Wendy—surprisingly—slept better on Pan's lumpy couch than she did in her own bed most nights.

Well, with exception of the 20-plus pound cat snoring on her chest.

She sat up with a moan, her lungs feeling deflated. The cat yowled in protest at being shifted from his spot so suddenly.

Wendy stretched as her brain started up.

Pan was missing.

Ugh.

The asshole could wait, and, she decided, he could deal with her raiding his kitchen for substance.

Fuzz the cat seemed to think so as well. He circled Wendy's legs as she walked, demanding he be fed first.

"Okay, okay," Wendy yawned. This was the reason she was a dog person.

Still, he was cute enough that when she couldn't locate kibble, she went for a can of tuna wedged into the back of the cabinet.

She smiled as he gobbled the meat down, not at all mourning the loss of the dry food—or his master for that matter.

Wendy nibbled on her lip, wondering just where he went—or with.

Is that what happened, she wondered. Did he see someone he knew and just…dumped her?

August perhaps? Maybe Lily, or even Felix? Tink?

She dug through yesterday's mess to find her notebook, purposely avoiding their boxes of cases. She flipped to a new page, writing out names to call.

He was somewhere in this town, and he was with someone.

Somehow, someway, she was going to find him.

Pan was indeed with someone—but at the moment he was alone, and very close to chewing off his own hand to get away from him.

"I'm going to fucking rip him apart," he growled as he fought with the shackles binding him to the meat hook above his head. "I'm going to rip his fucking eyes out and turn them into earrings!"

His arms were becoming numb again so he rested, though the fire spreading through his veins didn't.

I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him!

He shook his limbs out, trying to keep the movement going as often as he can. This, of course, wasn't the first time he'd been tied up by some maniac.

Jekyll…

"Motherfucker!"

Yeah, he was going to be fine. He'd been bound, drugged, beaten, among other abuses he didn't want to immediately remember.

But there was something much worse to be worried about this time.

He didn't know what to expect from this new nightmare.

Cruella was pliant. Her goal was clear, and her bloodthirst was acceptable.

Jekyll was mad, but transparent. Pan was certain he hadn't even had a goal. Just kept riding wave after wave of insanity as it came. In the end one hit him too hard he drowned.

But Jones…Pan couldn't place him.

He was an enigma. No roots to him or Storybrooke.

Only one this was clear: he was not acting on his own accord.

I've been sent by someone who really wants you dead.

That wasn't a truly original revelation, but it meant that there was another foe to look out for when he defeated Jones. Someone who knew about Felix and Wendy, and anyone else he gave a freaking damn about.

He flicked his wrists, trying to keep the blood going as much as possible. As much as he wanted to tear Jones's throat out with his teeth, he'd have to—regrettably— wait. He had no idea who he was up against, and that pissed Pan off more than anything.

"I'm going to fucking kill him!"

Tink was at the top of Wendy's hit list.

She could just see Tink's form near the window, watering plants it looked like. She kept glancing back, to someone behind her, smiling. Wendy could only guess it was Felix.

They would know, Wendy reasoned. They've known Pan much longer than her. They know his patterns, his stomping grounds.

Yet Wendy found herself ducking her head and hurrying down the street as inconspicuously as possible.

She couldn't face her just yet, not while she was still healing. Besides, she'd probably care less if Pan was missing or not, and Wendy didn't blame her.

She'd probably care even less that Wendy was looking for him.

She buried such thoughts away, redirecting her focus.

The newspaper was next. Maybe Pan had finally snapped and was demanding that Glass take him off suspension right now. Honestly, she'd be almost relieved to deal with one of his yelling fits…as long as she got to have one afterwards.

The newsroom was very quiet, the few other reporters the Mirror had off on assignments, making her quiet entrance much louder than she wanted it to be.

Sydney noticed her instantly and made a stiff beeline to her, the lines of his back brace clear through his shirt.

"Kid…" he warned exhaustedly.

"I'm not here to fight," Wendy sighed.

Glass physically sagged. "Thank god. What's up?"

