A/N: Callout to Chapter One of J.M. Barrie's Peter and Wendy (Hodder & Stoughton, 1911) for Pan's activity.

Chapter 45

Rumple looked up warily as Emma entered the room. "Well," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Come to dissuade me from setting a date again?"

Emma shook her head.

"Your doubts are allayed, then?"

"No," Emma admitted. "But that's not important as long as yours are. I…" She hesitated. "I know I was out of line with what I said. I just thought maybe so soon after losing…" She broke off, seeing his expression harden. "Forget it," she said abruptly. "Maybe I've been reading too many pop psychology articles online. It's none of my business. I just… want you both to be happy, okay?"

"And yet, your earlier suggestion seems likelier to achieve the opposite."

Emma shook her head again. "I never said I didn't think you and Belle were right for each other," she said. "I only meant that maybe you both need some time to… to catch your breaths after everything that's been going on."

"You know, Emma," Rumple remarked, "I have been here for a number of weeks already. Months, even." He lowered his eyes. "I'd be lying were I to tell you that my pain at losing Bae had fully healed, but I don't believe it ever shall. Would you have me, then, deny myself any chance at the happiness you alluded to earlier, simply because part of me yet mourns him?"

Emma gripped his hand fiercely. "Of course not," she said. And then, more softly, "I still miss him, too."

Rumple exhaled softly. "Well then," he said, smiling at her for the first time, "you're welcome to attend the ceremony."

A surprised answering smile sprang to Emma's lips. "Sure," she said. "Uh… I guess it'll be traditional? I mean…"

"According to the traditions of the land from whence we originated, yes," Rumple nodded.

"Okay," Emma said. "So, uh, anything I should know? So I don't accidentally stand in the wrong place or eat with the wrong fork or anything?"

Rumple shrugged. "I don't think you've much to worry about. Dress as formally as you normally would for such an occasion. It's a simple ceremony: Belle and I will each make a declaration of our feelings for one another and our hopes for the future, and then, Dr. Hopper will pronounce us husband and wife."

"That's all?" Emma asked.

Rumple nodded. "That's all. Oh and just for the sake of clarification, Emma? At no point in the service will there be an invitation for anyone to, ah, 'Speak now or forever hold their peace'."

Emma flinched slightly at that, but then she nodded back. "Got it."

He wasn't sure if he was floating or falling. Time and space became meaningless. There was only the vortex of light and smoke and he was drifting through it. Or perhaps, it was he who was stationary and it was drifting. The vortex seemed endless, but eventually, the shifting smoke seemed to form images, much as he might have made pictures out of clouds. The howling winds seemed to form voices—familiar ones at that—that gradually grew distinct enough to recognize not only the speakers, but their words. And still he floated. And still he fell.

Interlude

"I thought I'd seen the last of you," Hook snarled, when the two lost boys clambered up onto the Jolly Roger's deck.

Felix smirked. "I know."

And then, a new figure alighted from somewhere above the mainsail and touched down in front of them. "Manners, Felix," the newcomer chided. Then he smiled at the pirate. "Hello again, Lieutenant."

Hook glowered. "It's Captain now," he snapped.

"Oh?" Pan's smile broadened. "Inherited your brother's title, did you?" He chuckled when the pirate drew his sword. "At ease, Captain. I'm here to show my gratitude." He took a step forward. "You've done me a favor. Only good form for me to return it."

Hook's frown eased slightly. "You'll allow us to leave this place?"

Pan threw back his head and laughed. "Captain, you're asking for the grand prize when you've but mastered the first level! No, I had a different trophy in mind."

"And what's that?"

"Think of it as the first piece to your puzzle," Pan smiled. "You seek a way to kill the Dark One." His face turned serious for a moment before his open, friendly smile returned. Hook remembered that smile from his first visit. "A dagger should do it."

"A dagger," Hook repeated.

Pan nodded. "One very special dagger, in fact. It's got his name on it. Oh, the Dark One may be immortal, but stab him with that—in something vital, mind you—and he'll die."

Hook frowned. "And what good will that do me when it seems Fate means to cheat me of the opportunity? The Dark One's ill, or so I'm told. Dying, even."

"Of course he is, now," Pan scoffed. "But the board's being reset. He'll get another chance. And then, so will you."

Hook's frown deepened. The youth seemed so certain, but he still had his doubts. "As easy as that, then?" he mused. "No," he went on decisively. "I think there's some catch here you're not telling me."

