled something she couldn't make out.

He must be long gone, she thought, and crossed the floor in a few quick steps, kneeling beside him and resting her hand firmly on his arm, not wanting to get a hook to the face if he startled awake.

"Hook," she whispered against him. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

"Emma," he breathed, blinking away the peace he had probably worked quite hard to achieve and bobbed upright. "Is that you, love?"

"Who else breaks into the Captain's cabin?" she teased. "Now, let's go—bed."

"It's about bloody time," Hook mumbled, and then more earnestly, "don't disappear on me."

"I'm not going anywhere, Hook."

She wrapped her arms underneath his shoulders and heaved—gods, he was heavy when he was drunk—managing to help him stagger to his feet before falling unceremoniously toward the bed. The movement seemed to jar him into a state of wakefulness, however, and he rolled himself onto the featherbed, groaning at the effort and pulling her against him.

For a few moments they lay in silence, entwined on his bed, foreheads pressed against one another and the air between them a heady mix of warmth and rum. He draped his arm soundly around her, the brace from his hook firm beneath her neck.

"Turns out," he swallowed the dryness of his mouth, "quite a waste of rum, Swan. They've all finally gone quiet now that you're here."

Emma exhaled sharply, realizing that it was quiet—genuine, absolute silence, save for the sound of their breathing.

"The crying, it stopped."

"The lost boys, crying for a home they don't have."

"No one else heard them."

"I s'pose it's only those of us who've been abandoned, love," he murmured, his hand moving to play with a strand of her hair. "You said you wouldn't leave though."

"I promise," she whispered, and the world was so quiet around them it almost hurt to speak, so instead of saying anything else, she simply closed her eyes and sank into the feeling that for this moment, everything was right.

He was aware of her before he fully woke, his hand tangled in her tresses, her breath light against his chest as she slumbered. The cabin was still draped in darkness, the windows teasing only the faintest glimmer of sunrise, yet her hair spread like a golden curtain against the shadows.

Emma.

He was at once both rueful and grateful for the sheer amount of rum he'd imbibed. It had been a bit more than he normally partook of—even to muffle the despair that nights here entailed—but he knew exactly how the evening would have progressed had he been clear minded, and able to walk. If the circumstances had been different, he would not have been able to stop himself. The draw he felt with her—to touch her, hold her, sink as deeply into her as possible—

Devour her.

It was consuming. Even now, both of them clothed, having given in to nothing more than the desperate need for sleep, his body ached to close that small channel between them—taste her, take her—

Keep her.

A wavering breath passed his lips on a shiver and her fingers flickered against his chest, curling around the chain of his necklace.

Emma.

"I don't want to fight this," he whispered, bowing his head against the soft crown of her hair, the words a rough plea—whether for the living, or the dead, he wasn't sure.

It was not easy to admit, but sleep was probably the thing she had needed most last night—it had been far too long since he'd felt this rested, unburdened of the usual nightmares, and the weariness in her eyes had not gone unnoticed by him as of late. Perhaps his actions, his silence had contributed to that. If one thing had become all the more clear after last night, it was that this pull between them was more than desire…it was enough to silence that truth that all those who were abandoned feel. Now that he knew what it was to have her vulnerable beside him—to be the same at hers—he couldn't imagine letting go—he had to tell her, everything.

His stomach grumbled loudly and Emma stirred, arching against his body and stretching, her leg sliding between his in a way that made his chest, among other things, tighten.

"Swan," he murmured, easing his arm from beneath her and taking care that his hook did not catch within her locks. He'd neglected to remove his brace last night and the pain would be an unwelcome companion for the rest of the day. "Stay put, love. I'll return with nourishment."

He managed to extricate himself as delicately as possibly, Emma barely waking before snuggling into the warmth he'd left behind. Heading toward the hatch, he paused to take one last look as she slept—content, safe—in a place that had been only his for so long.

Keep her.

The galley was empty when he made his way over, well, for the most part—some of the crew hadn't made it back to their berths. Ephraim was stretched out on his back beneath one of the tables, and Owen was hunched over another, both surrounded by the trappings of what looked to have been a riotous night. The first night in Neverland was always either a celebration or a brawl for the crew—perhaps it had something to do with the strange spell the island seemed to cast over people, or it could have simply been all of the extra rum they brought.

When he returned to his cabin with a trencher of bread and fruit, Emma had already woken and slipped from his bed, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest as she gazed into the darkness of the window, or perhaps her reflection. He was glad he had stolen that moment to capture the swell of her body wrapped in the warmth of his bed. It would grant him sleep should he need to return alone.