Wendy chuckled. "I'm looking for Pan."

Glass tensed once more. "That's worst, come on in."

Wendy followed him into his office, the smell of a fresh pot of coffee lingering in the air. It was comforting, and for a moment Wendy had hope things might be okay.

"He hasn't come in today," Glass said. "In fact I haven't seen hide or hair of him since the other day."

And all hope is lost.

Wendy sagged in her chair, groaning.

"I'm going to kill him,"

Glass chuckled. "Set a date and send me an invitation."

Wendy scoffed. This was nice. Familiar. If only the brick of anxiety wasn't weighing her down.

"When did he go missing? What happened?" Glass inquired.

Wendy swallowed, knowing she'd and Pan be in more trouble if she revealed that they were exploring old cases.

"Just hanging out, trying to…find some common ground." Wendy answered, satisfied that her answer was vague enough to surpass suspicion.

However, Glass gave her a peculiar look.

"You two are spending time together now?"

Wendy felt her face alight. "What? No! Of course not, no!"

Glass barked with laughter. "Relax kid, I'm staying off that train wreck."

"Do you know where he'd go?" Wendy redirected. "I just... want to be sure he's okay."

Glass mused, still smirking at Wendy's embarrassment.

"Have you talked to Tink or Felix?" he inquired a bit more seriously.

"Not yet," Wendy admitted, feeling a bit childish. "I'm going to them last, if Tink will see me of course."

Glass nodded, setting jokes aside.

"Try the diner, and maybe the hospital, just in case."

Wendy's stomach turned at the idea, but made herself remain calm. Surely they would know if he was there by now.

"Okay, thanks," she said, heading to the door.

"Kid!" Glass called after her. He hesitated for a moment, looking a bit paler.

"You know, I only did what I did to keep you both safe, right?"

Wendy smiled mildly at her boss's conflicted conscience. She hadn't given Glass's decision much of a second thought, knowing the alternative would have been jail or straight out firing. Pan had been the only one vocal about it.

"I know," Wendy nodded, watching as he relaxed as she headed out of the Mirror.

Yawning, she decided to go to the diner first. Surely someone would have seen him if he'd been there today.

The crisp air cooled the heat on her cheeks, the embarrassment from her conversation with Glass easing some.

She'd have to be more articulate with her story as her search for Pan continued. The last thing she needed was for a rumor to pick up around Storybrooke.

She recalled how quickly word used to spread through her neighborhood back in London. With her parents being such prominent members in their community, eyes were constantly on them. Anytime something would happen—from her brother's unfortunate trouble with the law, to Mrs. Darling's cancer diagnosis so short after her mother's departure—everyone would know in less than a day.

Storybrooke could fit in her old neighborhood, and word spread much quicker.

She would simply ask people for now on if they'd see him, and cut their last interaction off at the hospital where they surely had witnesses during their failed attempt to visit Belle.

Just as she was circling the corner to get to the hospital, the sound of a loud engine began to grow just behind her. Wendy glanced back and saw someone on a motorcycle coming her way, and she turned to face it when the motorcycle stopped right in front of her.

Wendy felt the wall, all the apprehension she'd built up in the past several weeks keeping her on edge.

In a flash however, her fear turned into embarrassment when the rider removed his helmet, revealing August's Booths smiling face.

"August." Wendy gasped, her face going red when she recalled the last time she saw him at Peter's apartment. "I was…actually looking for you."

"Oh," August replied, eyebrow quirked in amusement, leaning onto his handlebars.

"For Pan," Wendy croaked, throat awkwardly dry. "I lost him."

"Just shake his food bowl, he'll come back," August chuckled.

Wendy couldn't help but smile at the image. "Have you seen him in the last day or so?"

"Not since the last time I saw you," August smirked.

Wendy wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

Thankfully, August sensed her distress and cease his teasing.

"Have you tried the Mirror? Maybe Tink?"

"Yes and…" Wendy groaned, realizing she'd have to tear the band aid off and face Tink once and for all.