Pan smirked. "Well, when you've mastered Level Two, perhaps I shall." He laughed again. In his son's hands, that dagger was one of the few things that might end his own existence. It would mean Rumple's end as well, and Pan doubted his boy capable of making that kind of sacrifice. But if the pirate did the job properly, Rumple would never get the chance to try. "You and me, Captain," he grinned, "we're going to have us some fun times, aren't we?" He leaped up, caught the mainsail boom, pulled up into a handstand and flipped off, rising into the air. As he flew back toward the island, the wind carried his last words plainly back to captain and crew.

"Let's play!"

Interlude

The wicker cage was cramped and swayed dangerously in the Never-breezes. Bae's stubborn silence lasted nearly two weeks before he demanded to speak with his captors. "How much longer do you think you can hold me?" he demanded, not really expecting an answer.

So, it startled him when a thin, reedy voice whispered very close by, "Perhaps ninety years. Perhaps a bit more."

He turned wildly toward that voice. "Who are you?"

There came a chuckle. Then the voice spoke again. "Someone who will never leave this place at all, Baelfire."

"You know my name?"

"I'm a seer," the voice replied. "I see all."

"Do you see how I can get out of this cage?" Bae demanded.

"Pan will release you. When it suits him."

Bae flung himself against the bars and the cage shook violently. "I can't wait that long!" he snapped. "I have to get home. My papa—!"

"You will meet him again, Baelfire, but he will not be the same man you left behind. Not yet."

"What does that mean?"

"In time," the voice replied, "you will find out."

Bae punched the wicker in frustration, but the wall was surprisingly strong and he succeeded only in scoring his fist with a number of tiny, painful, cuts. Nursing it in his other hand, he sighed. "Do you have a name?"

Silence.

Bae waited several minutes before trying again. "Hey. I asked you a question." When another two minutes went by, he added, "Look, you know my name. I just need something to call you. Unless you just want me to call you 'seer' I mean," he added.

The silence stretched far longer this time and Bae had almost given up hope of a reply when the voice, still thin, still reedy, but somehow gentler this time responded. "Neal," the voice said. "My name is Neal."

Interlude

"I'm sorry to leave you, Master Fendrake."

"I know you are, boy, but you've come as far as I can take you. The university is the right place for you now."

"Only because you persuaded the duke to sponsor me for it."

"I asked nothing of him that you haven't earned, boy. And I would never have requested his endorsement had you not deserved it."

The young man smiled at that. "My name's Tavro, Master Fendrake. You never have used it."

The healer nodded. "True. I suppose by the time I was ready you'd outgrown it. Tavro is a child's nickname. It no longer suits you. But from this day forth, I shall address you as Tavronius. As others will in turn. Many others, I suspect."

Interlude

"What are you doing?" Felix asked curiously. Baelfire lay on a bed of moss on the jungle floor, snoring softly, as Pan placed his hand on the youth's forehead. For a moment, Felix thought his leader might be ripping away a shadow, but the substance he drew out from Bae's head was shimmering white-gold, looking for all the world like a ghostly handkerchief or napkin.

Pan looked up briefly, then returned to his task. "Tidying his mind," he said grimly. "It's delicate work; the least fun kind of work there is, but it needs to be done."

Felix leaned forward, observing with keen interest.

"You see, Felix," Pan said almost absently, "Baelfire isn't like the other boys here. One day, he'll have to leave this place in order to give me something I've been awaiting for a very long time." He frowned as he held up a new piece of light. "Where on earth did he pick this up?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. After a moment, he folded the substance and set it down in the large pile to his left.

"You can read minds?" Felix asked with something very like awe on his face.

Pan laughed. "That would be a good trick, wouldn't it? No, I can't read his mind; not when he's awake. But if he's in a deep enough sleep," he gestured toward the nearby poppy patch, with the mortar and pestle he must have used to grind the flowers still sitting on the moist damp soil in front of it, "I can rummage in it. Time was when every good mother did, though most have lost the skill now." He laughed again. "He has quite the opinion of you, by the way."

"I can imagine," Felix drawled, not at all offended. "But why go to all this trouble?"

Pan's playful mask dropped for a moment. "He knows too much," he nearly spat the words out. "Someone's been filling his head with nasty thoughts about me and about this place. If I had my way, I'd remove them utterly, but the rock trolls of Arendelle are a bit too stingy with their pretty purple rocks." He shrugged. "So, if I can't remove his memories, I can at least rearrange them a bit." He frowned at the next sheet of light, folded it up into a tiny packet, and set it in the smaller pile to his right.

