Peter was exceedingly displeased to find that having Wendy be 'in on the plan' was helpful. He had never intended for her to be of any help. Sure, he had made a very good show of collecting introductory books on magic from Gold's mansion. When he was finished, the stack was nearly as tall as she was; each book filled with spells and incantations and deep magic that was above and beyond her and far older than either of them. (It had taken him years to grasp the beginnings of any of what he gave her, but he had not mentioned this.) He even charmed a bag so that the books could be easily transported. But he never actually intended for her to learn anything.

He knew that she was an avid reader; she demanded new medical textbooks every few years and devoured anything else he brought her, but Wendy had never been particular fond of magic to his knowledge. On Neverland, any use of it was appalling to her. She did not want to hear about this spell or that. No, she much preferred to distance herself from it all. He was quite sure she would open the first couple of books, balk, and then not bother him about any of the plans he would make in the future.

Instead, it was quite the opposite. She spent every spare minute reading. She got up early each morning to read through the books and every night fell asleep with a book in her hand. He found everything about the situation extremely irritating. It was irritating that she left the candle burning so long. It was irritating that she used random objects as bookmarks— forks at dinner, his gloves, her hairbrush. It was irritating that she went through all these books at an alarming speed. But the most irritating thing was that she started asking questions. She would ask him questions over their meals about this spell or that ancient wizard. At the beginning, they were childlike and stupid. It was almost entertaining when she asked him why people didn't just make up new spells at dinner one night.

He laughed at her, a full and hearty laugh. "Why would you? There are spells for all manner of things."

"But someone made these spells before," she continued, questioningly. He could see the gears turning in her head and it was clear she had spent some time thinking about this. "So, it stands to reason that you could also make a spell now."

He shook his head. "You just don't understand," he told her, exasperated. "It's not how things are done in the world of magic." He didn't expect her to understand how spells operated or the kind of work and talent that went into making even just a simple spell. Not to mention that there were hundreds of spells for hundreds of different things. There was no need to create new ones. It was a laughable concept.

"That's not a good answer," she retorted. He just rolled his eyes.

To his great displeasure, however, she soon started asking rather insightful questions and even coming up with new ways to use spells.

He wanted to break something when after his third failed attempt to break into one of Gold's mansions, she suggested a transformation spell he had never really bothered to learn about.

"We are trying to get in to the mansion," he explained through gritted teeth. "It does not matter if we are invisible. We need to be using a transportation spell."

She shook her head and pointed to the spell on the page. "This one doesn't make you invisible, it transforms you so that you are not in a physical realm." He stared at her, furious that she knew this and that he didn't. "The mansion's protection spell is clearly picking up on us. Whether or not we're trying this transportation spell or the other, we're still physically trying to get through and that's what the protection spell is picking up on."

He was quite sure he had never been more furious with her when it worked.

On Neverland, he had never asked her advice for anything. Most of the time her 'advice' was unprompted and consisted of sermons and monologues about how immoral, evil, wicked ("Just pick a word," he often told her) he was and that the best way to deal with all his problems was to just stop doing whatever it was he was doing. Therefore, her advice was never helpful or necessary.

But now, it was helpful and necessary. But she still said it with the same haughty, holier-than-thou voice that he hated. She was smart, he knew, but did she have to sound like such a goddamn know-it-all?

Despite all this, he begrudgingly started asking her advice instead of just listening to it angrily when she offered it unprompted. She was creative in the way she understood spells and had an imaginative perspective on how they might be applied. She was able to identify intricacies and complexities in spells that he had simply skipped over. Though his magic was running lower, he was becoming incredibly efficient and adept with the use of his spells.

It infuriated him that she was the reason this was happening.

A strange thing began to happen, though, because of this. They began to have civil conversation. She would offer her thoughts and ideas. Then he would offer his thoughts and ideas back and before he knew it, they were having a calm discussion that actually interested him. Peter even found himself enjoying these times.

