A Neverland Christmas

CS Genre: Neverland Canon Divergence

Emma tossed and turned, everything about this place uncomfortable-from the fact that there didn't seem to be a single square inch of this damn jungle without a tree root or rock where she could lay her sleeping bag to the oppressive heat and humidity to the feeling of doom that seemed to hang heavily over everyone.

To the crying.

The crying was the worst.

Finally giving up, Emma got to her feet, looking in amazement at the rest of their group that were evidently sleeping like babies. Did they not hear the crying? O gods, what if Henry was one of the kids crying out there? She had to get to him. She had to!

If only she had any idea where to start looking.

Hook was right; she knew it. They needed to get their rest and not go off half-cocked when they had no idea where Pan was keeping Henry, but that didn't make the sitting around and waiting any easier.

Moving as quietly as she could, Emma got to her feet and walked back to the beach. It wasn't far; she could still see their encampment if she looked closely enough, but it was far enough away from everyone that she felt safe letting the tears flow as she sat upon a log and looked out across the sea.

She had no idea how long she sat there crying, hating herself for the absolute failure she was as a mother, when suddenly she heard the crunching of footsteps against the forest underbrush. Her heart pounded as she jumped to her feet, taking hold of the cutlass Hook had given her as she prepared to confront whatever or whoever was sneaking up on her.

"Easy Swan," Hook said, stepping into view, hand and hook raised in surrender.

Emma sagged in relief...which quickly turned to frustration. "What the hell are you doing skulking around the jungle, Hook?"

He took a seat on the log she'd recently vacated, and then patted the space next to him. After shooting him a suspicious look, she took the seat he indicated.

"I could ask the same of you, Darling," he said with a smirk.

She growled, in no mood for his nonsense.

He sighed, teasing grin sliding from his face to be replaced with sincerity. "I heard you get up and leave the camp. Swan it's unwise to venture out alone on this bloody island. You've no idea the dangers that are ever around you."

The oppressive feeling settled in over her again. Henry was out there, alone on this island full of dangers and psychotic teenagers.

"Your lad is resourceful, Swan," Hook said, shooting her a sympathetic look. "I've no doubt he'll handle his challenges quite well until we're able to rescue him."

"How do you do that?" she asked with a scowl. "How do you manage to know exactly what I'm thinking?"

"As I've said," he answered, "you're something of an open book. Besides, I was a resident of this damned island for centuries, remember? I know something of what you're currently feeling."

She felt the sharp sting of tears again, but with an effort she blinked them away. It was one thing to lose it when she was alone, but crying in front of Captain Freaking Hook was not an option.

Wordlessly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his flask and offered it to her. She took it without comment, took a long swig and then handed it back.

"How is this thing always full?" she asked.

"One comes across all manner of wonders while plundering the realms, love," he said. "I obtained this on one of my conquests. This flask has been imbued with an enchantment that ensures it never runs dry."

"Happen to have another one of those on you?" she asked.

He laughed. "I'm afraid not, but never fear, Swan. You always have access to my flask."

They fell into silence after that, both looking out at the waves. Finally, Emma turned back to Hook. "How can they sleep through the sound of the crying?"

"They don't hear it," Hook said simply. "Only those who have been abandoned, those who have gone through their lives as lost boys or girls can hear the perpetual Neverland crying."

"Great, so my issues make Neverland's horrors even worse," she said.

"Unfortunately that is correct, Love," he said, his face a mask of sympathy. "This place...it makes one relive their worst memories, it brings to mind one's greatest insecurities, it steals joy and every bloody bit of light within the soul."

Wonderful

"Hook?" she asked after another moment.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"How did you do it? How did you survive this place for hundreds of years."

He took his time answering. "My hatred, my quest for vengeance sustained me through a lot of it," he finally said, turning to look at her. "But hatred is no real bulwark against despair. I'd have gone mad, if I hadn't found something else to sustain me."

"And what was that?"