"You see, Felix," he said, sounding quite pleased with himself, "when Baelfire wakes up, all his unlovely thoughts about me and this place and certain things he really has no business knowing—though I must admit they're quite interesting—those will have been folded up small and placed at the bottom of his mind. And on top, beautifully aired," he added grandly, "will be spread out his lovelier, less dangerous ideas, ready and waiting for him to put on."

Felix whistled. "Do you do that with the rest of us, too?" he asked.

Pan laughed. "Worried, Felix?"

"Of course not," the teen said at once. "Just wondering."

Pan grinned. "I wouldn't even bother doing it with Baelfire if it wasn't absolutely necessary. It's too much work! But," he sighed, "if my plan is to come to fruition, I guess I need to fall back into that old nasty habit I was forced to assume before I came here. Just this once." For a moment, his boyish grin fell away, replaced by an expression of grim determination. "I never fail, Felix. And I'm not about to start now."

And when Baelfire awoke, all thoughts of the future that his father had placed in his head, to say nothing of any memories of his familial tie to his captor, would be found at the very bottom of his mind, where they wouldn't trouble him anymore. Nor would they pose any threat to Pan's long-term goals.

Interlude

Bae snapped the two halve of the coconut together disbelievingly. He'd finally done it! He'd trapped the shadow! He raced through the jungle, heading for the coast. "Neal!" he cried, as he approached the cave. "I have it! We've got a way out of here!"

The thin boy came to the cave's entrance. After all this time, the heavy scarring where his eyes ought to have been bothered Bae no more than the places where his eyes actually were—which was to say, not at all. It had taken time to get used to them, but time was an abundant commodity on an island where one didn't age. "I've been inspecting the boat," he said, motioning toward the tidal pool, where a small craft was moored. It had washed ashore ages ago, when Bae—together with Pan and the other boys—had staged a raid on the Jolly Roger. Pan had wanted to put the pirates to the sword and been in the process of releasing the lifeboats to cut off any escape, but he'd only been able to cut away two before Hook's crew had interrupted him. Still, they'd managed to make off with a few good swords and a decent amount of smoked and salted fish. Bae had been half-anticipating and half-dreading another meeting with Hook, but the captain had, apparently, been elsewhere when they'd attacked.

Some days later, Bae had been combing the beach for mussels when he'd spied the lifeboat. In all the endless days and nights he'd been on this island, it was the first time he'd discovered anything that might somehow, just possibly, get him off of it. Neal had been quick to tell him how it would be achieved.

"Will it work?" Bae asked hopefully.

"If you do as I saw you do in my vision," Neal whispered. "And since what I saw is what must come to pass, the only question is whether today is the day that you do."

Bae laughed triumphantly. "Then let's get out of here!" he exclaimed. "Help me raise the sail and let's hope we've got enough pixie dust to hold this creature to it!"

Neal nodded. Donning a pair of gloves to protect the eyes in his hands, he moved to assist Bae with the makeshift sail they'd woven from the supple leaves and vines that abounded on the island. As soon as it was unfurled, the boy reached into his ragged tunic for the leather pouch. "Here."

"Something wrong?" Bae asked, working the drawstring knot.

Neal shook his head. "Today is the day I saw long ago," he said. Then, with a sad smile, he added, "I saw all of it, Baelfire. Remember me."

"What? B-but you're coming too, aren't you?" he asked, scooping up a handful of the dust and smearing it over the coconut.

The boy shook his head. "How would you explain me to your land without magic? At best, I would be exhibited as a curiosity. At worst, slain on sight. No, I shall never leave here. Besides," he added, "Peter Pan does not look kindly on those who steal from him. Particularly those who steal pixie dust." He pointed toward the trees behind them and Bae saw a lone form soaring over their tops, bearing toward them.

"Pan," Bae whispered. "Neal, we have to hurry!" He reeled back and flung the coconut at the sail with all his strength. It hit the sail and broke, releasing the shadow from its confines. Pixie dust swirled about the figure, fastening it to the broad expanse behind it and it gazed balefully at the two boys.

"Here's hoping I remember everything Hook taught me about navigating…" he muttered.

"It will be enough," Neal murmured. "You will arrive safely."