He was enraged when he realized this was happening.

The great Peter Pan did not take advice from mortals. He did not listen to their thoughts and take them into consideration. So, he initially resisted the temptation to talk with Wendy. But much to his displeasure (or perhaps it was his pleasure), she persistently told him her ideas, whether he wanted to hear them or not. But more than that, the conversation soothed… something in him.

He found himself often thinking of the life his brother had made for himself. Rumplestiltskin had managed to find a beautiful, loving wife and had a loyal, devoted son, both of whom went to the ends of the earth for him. Even though he was cantankerous and volatile, Rumple still had had friendly acquaintances (even friends) in Storybrooke. Even though Rumple was now absorbed into his son and knife-less, if the damn fool ever got out of the mess he was in, he would have something to return to.

Peter had not returned to anything. The world that he had been dragged back into was different from the world he left. His loyal followers were few and he did not enjoy their adoration as he had before. He no longer had his island. His magic was the weakest it had ever been. The only person he spent any significant time with hated him. Until he got the star and the Heart of the Truest Believer back, his life would be… bleak.

There were not many things in his life that he enjoyed. In fact, there was probably only one thing in life that he enjoyed and that was unfortunately, his conversations with Wendy. He hated that he liked them. He hated that he didn't fill the silences just to hear his own voice anymore. He hated it and as much as he wanted to resist, he didn't… couldn't. He tried to remind himself that he was supposed to be trying to get Wendy to soften to him and so he should talk to her, but the excuse was just that: an excuse. He then tried to remind himself, that as King of Neverland, he never denied himself any pleasure. He did whatever he wanted. But this was… compromising.

Instead, he allowed himself this pleasure. He let Wendy talk to him and he offered his own thoughts back. Her voice filled his days and evenings and even at night, he could hear her voice still in his mind.

His days began to feel less…empty. It infuriated him that Wendy, this irritating, self-righteous mortal, was filling them.

XXX

Wendy had grown accustomed to silences. The long stretches of road that she and Pan travelled along were quiet, with barely a handful of words passing between them. But as they rode deeper into the woods surrounding the third mansion, along twisting, tight paths, she decided that the silence that now surrounded them was unpleasant.

She had little experience with forests. The jungle that tangled over Neverland had always been filled with the shouts and jeers of Lost Boys, arrows whizzing through the air. Birds cried out, afraid of their human neighbours, and squirrels and chipmunks cowered under trees. And as they continued through the silent wood, she decided that she liked this forest just as much as the one on Neverland.

It was mid morning when they reached the manor. Large, imposing gates surrounded the mansion. Soaring up like trees, they almost melted into the surrounding forest, and perhaps, if one was not careful, they might miss it.

When Pan opened the gates, the manor behind them was almost more forest-like than the gates. It was built out of dark wood, shrouded with trees that almost seemed to grow from it. It looked abandoned, as if someone had allowed the forest to grow into it.

"Camouflage," Pan commented. If he had noticed Wendy's curious looks, he didn't let on.

They brought their horses to the stables, pouring water from the taps that miraculously worked, despite looking old and unused, and then heaping up straw for them to eat. They would be here awhile.

After leaving the horses, they entered through the large wooden door of the mansion. When they stepped in, the floor creaked, the only sound in the dead silent manor. The smell of earth and decay hung in the air.

They both were silent a moment and Wendy snuck a glance at Pan. His eyes darted over the foyer, a large room with vaulted ceilings. Wendy imagined that if this place were lived in or perhaps not owned by the Dark One, it might have been warm and inviting with its wooden walls and beautiful architecture.

Breaking the silence, Pan said, "Off to the library." He began to make a beeline for the left hallway.

"Aren't we going to look for Baelfire first?" Wendy asked.

Pan turned and looked back at her. He made a show of looking around. "Don't think he's here."

