Wendy's heart slammed in her chest, keeping in time with a monotonous loop with her only questions being "why am I doing this" and a reassurance of "it will help you find Peter, then you'll have the chance to ask him yourself about what's going on".

"I will join your side, but that will be easier on the other side of the bars." She composed herself, grasping at her courage and her dignity, regulating her breathing as a meager display of control to help build her confidence.

But she caught it.

The slight tremor in his fingers, the tension of his arm as he forced them to steady. He looked at her as though he were expecting her to say something else; a simple no, or something along the lines of telling him to go to hell in whatever special way that she had.

Killian's breath hitched, lowering his gaze to his hand–the one still wrapped around her own, thumb not making any particular pattern on her skin. It was sheathed in a black leather glove, and that somehow made it look colder and more distant than when he had openly let her feel his palm on that fateful night so long ago.

Impersonal. She would even go so far as to say more businesslike than intimate.

But she wanted him to feel her, and she wanted to feel the rough edge of his calluses and the thrum of heat that radiated from his palm. Not just the persona of Captain Killian Jones, but the neglected boy, the bitter man–a lonely troubled being that went by the name of just Killian.

She didn't want to feel the cold, dark barrier between them, nor prison bars. She was saying yes and he was gazing at her silently, as if pleading for this moment to be true, not some ill-wrought hallucination or a petty trick. His lips pressed together into a thin taut line, ducking his head one more time until he was standing again.

He yielded and without missing a beat, his fingers fumbled for the latch, flipping it open in one swift movement. In the next, he was laying his heart at her feet, a more vulnerable gesture than what she had expected of him. "You will not regret this. I swear it." He stood there before her, tall and towering, extending an open palm much like the first time.

Except this proved to be a moment of more purpose. One moment that would lead to another rather than an abrupt night that promised they would eventually part.

Neither were rattled with anxiety now, a smile touching his lips. "I always believed I saw a little bit of pirate in you, Darling."

For the briefest of a second she contemplated hugging him-wondered what it would be like to cling to him, pour all of her desperation into it and feel something akin to relief because he would be close, pressed against her. The option flitted, but one she quickly discarded to instead take his hand and move out of her caged prison.

All she knew in that moment was that she felt powerful. Elated. Free.

A mixture of emotions that she hadn't felt in a long time when it wasn't over-encompassed by grief and confusion.

Wendy wanted to smirk at his remark, and the corner of her mouth did twitch, but she settled for an appraising expression instead, an acknowledging dip of her chin. She never feared Killian Jones, or perhaps she had once long ago when he was nothing more than a simple deckhand, but that was a time long gone and past.

Why did it feel good to be around him again?

In this unimagined thing she deemed as passion, she cast all proprietary to the wind with the sails and accepted the promise he'd held out before her.

Never mind the guilt. She had waited five years to see Neverland's shores again.

Two years to see Peter again.

And hearing Killian's words shouldn't have felt so flattering, liberating. In all manners of ways, it should have been absolutely appalling.

It was only pretend, was it not?

A ploy to play along in order to find out what had happened to Peter?

Through her heart pounding in her ears above the waves lapping against the sides of the ship, that was what she told herself and it sounded utmost convincing when not spoken aloud. But she would also be lying to herself if she said that standing beside his imposing form didn't mean that she had been freely given some form of recognition.

"I used to fantasize about being one."

She pulled her hand away to tuck a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze unwavering, looking out over the ocean and squinting against the harsh sunlight peeking through dark clouds. "But I'm afraid you'll have to teach me how to be a proper pirate." She said decidedly, only half-joking, and with a small but determined step toward him, she breathed with hidden anticipation.

Though she was not a famed princess hailed from one of her fairytale stories that she had discarded long ago, she still considered herself lucky to stand where he stood-feeling oddly treasured.

"If it is anything like your dancing, I have full confidence that it will come just as easily." His remark sent her heart stuttering into overdrive, and she forcefully kept her expression composed, struggling not to beam harsher than the sunlight.

When he turned, the crew who had been staring with such acute interest abruptly turned their backs, slipping into their normal routine as if they hadn't spent the last few minutes watching their captain express such interest in their captive-now newfound member?

Killian, ever the observant one that he was, knew; had caught a glimpse of their dumbfounded curiosity but made no remark. Perhaps because it wasn't the time, or he was in too jolly a mood to necessarily care, but his steps marked a firm plodding across the deck as he maneuvered onward to his cabin, stopping only once to look over his shoulder to be sure that she was still following. And she was.