"You mean we will," Bae said, as the rift opened.

Neal shook his head. "I saw otherw—" The boy emitted a choking gasp and toppled into the boat with an arrow in his back.

"NO!" Bae cried, as the boat crossed the boundary between Neverland and the realm from which he'd departed so many decades ago. The last thing he saw before it did was Pan's furious glower.

Sobbing, Baelfire crumpled over the body of his fallen friend. Too soon, though, practical thoughts arose. He couldn't have a dead body with him when he reached wherever he was going. There would be too many questions and he'd never be able to answer them. Never be able to explain the arrow wound or all those eyes or…

Still sniffling, Bae looked over the side of the boat. Then he looked up. The boat was now sailing in water, not air and there was no writhing shadow bound to the sail. Land without magic, he reminded himself. Guess that means pixie dust doesn't work here. At least, the shadow hadn't seemed interested in anything more than escape. Bae knew the feeling. He looked at the small body beside him. Burial at sea. It would have to be. The body wasn't very heavy, but it was still a strain to get it up over the side. It sank beneath the waves with barely a splash.

He was picked up by an ocean liner bound for New York City two days later. By then, he was dehydrated, starving, and suffering from exposure. Later, after they'd treated him for his condition, they asked his name. By now, Bae knew just how unusual his birth name would sound to them, though he thought his chosen surname would pass muster.

"It's Cassidy," he said softly. And then, he recalled that right before they'd set sail, his friend has made one request.

"Remember me."

Bae couldn't think of a better way to do that than to keep his name alive. Now, he looked at the kind-faced sailor with the pen and clipboard and amended, "Neal Cassidy."

Interlude

"I was wondering when I'd see you again," Pan nodded at the shadow hovering in midair before him. "He made it through, then?"

"To the realm I took him from, yes," the Shadow replied. "Although it's been nearly a century since I did."

Pan grinned. "Time does fly when you're having fun. Well. If the seer told me true back then, I imagine I'll be seeing him back here in a few years. Along with the Truest Believer."

"A pity you can't confirm that with him anymore," the Shadow noted drily.

Pan sighed at that. "Neal was a useful thing to have around, I'll admit," he said. His voice hardened. "But he stole the pixie dust from me. He had to have foreseen how that would end."

The Shadow shrugged. "Perhaps, he did. I've heard tell that a seer's power is more torment than boon. Over time, the burden of such visions often proves too much to bear. Perhaps, he did…"

As Rumple fell through the vortex, he had a fanciful that the images and tableaus swirling about him were unraveling before his eyes, unwinding, stretching out, and then reweaving in a pattern similar—but not identical—to what they had been before. But before he could truly examine the new weave, he caught the smells of damp earth, old lumber, sawdust, and dry hay and, despite his cane, he fell to his knees on the muddy floor of a barn he hadn't seen in nearly three years, but recognized at once.

Through the haze of his fever, he could just make out the concentric circles he'd drawn in the earth the day he'd stepped into the past. They still looked fresh. A golden brain lay in one pan; the prince was stooped over the one to its left, as he cradled an infant close.

The prince. Rumple hadn't seen him in years, but the man hadn't aged a day. And neither had Emma or Regina or—He was back. And it appeared that he'd returned to almost the precise moment at which he'd left. But he was back in Storybrooke, and…

…And Bae was still dead.

"Rumple?" Regina was moving toward him. Dimly, it occurred to him that he ought to get to his feet; she wasn't his liege and he shouldn't be kneeling to her. But he was drained, both physically and emotionally; his head ached, it was hard to breathe, and when he'd tumbled out of the portal, he seemed to have somehow set his foot—and the bad ankle attached to it—down in precisely the wrong manner. Before he could make the effort to rise, she was towering over him. And then, she dropped down to her own knees and, with a gentleness he'd rarely heard from her and certainly never directed toward him, asked, "Are you… all right?"

Had she tossed one of her usual acid comments his way, he probably could have pulled himself together, but her worry seemed to dissolve whatever tenuous control he had left and though he squeezed his burning eyes shut against the flood of tears that threatened to erupt, he couldn't keep one of them from leaking out. He tried to say something, but he couldn't articulate much around the lump forming in his throat. Still, he must have gotten something vaguely intelligible out, he realized, when she leaned closer.

"Sorry?"

He pressed his dry lips in and out a few times and tried once more. "I lost him." It came out as a ragged whisper. "I lost him again."