"We can still check." The eerie silence of the manor was hint enough to Wendy that in all likelihood Baelfire was not there.

"Alright. Library's this way when you're done," Pan said, turning on his heel.

Wendy faltered.

Pan turned back. "You're not scared, are you?" he asked.

Wendy squared her shoulders. "Of course not. I just… It's very dark."

"Lanterns are with the horses."

"I know you're capable of lighting all the candles," she told him.

"Thank you, I am."

Wendy realized that this was a common scene that played out between the two of them. Both she and Pan were stubborn. Neither of them was going to concede and neither was going to let up on the issue. This was a game she knew how to play.

Swallowing her fear, she turned on her heel and quickly returned to the horses. She lit a lantern and went back inside, telling herself that all she was afraid of was a silent dark house. Something perfectly mundane.

It was a lie. It was not perfectly mundane in the slightest.

XXX

Wendy came to the library about forty-five minutes after Peter had left her. He was rather impressed that she had swallowed her fear and had actually taken a look around the mansion. Though, he was sure she hadn't looked in every nook and cranny. The eery silence that hung over the place was evidence enough that Baelfire was not there and Wendy knew it. It wouldn't have taken a genius to figure out. He suspected that she looked only out of loyalty to her brother, much like her long, pointless walks around Neverland. That damned Darling loyalty; a useful trait when it suited his goals but, most of the time, quite annoying.

He looked up from his pile of books at her as she came and sat at the other side of the table across from him. Before they spoke, he watched as she looked around at the library in awe. It was all dark wood, the same wood from the trees of this forest he suspected. There was a vaulted cathedral ceiling and chandeliers hung from it, dusty, but still giving off a delicious golden light. There were rows and rows of bookshelves stuffed with ornate, expensive tomes. Some were relevant to what they were doing, but most were not. There was a reading area, a fireplace made of a stone that was most certainly not from the area. It was flanked on its sides by large windows that looked out onto the forest that seemed to go on forever. In front of the fire place were large leather chairs and side tables. Behind those was a large dark wood table that he and Wendy sat at.

He saw her awe in the library. It was gorgeous, but most certainly not the most gorgeous one they would see. He didn't care to mention that. Why should he care if Wendy would be excited to see the other libraries?

"I've pulled all the books that may be remotely relevant," he told her, sweeping his arm across the table. There were a few dozen books, all heavy with ancient magic and dust. "You can start on that pile." He pointed to the one closest to Wendy. He figured they would be the simplest for her to understand.

Wendy said nothing and pulled the first book off the pile and opened it. She waved away the dust as she peered into it. She paused and then made a face. "You know I don't speak Latin, right?"

"You're a rich girl from turn-of-the-century London," was his reply.

She rolled her eyes. "Not Latin rich," she told him. "Even if I did, don't you think being about a century out of practice would be an issue?"

Now was his turn to roll his eyes. "Well, what do you speak? Or read?"

"English. French."

"There's no French in this world," he told her. She just stared at him. The books he had been reading were in English, but were considerably much older and harder to decipher. However, as annoying and stubborn and just generally unpleasant Wendy was, he could admit she was brilliant when it came to understanding. He knew she may struggle, but she would probably get on just fine. Not as quickly as he, but fine.

He pushed his pile over to her and she pushed her Latin pile over to him. They both turned to their respective piles and opened their own books and began to read.

After a while, Wendy said, without looking up, "My father was a city councillor. We weren't from the nobility; we'd have had no need for Latin. French was the better choice and so that's what our governess taught us."

He looked at her. This was something Wendy would often do back on Neverland: share. For almost seemingly no reason sometimes. It was a practice that had irritated him. He did not care about what languages she did or didn't speak. But then and now (perhaps even more so now), he found himself intrigued. He shook himself. He could allow himself conversations about spells and magic, but not this. This was too much.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

She paused and considered for a moment. "I'm not sure," she admitted.