"I've brought food, Swan. I know you didn't drown your troubles as thoroughly as I, but…"

"If I'd realized rum was a solution, I would have done the same," she admitted, turning away from the window and joining him at the table.

"It's not the most effective of solutions," he cautioned, reaching for a flagon of water and passing a piece of bread to her. There were so many words wrapped around so many things that he needed her to understand, but after all these years, he was uncertain how to share those pieces of himself.

"I guess not, but I didn't mind the alternative," she smiled, though the smile was guarded, perhaps even sad. "I thought I was losing my mind."

"Aye, it's enough to drive one mad. The rum muffles it somewhat, but that was the first night it ceased. You have my gratitude, Swan. My nights here, they have followed much the same course for years."

"Why come back?" she asked, searching his face. "Listening to those cries every night, dealing with Pan—why come back here?"

"That question has a longer answer than I fear you're expecting, Swan."

"Well, we've got nothing but time, right?"

"Aye, that we do."

He reached for an apple, running his calloused fingers across the dappled skin.

"I was a different person once—no Hook—just, Captain Jones," he swallowed, the next word sticking in his throat like a confession, "Killian."

Once.

No more.

"I met a woman in my travels, Milah. We fell in love over dreams of adventure, and perhaps for her, escape. Her marriage was a loveless one, and to a coward at that. Time passed and we were happy, but the guilt of leaving her old life—she had a child, you see, a lad—it gnawed at her."

Emma's stomach turned, the bread in her throat like lead. The story was a glimpse beyond the mirror. She wondered if her parents had ever felt that guilt for the way they'd abandoned her, a helpless baby in the middle of the woods, or had they turned their backs and never thought of her again?

"We chanced upon something far rarer than gold or jewels—a magic bean, an item that would fetch a king's ransom. We could sail far from the places we knew and never have to look back. It was meant to be an escape, but before we could decide anything, it was stolen from us. I gave chase to the thief and wounded him, but he fled, and by the time I came upon him again, he was near death…surrounded by King Eustace's men."

"Eustace? That's not a name I've heard. Hook, how long ago was this?"

"Nearly three-hundred years, Swan, not that you'd guess by looking at me, eh?" he teased. "Still a dashing rapscallion. The years though, they bleed so easily into one another, and now King Eustace's kingdom is nothing more than rubble. At that time though, the city was a stronghold for his navy, and there were too many men, even for me. They carried the thief to their barracks, presumably to try saving his life. He didn't last very long however, and when they dumped his body in the pit, I searched it. Alas, anything he had must have been confiscated by the soldiers. We could find no way to enter the barracks unnoticed, nor could we risk lingering in the city any longer, so we left without the bean. What we didn't know at the time though was our undoing. The man who hired the thief, he desired that bean above all else, and when his prize did not find its way to him, he came looking for it."

Hook's face darkened in the gloom of the cabin, his thoughts pulled back through the years to that day.

"A man he was not, Swan, more a crocodile—the skin of his hands and face were scaled and glimmering. At first, I thought him merely a leper, but then he drew back is hood. It was a face I thought I'd seen the last of years before—the coward who was Milah's husband, except now he was the Dark One. He was quite pleased to find I was the one rumored to possess the magic bean, an unexpected boon. I thought those moments would be my last, was ready for it. I goaded him, hoping he would finish his work and leave before Milah's return to the ship—I'd convinced him she'd died—but I was too late. She found us and begged him not to harm me, pleaded for him to understand that she had never loved him, and that to stay with him would have killed her, but he never forgave her for leaving their son—or perhaps there was nothing left in him that was human anymore, nothing capable of forgiveness. He tore her heart from her chest on the deck of my ship, Emma—crushed it in his hand until the dust of it was taken by the wind. That wasn't punishment enough though, no. As a reminder that she had never been mine, that I had stolen something that was rightfully his, he took my hand as well. I tried to kill him, blinded with rage, but I was powerless against the Dark One—a demon that lives forever—but even demons can be killed, and I vowed I would find a way to get my revenge. I simply needed to survive long enough to do so."

"Neverland."

"Aye, Neverland."

"Hook," Emma whispered, reaching across the table and taking his hand, unfurling his fingers from the apple as juice dripped down his palm from it's bruised, punctured flesh. Her own hand was trembling, but together they stilled.

She didn't have to say the words, he could see them in the lines of her face, the anger that traced the angle of her jaw, the slow swallow at her throat.

I'm sorry.