August saw her expression and frowned. It was no secret that Pan had done major damage within the town. Tink had high regard in Storybrooke, from the nuns to the drunks she would slip free coffee to. Everyone knew she was hurting, and the town would want blood if they found out.

Yet they didn't know Pan's involvement, even if a select few did.

But August knew. He knew from the moment Pan called him at 1 a.m. the night Mother Superior died and pleaded with him to meet him outside the Mirror.

He knew from the light coming through the second story window of the paper.

He knew it when he saw the look on his face when he was locking the door—and when he gripped his sleeve and took him back to his apartment.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

"No."

Pan was feeling.

He hadn't realized until word of Mother Superior's death got to him just how serious the situation was, and that somehow the blame had been shifted to the woman in front of him.

"You know," August said. "He does stuff like this a lot. Maybe just let him breathe. He'll come back when he's ready."

Wendy looked up at August, this strange man who had such a strong link to Pan.

She wanted to take his advice but…something was wrong. She could feel it just on the surface of her bones.

Like a sickness…

"Maybe," Wendy finally answered. "I'll look around anyway."

August frowned, but nodded his consent. It really wasn't his business, no matter his relationship with Pan.

"If you say so," he said, putting his helmet back on before heading off down the street.

Wendy bit at her lip, exhaustedly turning back to the direction of Tink's apartment. This would suck, but it was her last resort.

She had to find him—bothersome moron that he was. She had to fix the damage she helped caused—by making him see the light.

She stood outside of Tink's door for what felt like hours, wondering just how she could approach the woman without getting thoroughly thrashed.

She'd probably would scream at her, which Wendy couldn't blame her for—even if they both knew none of this was her fault.

Still, Wendy would take a good thrashing if it meant her and her friend could just talk. It was time, past time at that.

Just as she summoned the courage to knock, the door swung open just enough for Felix to ease through, closing the door softly behind him.

"You're asking for trouble," Felix greeted through a clenched jaw, closing the door softly behind him.

"I'm not here for that," Wendy assured, though she knew good and well it was unavoidable.

"She's not ready," Felix warned, nearly desperate.

Wendy frowned, staring at the door that separated her from Tink. She wondered if the woman even knew she was here, if she was just on the other side listening, waiting.

"I'm actually here for Peter," Wendy said.

Felix stiffened, and Wendy could see a secret just behind his eyes.

"I'm looking for him," Wendy clarified. "Here…I mean…is he here?"

"No," Felix answered, his body sagging some.

"Have you seen or heard from him since the other night?" she questioned, her jaw clenching when she saw his face.

There was something there. Call journalist intuition or common sense, but Felix was trying to keep something from her.

"Felix…what's going on?"

"Nothing," Felix shook his head. "You need to go. Please."

Wendy swallowed a hard lump in her throat. It hurt to be dismissed so coldly by the one person she'd been on such even ground with.

"Fine." She said, turning on her heel quickly.

Fine.

No one knew, and no one was going to be able to help her.

She was alone and Pan was gone.

And for whatever reason, he didn't want to be found.

Maybe Glass and August were right, perhaps she should leave him be, let him sweat out whatever toxin had found its way into his blood.

Maybe he was simply being his usual bastard self and dropping her the second they were making progress.

Wendy tried not to let the pain from that idea settle in. She should be used to such a thing by now, should be used to him hating her.

She was circling into the diner—just a peak, she swore, for Pan—when an immediately recognizable man came into view.

"There you are!" Killian Jones greeted from his place at one of Granny's outside tables.

"Mr. Jones," Wendy swallowed, her cheeks heating up as she remembered their last, very odd, encounter.

Jones twisted back just enough to single to a near-by waitress, making some kind of signal with his hand that caused her to nod and hurry back inside.

"I…" Wendy began to protest, still unsure just where she stood with the man who had kept her from bashing her brains in twice now.

"I wasn't sure what you liked, so I ordered us the same thing," Jones said as he motioned at the chair across from him.