"There is always beauty to be found if one looks close enough," he said, his look in her direction so intense that the blush rose to her cheeks. "And even in the worst of times there are happy memories that can be accessed."

"What were some of the happy memories you accessed to help you through it?" she asked, before realizing how personal the question really was. "Nevermind. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to."

"I don't mind," he shrugged. "What sustained me? Odd though it may sound, Christmas."

"Christmas?" she asked. "You guys celebrate Christmas in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Of course," he said with a grin. "I'd wager people throughout the realms celebrate Christmas. On the nights when the oppressiveness of this place became too much, I'd think back to Christmases past, happy moments spent with my family. My mother baking in the kitchen. Liam challenging me to a snowball fight. It was always a magical time."

"I didn't have the kind of warm and fuzzy Christmases you see on the movies," Emma said, taking another swig from his flask, "but I have to admit, it was one of my favorite times of the year. People always tended to be generous toward the group homes around Christmastime. What were some of your favorite Christmas traditions?"

He smiled, and the gesture made him look younger, almost boyish. "A few days before Christmas Mum always helped Liam and me construct the most magnificent gingerbread ships."

"Ships?" she asked. "You didn't make houses?"

"Houses? For a fine, strong sea-faring family like ours? I think not."

Emma grinned. "I stand corrected."

"Somehow, even in the worst of times I could recall those gingerbread ships-the fine sight they made, the delectable taste. It reminded me that there was good, there was beauty, there was happiness out there once upon a time, and if it was out there once, it could be captured again."

They continued talking for what felt like hours-although time was rather meaningless on this stupid island-swapping story after story of Christmases past, but finally Emma yawned, realizing she was finally sleepy.

"I guess we really should try to get some sleep," she said.

"Aye, you're right," Hook said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand to help her do the same.

It was then that Emma realized she didn't hear the crying anymore. "Hey! They've stopped! The crying stopped."

He smiled, a soft, genuine sight, and then shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not," he said. "You've merely come to realize that you aren't a lost girl all alone in the world anymore. If there's anything I've learned from you hero types, it's that together, you always succeed in the end. Emma, we will find your lad, and we will find a way to get him, and all the rest of your friends and family home."

"Thanks, Hook," she said, meaning it with her whole being.

New York, the next Christmastime, during the curse

Emma rolled her shoulders as she walked down the street on her way back to the apartment she shared with Henry. It had been a long night, but in the end, she'd finally gotten her skip. Everywhere she looked evidence of the season greeted her.

She supposed she should be happy-she was damn good at her job, she had a great home, a great kid, and she'd even started dating again. Henry called Walsh her boyfriend, and while she wasn't ready to put a label to it yet, she could potentially see something developing there.

She was happy. She had a good life.

It's just….well, sometimes, she couldn't help but feel like there was something missing. Sometimes she had this weird, almost deja-vu type feeling that there was something important, something vital that she was forgetting. It was like one of those dreams where you remember the emotions of it after you wake, but hard as you try, you can never quite remember the details.

Emma walked past the bakery she and Henry went to every Sunday morning and peered inside. The baker had placed a magnificent gingerbread house in the display window, decorated within an inch of its life with all manner of frosting and candies.

Henry and I should make a gingerbread house together, she thought to herself. No, not a house. A ship. We should make a gingerbread ship.

Now where had that thought come from? Who made gingerbread ships?

There was good, there was beauty, there was happiness out there once upon a time, and if it was out there once, it could be captured again.

She could almost hear a deep, British voice saying those words, and the feeling it evoked was-peace, peace and joy.

And there was something more, a feeling so deep and intense it almost scared her.

Emma shook her head, trying to dislodge the strange deja-vu.

Back to the issue at hand. No, making a gingerbread ship might make no sense, but somehow it was right. It was time she and Henry make a new tradition together. Stepping into the bakery, Emma made her way to the counter, placing an order for several sheets of gingerbread.