"But I didn't have the bean," he continued, anchoring himself to Emma's grip and pulling himself back to the here and now, "so I made a bargain with a mermaid, Swan, for passage. The cost was the thing I loved most."

"Milah?"

"Aye. They dragged her body, empty shell that it was, into the depths. Nearly three hundred years later, and I'm still caught between Pan and death, searching for a magic bean that may no longer exist, all so I can finally reach the Dark One where he hides and claim my revenge. There are nights, Swan, when I think I'll be waiting forever."

"Hey," she reminded him, her thumb lightly circling the back of his hand, "you have me now, Hook, and I think we make one hell of a team."

"Aye, Swan, that we do."

"The magic bean, what makes you think it's still…somewhere? That it hasn't been used?"

"I thought just that until some years ago, perhaps twenty or so. Any pirate who hears the words 'magic' and 'valuable' will turn his attention quickly from his drink, none more so than myself. I always kept an ear open for talk of magic beans, or any magic that would have allowed me to cross worlds, so I was quite pleased when a return voyage to the very port where we'd lost the bean all those years ago turned up just that. Two men spoke of a local family—not quite all there in the head, they implied—who often bragged about a magical item they had long guarded, ensuring its safekeeping through generations. The family name was Brinley. One of the men enquired as to how such a meager family could have come into such a thing. The other didn't believe a word of the tale, but says if it were true, it may have to do with the families once storied pedigree as supporters of the old king. For them it was nothing more than idle town gossip, but for me…"

"King Eustace?"

"Aye, that is what I believed, so I set about learning all I could of the Brinley family, and who survived. It seems that long ago, one of the men was a doctor for the most respected gentry and the royal navy. The story spun by his wastrel offspring was that he once cared for a dying man, who regretting his venal choices in life, gifted him a rare, dangerous artifact and begged him to keep it safe from the dark hands that searched for it."

"The Dark One."

"Aye, one can assume the thief regretted whatever deal he made with the Crocodile."

"So, in his dying moments he repents and gives the magic bean to the doctor who tried to save him, hoping the Dark One won't be able to find it."

"I had hoped that was the case, and spent years trying to uncover a trail that had long gone cold. I searched their old ancestral homes, tracked down the correspondence they had written over the years, and questioned any members I could find still surviving, though the family had fallen far from their place of honor. I encountered only drunkards and malefactors reliving a time that had long passed. What I did discover, digging through trunks and crates of family history, was that Jacob Brinley often corresponded with a Commodore of the Royal Navy—Commodore Phillips, and in the last letter I found, the Commodore alluded to an item of great importance, and expressed if they could not find a safe place to hide it, that between their families they should pass the burden of it's safekeeping down through the ages."

"The letter I stole from that man, it was sent from Brinley to the Commodore—you were hoping it was a response, that it may contain the location?"

"I was, Swan, but it seems Brinley did not trust such information to be written down. In any case, ten years before you stole that letter for me, I became aware of a Commodore serving in a ragtag mockery of a navy, a people's militia, you could say. He went by the name Phillips and I wondered if I could be so lucky. I waited until his ship sailed alone on the open water—The Defiance, you may recall the tale. We boarded her and took no mercy. My suspicion that he was a descendent of the original Commodore Phillips was correct, though he would not breathe a word of what he knew of his family's history, of the magic bean. The crew and I slaughtered every man on board as he watched, and though I was able to make him beg for death, his only parting words before his body failed was that he would never visit that terror upon other realms. We ransacked the vessel but found no other clues, and I was left, once again, with no leads to where it might be."

"And then ten years later I stole a letter from the Commodore's heirlooms—"

"—which a lone survivor of The Defiance had kept safe and guarded in honor of the Brinley and Phillip's family secret, hoping I may seek them one day and he could kill me for the slaughter I committed."

"That's a complicated history, Hook."

"Indeed, three-hundred years passing will certainly muddy the waters, but there's more. Her son—"

"Captain?" a voice called through the hatch, Hook pausing his tale. "Do I need to toss these carousers in the sea to wake them, or will we leave off sailing until the morrow?"

"Tell the men if they don't have the galley shipshape by evening, they'll be supping with Neverland's bottom feeders regardless of when we sail, Cowry."

"Aye aye, Captain!" came Cowry's always faithful response, his footsteps fading out across the deck as he went about the work of sobering up the crew.

"Sail? I thought one doesn't simply sail in and out of Neverland, Captain?"

"Oh, we're not leaving Neverland yet, Swan," Hook grinned. "I've shared with you my reason for returning, but you've yet to see the crew's."