Wendy gulped, itching to run and barricade herself somewhere safe. Who is this man and what was his interest in her? Yes he helped her, and she applauded him for that, but why the pursuit?

She couldn't help but think that Pan would know.

Before she could dismiss herself, the waitress came out with two to-go cups, sitting them in front of Killian who nodded his thanks before taking the one closest to him.

"Irish coffee, hold the Irish," he laughed.

Wendy blinked. Well, at least he wasn't trying to get her drunk.

He stared at her as he sipped his coffee, waiting, and by the looks of it, hoping.

Wendy made a sound. He wasn't doing anything wrong, and really he'd been a gentlemen during their previous encounters.

Also, a little caffeine might make her feel better. What was the harm in one drink?

Wendy took the provided drink and held the warm cup close, waiting until he took a sip from his before she followed suit.

"What happened when you found him?"

Wendy blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your fellow, the one who left you at the club last night. Did you give him a what for?"

Wendy snorted, hiding her grief behind a smile.

"Not yet," Wendy said, tapping her cup. "But I think I'll take a break from looking for him for a while."

Jones eyebrows rose. "Oh really?"

"He doesn't want to be found right now ," Wendy said, more to herself than to the stranger in front of her.

"Indeed," Jones laughed, hiding his smile behind his cup. "Don't let him steal your good days, lass. You never know when they'll run out."

Wendy arched an eyebrow in question. What an odd thing to say.

Jones didn't seem like an odd man—or at least he was odd enough for Storybrooke's standards.

He was clean-cut, and had a fondness for leather jackets it would seem. And of course he was uniquely handsome; she hadn't seem a pair of eyes that blue since Belle.

It was odd that the other day was the first time they had come across one another; especially since he seemed to be around every corner now.

Wendy felt a tenseness in her throat. Strangers were meant to keep one weary; that was taught human nature. But strangers in Storybrooke seemed to be a whole different species. Carnivores if she had to label them properly.

Psychopaths.

"Have I lost you already?"

Wendy blinked, finding Jones staring at her, amused.

"My apologies," Wendy smiled, "I was just trying to make a decision."

"Oh," Jones responded. "About?"

"You." Wendy answered bluntly. "I'm trying to decide just who you are and whether I'm doing the smart thing by allowing myself to be so close to you."

Jones listened to her, his expression not betraying what he was feeling.

"I find it just a bit odd, that I don't know you at all but I'm here having coffee with you as if we're old friends," Wendy stared harder at him, hoping he'd say or do something that would give him away. Something that would reveal he was like everyone else she'd come across with.

Cruella.

Jekyll.

Monsters.

But Jones simply smiled, and to Wendy's chagrin, his eyes filled with sympathy, as if her damaged psyche was spread out before them.

"Perhaps we knew each other in a past life?" he offered kindly.

Wendy groaned and covered her face. What the hell was she doing? She was accusing a man who had honestly saved her from having her brains bashed in twice of someone else's crimes. She was being a suspicious ninny, and it was below her...

It was something Pan would do.

Pan got to you. You're just as filthy and selfish as he is.

Wendy jolted. "No!"

"What," Jones jumped. "What is it?"

Wendy shook her head, willing any of the god-awful thoughts in her head to simply fly away.

"I'm sorry Mr. Jones," Wendy sighed. "I'm afraid I've been mulling far too much lately. Not exactly the best company."

"On the contrary, I've found you be exceptional company so far," Jones shrugged.

Wendy snorted. He certainly had manners. He almost reminded her of the boys in her social circle back in London. Overly polite with the weight of an entire society on their shoulders. Walking midlife crises.

But Killian Jones was no boy. He was a man, and the darkness under his eyes showed her that perhaps he wasn't the nicest one. Wendy blushed when she felt her heart begin to pound at the thought. It was nearly shameful that such a well-bred lady like herself would even think of a man like him in such a light.

Then again, Pan was about the same. At least Jones had some kind of pedigree.

"So why me?" Wendy asked bluntly, eyeing him carefully. "What's with the sudden…interest?"

