"This is not what I was expecting," Pan said, looking down at the town.

Sat atop a hill on a road leading into town, Wendy and Pan looked down at the bustling shops with specks of shoppers moving between them, elegant buildings made of white stone, and below the cliffs, white sails luffing in the breeze from the boats in the harbour.

Pan had explained to her in as few sentences as possible that Gold's next estate was on an island that was a two day boat ride from the nearest hamlet. They would charter a boat that we take them to and from the island. Since it was so isolated, he expected that there would be no spell guarding it and so the weeks between their encounter with Matthew and then had been spent in long, silences.

The quiet, the distance chafed Wendy. She would break it often with an insult or a sharp comment and then immediately regret it. Her heart would twist in her chest when hurt flashed across Pan's face. She wanted to take back all the words immediately, beg his forgiveness for them, for the thrown mug, but she couldn't.

Asking Pan for forgiveness felt like heresy, the ultimate irony, a cruel trick played by the universe.

"It is what it is," she said simply.

The town felt like it was straight out of a storybook. Snow dusted the dark slate roofs, smoke curling out of the chimneys. The polished stone walls of the buildings glowed a warm white from the light cast from the lampposts. Gold light from shop windows spilled out on the dark cobblestones.

Biting her cheek, Wendy watched Pan out the corner of her eye. A desperate urge to walk the shops with Pan filled her, to flip through books together, to contemplate a silly trinket. Imagining mundanes with Peter was frustrating, taunting her with a fantasy that would never happen.

While paying to stable the horses, Pan idly asked the stable hand, "Town's really changed then?"

The stablehand nodded. "Once the town council took over the island estate, business really started booming."

"The island estate?"

The boy nodded. "It was abandoned for as long as anyone can remember, so they said that if no one came back within five years, they'd take it over and no one came back. So they restored it and turned it into a resort about … oh how long has it been, about six or seven years? It's been really good for the town."

"Restored it?"

"Yes, all the original work was restored. They were able to salvage all the paintings, the furniture, the library," he explained. Pan turned over his shoulder and gave Wendy a look as if to say, Lucky break?

She shrugged, barely meeting his eyes.

Once the horses were taken care of, they made their way down to the docks. People milled about everywhere, the crowd churning around them. Wendy wanted to slip her hand int Peter's, desperate to feel his skin against hers again. Instead, she just walked as close to him as possible, so close she could smell him, feel his warmth. It was torturous, being this close to him, knowing what he felt like, sounded like, and not allowing herself to touch him.

Snow flurried down onto them as they bounced from ship to ship, only to be told that there was no room. Pan's shoulders grew tighter and his lips thinned into a strained line as they came up against yet another fully booked ship. Rubbing circles on her temples, they approached the next receptionist at a large ship made of warm, burgundy wood with spiralling geometric designs along the railings. Far above them, its creamy sails puffed up in the wind against the darkening sky, impatient to leave the dock.

The receptionist looked up at them and gave them a bright smile that Wendy could barely return. "Hello there," the man said. His cheeks and nose were rosy in cold and Wendy struggled to understand how he looked so happy out in the cold, salty air.

"Do you have any rooms available?" Pan asked without exchanging pleasantries.

The man glanced down at his clipboard. "We only have the honeymoon suite available."

Without warning, Pan grabbed Wendy's hand and held it up side by side with his other hand. Heat flooded through her and her cheeks grew hot. Ridiculous girl. "We're newlyweds," Pan said, offering a grin that made the receptionist's eyes go soft. Even his magic dwindling, Pan was a powerful man.

"Fantastic!" the man said. Pan dropped Wendy's hand and she was left reeling from his absence.

They were ushered into the ship and led through twisting hallways until they arrived at a set of ornately carved doors with golden handles that shone in the dim light. The receptionist dropped a key into Pan's hand before turning on his heel and wishing them well.

Pan unlocked the doors and swung them open into a richly decorated room. The room must have been at the back of the ship because a set of floor to ceiling windows spanned the length of the back wall, leading out to a Juliet balcony, with a set of chairs and table topped with a tablecloth patterned in white damask set out. A set of chairs and a couch were set up in a half circle by a fireplace on one wall and the other had a large, four poster bed heaped with luxurious crimson sheets and furs.

Pan walked straight into the room, dumped his bag onto the floor and flopped into the bed with a great sigh. She dropped her bag and shut the door behind her before coming to glower at him. "Get out," she said, hands on her hips, trying to give him her best glare. It was hard to do when she wanted to hold his hand and peruse book shops with him.

"No," he said simply, starting up at the ceiling. It was cream with intricate geometric patterns covering it. The walls, also crimson, were decorated with sprawling geometric patterns, too. It was one of the nicest rooms they had ever stayed in and she wasn't about to let Pan hog the bed.

"I'm sleeping in that bed tonight and I will not be sharing," she bit out.

He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at her. "Won't be able to control yourself?" he taunted.

"No." Yes.

"I'm taking the bed," he told her and flopped back down.

"You barely sleep as it is," she said. "Why waste it?"

He snuggled back down into the comforter. "Hmm, maybe all I was missing were these silk sheets. I feel like I could fall asleep right now."