XXX

"I'm not sure," she admitted. But Wendy knew the answer: Pan had been her unwilling and constant companion this past century and it made her feel incredibly lonely and isolated to think he knew very little about her. She knew an inordinate amount about him, but he didn't even know what languages she spoke.

She thought sharing it would make her feel less alone. She was hundreds of miles from a home she was just beginning to know and years and universes away from her true home. She wanted to speak and be listened to. But the uninterested look on Pan's face when she had told him about her life had reminded her of who he was and that there was no point in sharing anything with him.

He was her sworn enemy.

It shouldn't matter to her if he knew anything about her.

"You're an odd one," he told her before turning back to the book. She sighed and turned back to hers.

Hours later, after many, many books, her eyes had grown strained and watery and the words seemed to swim off the page. The daylight outside had grown dimmer and dimmer and she knew that soon the sun would set.

"I think we should head out now," she told Pan after a while.

"Head out?" he asked. "Are you insane? It's a three hour ride."

"We're staying here?" she demanded.

"Of course, we are."

"Were you not going to tell me this at some point?"

He looked at her blankly and shrugged. "I'm telling you now." Another way in which he made her feel desperately alone. Delightful.

She rolled her eyes. "And to think you were getting better at letting me in on the plan."

"You didn't ask. You assumed."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have to ask," she said pointedly. "For someone who couldn't keep quiet for more than five seconds for a whole century, I'm surprised you didn't tell me."

"That was all banter," he corrected.

"I do not care," she told him. She gave him a look that she hoped he would understand as serious. But Peter Pan was not known for being serious. "We made an agreement."

He scoffed. "And you trusted my word?"

She felt stupid. How could she have trusted his word? Had there ever been a time when his word had meant anything?

But the last couple of weeks had been…disarming. Wendy had found herself being pulled into interesting, civil conversations with him. She had begun to enjoy talking with him. She could even have said she looked forward to discussing plans with him. It was alarming to realize that perhaps she had let her guard down. Perhaps, she wanted to share because she felt as if they should be closer now.

That is not how you should think of Pan, she told herself. She felt as if she had betrayed herself and her family to have even swayed into the area of trusting Pan. This was still the same man who kept her trapped on Neverland for more than a century. He was still cold and unreachable and inhuman. It did not matter if he was a good conversationalist or that she liked how his mind worked. He was still the enemy.

She answered after a pause, "I suppose I shouldn't have."

He clucked his tongue at her. "Don't go soft on me now, bird." He gave her a grin that she supposed other women might have swooned over. She might have swooned over it if she hadn't known him.

Pan waved his hand almost lazily and the books moved to the end of the table and were replaced by food that made Wendy's stomach ache just at the sight of it. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, bread, gravy, a jug full of steaming cider and a small dish of cookies.

"Couldn't you have done this for lunch?" she asked. The thought of the dry bread that she had choked down made her stomach turn now.

"Without Neverland, magic is very taxing. It's best to use it wisely," he told her. She stared at him for a long moment. Pan had scarcely used his magic since his return, but she hadn't thought much of it. With the Lost Boys on Neverland, he was a skilled marksman, a wonderful swordsman and amazing at hand-to-hand combat. He preferred to use scare tactics and mind games. The fear he instilled in the Lost Boys was more than enough to control them. He had only ever resorted to magic in a few circumstances. She had not thought much of the fact that he seldom used his magic now.

The thought had not crossed her mind that he was weakened.

This was another thought that left her feeling disappointed in herself. She should have been on her guard with Pan. She should have been taking note of how often he used magic, if he was weak and a whole batch of other things. She truly had let her guard down. It was shameful. Wendy from Neverland would not have been pleased.

On the other hand, Pan's admission was also strange. She was surprised that he had mentioned that he was weakened, that magic was taxing. The great and power Peter Pan did not admit to weakness. She wondered if the admission had been an accident or if his guards were slipping, too.