Killian Jones tilted his head, smiling at her indulgently. It embarrassed Wendy a bit, making her feel almost like a child. Overly paranoid.

"Let's see," Hook mused, leaning back in his chair, feigning deep thought. "I had just docked and was enjoying the scenery when suddenly," he paused, staring at Wendy so intensely a shiver ran up her spine.

"Suddenly, there was this woman and walking down the street. I saw the ice before she did and…"

Wendy gulped. God his eyes…

"And the second she was in my arms, I knew I couldn't let her get away again."

Wendy stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. Not the most ladylike reaction, but it suited the insanity of the situation.

Killian Jones was certainly a charmer, and had the air of a gentlemen to woo in any heart-eyed woman.

It would be nice to fall into them, be a foolish young woman who lived the way any woman would. Free, wild and maybe a little careless.

She'd never had a fling before, not even in college. She'd been too studious, too content with being 'good'. And technically, she was dating Edward at the time.

Not the most exciting time of her life, but not wasted in her opinion. Her hard work brought her here, and even if she wasn't sure yet if that or not, it had prepared her for the world and its grittiness.

But maybe it had stilled her personal relationships. It had pretty much destroyed the friendship she'd built with Tink, and with Felix too, it would seem.

Gods only knew what it had started or destroyed with Peter.

She outwardly scoffed. She couldn't call what they had a relationship. He squashed their progress at every turn, the other night was evidence of that.

And now there was the man before her. What kind of a woman just jumped into a relationship with a man they just met? It was ridiculous, and after her run-ins with her various foes, she was understandably uncertain of anything.

She was…damaged.

"You flatter me," Wendy said honestly, sliding her empty cup aside. "But I…"

Am afraid?

Don't trust you?

"I've come on too strong," Jones offered, and Wendy nodded reluctantly, and it was rather true. She just didn't know anymore how to have a normal interaction with another person. Every conversation she'd had up to this point had been a confrontation turned into an act of survival. She didn't know anymore how to separate that instinct from the calmness in front of her.

He got to you.

"Coffee was a good start." Wendy said quickly.

"Perhaps…" Jones began with a raised eyebrow. "Dinner could be the next step?"

Wendy smothered a grin. He really was trying, and she felt oddly calm at the thought.

Perhaps…just maybe with Pan sulking in a ditch somewhere…she could try? Maybe with Pan at a distance, without the insanity that lurked in his shadow that always cast her way…she could be-

Normal?

What an odd, lovely thought.

"How about lunch?" Wendy jested. Lunch was smaller, simpler. Small was good. Small was safe.

"I'll endeavor to be patient," he agreed, standing. Wendy followed his cue, ducking her blush.

"We'll run into each other soon, I'm sure." Wendy said.

"Oh I'd count on it," he returned, bowing a bit. "Until then."

Wendy nodded and began to leave, leaving Jones at the table. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked and for the oddest reason it did not make her feel paranoid or on edge.

She was suddenly a normal woman who had just had flirtatious coffee with a polished stranger.

It was inspiring an exciting, and so new to her she could have burst.

She turned then, meeting his sparkling eyes with a smile.

"Wendy Darling."

He laughed wetly. "Pardon?"

"My name," she reinstated, the words leaving her lips with ease. "You've earned it."

Pan startled awake at the sound of—what the hell—whistling? Why the fuck was his kidnapper whistling!

He glared as Killian Jones entered the underground bunk he was keeping him in, glared even harder when he took off his jacket and casually threw it over a chair before sitting a brown paper bag on the back of a chair.

Pan squinted and could just make out Granny's logo on the paper.

"Here," Jones greeted, throwing a foil-wrapped sandwich at his feet.

"And just how the hell am I supposed to eat this?" Pan growled.

"You're a clever boy, use your imagination." Jones smirked as he pulled up a stool to sit in front of Pan, staring at him expectedly.

"What's the point of feeding me if you're just going to kill me?" Pan spat.

"What can I say, I'm a showman." Jones shrugged, his thoughts instantly wondering to the pretty blonde distraction he was having to deal with at the moment.