She let out a frustrated breath. In a moment of impulse, she grabbed the end of the comforter and pulled at it as hard as she could. She had been hoping to pull Pan off the bed altogether; instead, only his legs came off and the silky fabric slipped right out of her hands and she ended up sprawled on the floor.

She propped herself up on her elbows to find Pan sitting up on the bed, grinning down on her. He clapped slowly as she awkwardly stood up, pushing away the hair that had fallen out of her bun. "That was so entertaining, bird. Bravo."

"Fuck you," she bit out.

He gave a shrug. "I'll pass," he said, voice so cold Wendy thought for a moment that all the windows in the room had suddenly been flung open. His face could have been a statue, cold and stony, the frozen face of someone who was untouchable.

"I hate you," she cursed as the now-familiar rage crept up her throat.

"Old news. 'I hate you' is getting boring," he yawned. "Why don't you throw another mug? Much more entertaining." He was all sharp lines then, formed out of frozen, jagged pieces of ice. His eyes were so light they were almost silver, all traces of humanity gone from him. He looked at her as if she were nothing and for a moment she wished he hated her because it would have been so much more bearable than his apathy.

She pressed her lips together and turned on her heel, slamming the door behind her. As she walked down the hallway out to the deck, she heard Pan call, "You can dish it but you can't take it?"

Wendy returned from deck in the early hours of the morning, cold and tired and utterly miserable. She hadn't been able to freeze out the image of Pan, cold and apathetic, in the hours that she spent pacing up and down the ship.

She could barely keep her eyes open as she peeled off her dress and changed into her pyjamas and downed the sleeping potion. She quickly fell onto the couch, pulling a thin blanket over her before falling deeply asleep.

She woke up what felt like moments later, slowly, groggily, as it she was being pulled out of sand. Once she opened her eyes, she jolted up immediately. The world was rocking back and forth and the room was too small, the walls pressing in on her. Without so much as a second thought, she launched herself off of the couch and into the bathroom. She wasn't even fully aware of her limbs and their movements until she was kneeling over the toilet and throwing up.

Gripping the porcelain with shaking fingers, she heaved again and again, feeling like she couldn't get a breath in. Eventually, her supper was all down the drain and she had stopped her retching. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood shakily, the world still spinning.

When she turned to the sink, she found Pan standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his arms crossed. In the dimness, she couldn't make out his features, but she was sure he wasn't happy to be woken up by her vomiting.

"Don't stand there glowering," she bit as she turned on the faucet and ran her toothbrush under the water.

"You've never been on a ship like this?" he asked, voice cool.

She scoffed, mouth full of toothpaste. "I didn't really have the chance during my imprisonment on that hellhole you call a paradise."

He turned without another word and she spat into the sink.

A few moments later, she came out of the washroom, resigning herself to two awful nights at sea. At least she wasn't wasting her time in that plush bed. Rounding the corner, she stopped abruptly, finding the two plush chairs pushed in front of the back wall, the windows flung open, letting in the cold night air, heavy with the sea and salt. Pan sat in one of them.

He turned and in the dimness, she could make out his face, just as cold as ever. "Sit," he said.

She scoffed. "I don't need your help," she said and took a step towards the couch. His hand shot out and circled her wrist. Her whole body reacted, her skin burning, all of screaming at her to fling herself into her arms.

"Sit," he repeated.

Acting as if his touch repulsed her, she broke out of his grasp and came to sit beside him in the other chair. She pulled her knees up to her chin and closed her eyes, rubbing at her temples. It hurt her head to consider what his actions meant.

"Open your eyes and look at the horizon," he commanded.

"I know what to do," she snapped.

"Then why are you acting like you don't?" he snapped right back.

"Go back to bed."

"Why? And get woken up again by your loud vomiting? I'll pass."

"Fine. Then just—just shut up."

She looked out at the horizon. She could barely make it out. The sea churned beneath them, dark and cold. Above them, the sky was dark with clouds, neither the moon nor the stars poked out. She squinted and thought she saw just the barest hint of the horizon, the sky and sea meeting together.

The cold air prickled at her, cooling her hot skin, but her mouth still tasted acrid and acidic. The nausea that had subsided had returned and she was far too aware of how the ship rocked and shifted. She tried to take deep breaths, perhaps to calm herself. She wasn't sure what she was calming down from: the vomiting or Pan's painful presence beside her.

"Feeling better?" Pan's voice came from beside her.

"No," she answered honestly.

He huffed and he held out a hand, a small vial of swirling green potion in it. She took it, careful not to actually touch him, and held it up before her. It was sickly shade of green, glowing faintly in the dimness, churning in the vial.

She scrunched her nose. "This looks disgusting."

"I don't have to waste my magic on you," Pan said coldly beside her. She snapped her head around and gave him a glare she was pretty sure was lost in the darkness.

"You don't have to be here, you know. Why don't you leave? Hm?" she demanded, her voice so shrill and loud she was worried she would wake the other passengers. "There's nothing keeping you here."