"It's much like a waltz really. You just pick a partner that knows what he's doing and fortunately, you have the most infamous captain that has sailed the seven seas!" The declaration boomed across the deck in a show of grandiose celebration, met with a rumble of agreement that rose up from the other men as equally cheerful.

Wendy could only smile, a slight twitch at one edge of her lips.

"First things first, you'll need some new clothes. No ill will toward your current garments, but I should like you to stand at my side in something that's not a–" He paused, lips moving but no words making themselves known just yet before finally settling with: "Something that will not give the lads a good view should the wind blow the wrong way."

Catching her sudden frown, with a light smirk, he stepped into the confines of his private quarters. Within moments they were closed off from the rest of the crew in the dim light of his cabin–her steps taken inside with more caution.

There was nothing grand or particularly extravagant about it, albeit cluttered and housing the necessities–a desk in the very center with more than enough paper stacked atop to consider it cluttered, a circular table sitting by one large window likely used to eat a meal, a collection of globes and boxes of various trinkets and other belongings that he had collected on his adventures, a bed sloppily made in one corner flanked by a couple of side tables.

Off in a separate area–that more or less took up the majority of the room and sitting on top of a very wide and red carpet was a grand piano, cluttered with candles and paper and only parts of it filled out as if he had at one point attempted to write a song that didn't quite piece itself together and had since given up.

"We don't see many female pirates–most certainly not in Neverland, but I'm sure that I have something you can use." Killian walked through it without sparing his more grandiose belongings even a single glance, coming to a singular chest sitting against the wall underneath a mirror. He began to sift through it. "Make yourself at home, Love. There is wine in the cabinet if you wish to partake."

She nodded, head swiveling around the privacy of his quarters before finally settling on the grand piano sitting squarely to one side, an almost dream-like expression taking hold. Oh, what would Peter say if he could see her standing in the cabin of his enemy with such a look of wonder on her face? Peter, whose come-hither smile–no matter how much she wished to deny it-still enchanted her in ways that she could never simply forget.

No.

She was only playing a part, she reminded herself. It was all to untangle where Peter was now.

However, she couldn't deny that the seemingly unending, slow sway that rocked beneath the room was calming, lulling her into a sense of security. Wendy watched as Killian rummaged through the chest to look for something she could wear. Ever the gentleman.

She suddenly became acutely aware of how easy it was to slip into comfort around him after spending five long years apart. She'd almost missed the way he insisted upon calling her Love.

Scanning the room, she found the myriad of trinkets within the boxes, both rare and unusual, the paper stacks on the desk. What was he up to? She thought, and turned to look out the window. Straight ahead, the unmistakable silhouette of an island–now changed and ominous–stood at the other side of the water's edge, a dark outline against the burning rage of sunset.

Slowly sinking down into a chair in front of the piano, she turned so that she was facing the opposite direction on the bench. "You mentioned before that Peter doesn't remember." Her heart sank, but only a little, still partially unsure if she could trust the words of a pirate–even if that pirate happened to be Killian Jones.

"What makes you think so?"

"You know what they say." Killian said and then specified as he rummaged through the chest. "Rumors spread. Words are passed to tribes, which are passed to fairies and it eventually winds up in the ears of a pirate." When he turned, he was holding one particular garment, a green fabric of some kind that he held up in the air in front of her with a cock of his head. There was a brief moment of pause, a sound of indignation escaping his throat before he tossed it back into the chest and continued looking.

"When Pan returned from one of his escapades give or take four, five years ago, I asked him for a favor." His back was turned, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over the rattling of the contents being thrown about in the box. "I wanted to try a life outside the bounds of piracy, and so I asked him for the resources to leave Neverland to pursue it. We made a deal, and he told me that if and when I came back, my debt would have to be repaid."

Killian seemed to pause for a moment, one hand bracing the edge of the box, his hook looped through one particular piece of fabric that he must have decided against, for he shook his head and continued. "Under certain circumstances, I returned and that was when the rumor reached me. Pan's memory was a fragment of its former self."

Wendy tried to veil her own surprise and failed miserably. He had wanted to try a life outside the bounds of piracy? Mild, honest, but innocent shock etched itself into her expression. She almost couldn't imagine him in her world, living a normal life, but a part of her also could. A small sliver of her wondered what mother and father would think.

Inhaling softly through his nose, he snatched one last article of clothing and turned to face her, a black fabric clutched in one hand, and folded over his forearm. "I thought that perhaps I had lucked out and he had forgotten about my debt as well. That is, until he came to collect it."