"Why don't you go ahead and tell me what she knows so I can kill both of you and be done with it."

Pan yanked against the cuffs, his arms too numb to know if he made a difference or not.

"For the last fucking time, she doesn't know anything. I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about!"

Jones shook his head. "Of course you don't. Then why did your little lackey request all those files, hmm? Information not even the police wanted, but for some reason you did."

"I was fucking bored!" Pan shouted. "Do you want me to burn them to a crisp? I'll burn my whole damn apartment if that will make you shut the hell up!"

Jones smirked. "I wish it were that simple lad, but you hardly seem like the type to let things rest." He leaned in some more, enough to make Pan slightly more uncomfortable. "Are you?"

Pan didn't answer. Why would he? The answer was already obvious.

"She's the kicker, isn't she?" Jones mused. "And she was so concerned about you. Tell me, would she keep digging after you die?"

Pan's eyes narrowed.

"Or maybe she's be happy that you were gone."

Pan caught how his smirk drooped some, and how his eyes hardened.

"Tell me something lad," Jones began, leaning in some. "Why is she so on edge when it comes to you."

Pan held off a smart remark, wanting to put the blame on all their misadventures.

But it would have come back to him. It always would.

"Did you hurt her?"

Pan's throat tightened. Of course he had, and he never had to lay a hand on her to do it.

When he didn't answer, Jones stood. He'd have to lay his suspicion to rest and focus on why he was here. He had to regroup and find out how to get Wendy to talk without making her suspicious, which judging by today, would be a lot harder than he'd thought it would be.

That's fine though.

"She has nothing to do with this!" Pan croaked as Jones began to leave.

"I'll find that out for myself," Jones sighed.

"Stop!" Pan yelled out before he was locked away once again.

August stood outside Pan's apartment, ringing his phone for what had to be the tenth time that hour.

He wasn't answering, which wasn't a surprise, but something still felt off. When Pan did things like this, he was always back within a day or so, the quiet getting to him quickly.

With an aggravated sigh he got back on his motorcycle and began to head back to the woods, already deciding to go to Felix first thing in the morning. Felix kept better track of Pan than he did, and even if his relationship with Tink was keeping them apart, there was no doubt Felix wouldn't know something.

He glanced down and noticed his gas tank was nearly empty and shifted towards the docks where the closest gas pump was.

He signaled to the attendant behind the glass and began to fill up, sighing exhaustedly as he looked out into the ocean in the distance.

Things had certainly been a lot more interesting in the sleep town lately. Sure, Pan and his antics usually kept things very lively, the bouts of excitement have become more of a constant occurrence than the usual spontaneous happenings since Wendy got involved.

He smirked when he thought about the blonde spitfire. She didn't realize yet just how loyal she was to him yet, like most people didn't.

It would be interesting to see what she would do next, what they would do next together.

Pity, he liked the casual fling he had with Pan, but the wild boy needed someone constant in his life. Someone could tame him just enough to keep him out of trouble.

August scoffed. Like Peter Pan would ever stay out of trouble.

As he waited for this tank to finish filling up, he pulled out his cell phone to give him one more ring before calling it a night.

His hand was poised on the gas handle when a very familiar song rung out in the air.

August's heart leapt, and he moved away from the gas pump to follow it, ready to call again if the sound stopped.

Within a moment he found Pan's cracked phone buried in a mess of dried grass near what used to be the town's cannery.

The battery was on 11 percent. He hadn't been gone long at all!

He looked up, hoping to see some evidence of Pan along the docks, but there was nothing there but a few shacks, seagulls, and oddly antiquish ship tied off several yards away.

Whoa…this took three months…whoa.

Yeah, work takes a lot of my concentration, and this last month has been especially hectic with the coronavirus. As a journalist, I really don't get a day off -_-* but you know…

I'm especially having problems writing Hook. I'm trying to remember pre-season 3B when I actually liked him but then I think about how icky he became and I just…ugh.

Gonna have to take it slow with this arc, but will update soon…maybe…