She wondered if her words had hurt him as she stared at him, his face still cold. It seemed that they had hurt the last time she had said it, but how he spoke earlier…that was the old Pan, the one from Neverland. She had half-hoped that that being was gone, but it was still there, just under the surface of the sleep-deprived man who travelled next to her. The part of him she hated was still there. Her heart squeeze in her chest at the thought.

"Drink it or don't. I don't care," he said, flippantly, before turning back to the horizon.

She gave him another glare before uncorking it and swallowed it in one gulp. She had been right to think it would be gross and gagged as it slithered down her throat in one big lump. She shook herself and settled back into the chair.

Her eyes soon began to droop and her head felt heavy. The nausea that had pressed in on her earlier was a distant memory and all she could think about was the deep, inky sleep that she was about to fall into.

Suddenly, a blanket draped over her. She startled into wakefulness and looked up to find Pan beside her.

"I didn't ask for this," she snapped, holding up the blanket to him.

"You're going to get cold," he said, voice icy, pushing it back into her hands.

"The cold makes me feel better," she told him.

"You're going to get cold," he repeated.

She glared. "You're no good at this." Even in the mountains, Pan's care of her had been crude. It seemed that had not changed.

"Should I leave then?" he bit out.

"Maybe you should," she returned, even though it broke her heart to say it. She turned in her chair and looked back at the horizon, acting as if this wasn't crushing her.

He stood for a moment before padding softly back to bed. She heard the mattress creak and the shuffling of sheets. She let out a breath and settled back into the chair. Her heart hammered in her chest for a long time, her body screaming at her to go to him, but she remained in the chair, staring out at the deep, dark night.

Wendy woke up in bed. Grey daylight streamed through the windows and the room no longer pressed in on her. The rocking of the ship still bothered her, but it was something she could put up with.

She stretched lazily before realizing that Pan must have put her in bed. She paused and flipped over her, a snappish remark that he hadn't asked if she wanted to be in bed on her tongue, but she found the other side empty. She reached out and patted the mattress next to her: cold. She sat up in bed, heart hammering and craned her neck to see if Pan was asleep on the mattress or perhaps one of the chairs.

No.

Heart pounding in her ears, she sat for a few moments frozen. Something clawed its way up from the pit of her stomach to her throat, choking her.

Had he really left her? Had she finally driven him away?

Tears sprung to her eyes and that something dislodged in her throat and burst forth as a sob. Wiping furiously at her eyes, she tried to think straight, to grab at some sort of calm.

She kept asking him why he hadn't he left. This had been what she wanted. Wasn't it? She should be glad, she should—

"Fuck," she cursed under her breath.

It was no use.

She couldn't change the way she felt. She couldn't change the way she wanted him back, right this second. She couldn't change the way she needed him by her side. She couldn't the way she ached for him, that he had left a chasm behind.

She flung the covers back from bed and went into the bathroom, determined to—

She wasn't sure what she was going to do, but she couldn't let this be.

Quickly splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth, she readied herself to leave. She managed to pull her hair back into a half-decent pony tail and collected her things before swishing out of the bathroom to—

"Come sit and eat."

She stopped in her tracks, mid-step, to find Pan sitting lazily in the chair by the window, the small table between the chairs, with two mugs of something steaming and a plate of buttered toast. He sat there, looking out at the sea, his profile lit by the weak light.

Warmth washed over her. She decided right then, despite whatever else she felt, that he was a beautiful sight. Sharp lines that were meant for statues carved from marble, a strong jaw and high cheek bones, dark hair that curled at the nape of his neck, perfectly imperfect ears that were still a little too big, but more than a little wonderful.

She stood there, opening and closing her mouth like a fish.

He turned in his chair, finding the silence strange, lifting a dark eyebrow at her. Looking at her, he tilted his head to the side. "Have you been crying?" he asked. His tone and expression could have been called concerned.

"I—" She was still caught on his beauty, his presence. "I was retching."

Oh my God. Tongue-tied idiot.

He gave her a long look, clearly not believing her, but, ultimately, deciding not to pry and turned back towards the windows. "Well, the potion will have worn off by now." Another pause. She was still caught on him, unable to move. "Stop staring and come sit and eat and I'll give you another dose. Or are you going to be pig-headed and refuse my help again?"

The sharp tone was familiar and brought her back to herself.

"I didn't ask for you to put me in the bed," she said, trying to sound snappish. She glanced around the room and realized, like the tongue-tied idiot she was, that all his things were still there.

"You wanted it when we arrived," was what he said. He left out that he had been concerned enough to put her first or worry about her. Frustration prickled her mind. She hated that his concern and cruelty, his care and apathy could exist within him at the same time. "Now, come here and eat so you can complain about the toast or tea." He looked over his shoulder at her. "Your choice about what you get to nag me about."

She might have smiled at that before.

Finding her feet, she came to sit beside him and he passed her the plate with toast on it. She took it with shaking hands and took a bite.

"I was fine in the chair," she told him after a moment.

He raised an eyebrow at her as he sipped his coffee, her tea next to them, made just how she liked. "I didn't offer you the option to complain about that," he said, ghost of a smile on his mouth and Wendy wished that she could stay in that moment forever.