Deft fingers plucked small bits and pieces of jewelry from various shelves and other furniture as he passed by them, closing the distance that lingered between them until he was looming next to her at the piano. "I tested the waters to see if perhaps my crewmen were merely pulling my leg. I asked him about you, asked about how he had managed to age in a place where time was an abstract concept, if maybe you were the cause of him suddenly growing into a man, but he hadn't the slightest idea as to what I was talking about."

A subtle shrug followed the confession, extending what he had gathered and had seemingly deemed appropriate. Not a showy dress or anything of that fashion, but something comfortable that didn't show an excess amount of skin and most importantly: pants.

"He wanted something very valuable to me as payment. I begged and I pleaded for him to take something else. Anything else, but he did and I haven't seen him since. He changed hideouts, he hasn't been to see the tribes; there's talk that even Tinkerbell has abandoned him."

Killian's tone dropped an octave, and while it was subtle, there was an ounce of hurt behind the words, a genuine grief that whatever he had lost had only increased his hatred for the prince of Neverland tenfold. Not enough to want to give him the pleasure of a quick death, but something much much worse.

He cleared his throat, and suddenly that cocky and confident demeanor was back-his earlier contempt forgotten, the quick flicker of the emotion squashed as soon as it had been realized. His eyebrows flicked upward; lips pressed together in one tight line. His chest heaved. "But I'll wager that his memories are limited to the island, and whatever happened beyond that was…" His hand cut through the hair in a vague gesture, but she still found it hard to believe.

She accepted the clothes with hesitance, her mind running rampant.

Wendy's resolve remained a solid, impenetrable fortress of will, and she tried to shake free of what she did not want to hear until it all but overwhelmed her. She did not want to believe him, but suddenly found it difficult to simply dismiss.

Their adventures and the precious time they had shared. Every laugh and smile that was passed between them, their time spent with the boys. How could he just forget?

She refused to fold to despair, clutching the fabric in an attempt to process, holding it as if that would somehow ground her. Something very wrong had to have happened if even Tinkerbell had abandoned him. Yet, there was something else that pricked at her, something beyond everything that he hadn't quite answered.

Wendy stood, facing him with a newfound decisiveness, but still with that soft crease of worry on her forehead. "What is it that he took from you?" She asked barely above a whisper, and strongly contemplated the possibility that he wouldn't tell her. She'd caught a glimpse of the conflict in his eyes when he spoke about it, and the slowly returning ease to his words couldn't convince her otherwise.

It wasn't that she was trying to analyze or dive into his head, but she could have easily been wrong about anything she guessed–and realized she likely was. She could see that he cared about what he'd lost, and she'd known it the second he averted his eyes the first time they met.

He was a man of great feeling, just good at hiding it.

She took a tentative step toward him, but as she persisted, he retreated, taking one careful step back of his own. The small of his back pressed against the piano and he was given no other choice-even when trying to duck his head-to look at her with only the most honest sincerity. His answer was equally the same, albeit spoken more quietly. "Nothing that will ever rightfully be returned to me. Nothing that even the bloody demon's death will make up for."

Standing as they were now, he had to look down to see her clearly, the only thing standing between them now besides their equally stubborn natures were a few agonizing inches of empty space. Space that he could have closed just by taking one step closer.

He didn't.

"But I need to find him. There are answers that I require and I want you to see for yourself that when he came to me to collect this debt, he was not the boy that you have grown so fond of." And without any particular reasoning behind it, nothing that had urged him to exactly do so besides his own sense of some strange want, he reached out toward her, his fingers toying with a strand of her hair to tug it behind one ear.

The brief, gentle touch made a tight knot coil around her stomach, an ache gnawing deep inside herself.

He exhaled softly through his nose.

"That is the plan." Killian turned his head, sliding sideways in order to get out from where he had been wedged in between her and the piano, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket. "But first things first, I will be stepping out so that you can change." His tone had returned to normal, ringing out across the empty space of his cabin.

"Let me know if you need help with any of it. I'll be back in two shakes if I don't hear from you." And just as quickly as he'd appeared, he'd gone-with a sly wink following his exit, leaving her to adorn the outfit that he'd chosen with no other direction than to simply find him after.

Unless of course he came back before then to berate her for being so slow at putting clothes on.

It took a few moments of simply breathing before she finally willed her limbs to move. Of course, of course he refused to tell her the full truth, and then suddenly she was alone in his cabin, mouth agape, his voice and that wink still a clear picture in her mind.

Wendy undressed quickly, pulling her dress over her head and yanking on her new clothes, utterly thankful for the black pants and the comfort they provided. She regarded herself in the mirror, examined the red button up shirt with its rolled up sleeves and the three golden bracelets jingling on her right wrist.

Satisfied with what she saw, she nodded to herself and left to find Killian.