Hey everyone. Long time no see. I'm sorry ^_^ But here the chapter is, and the next is already written. Reviews please! :)

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-Red, Blue and Emerald-

It was around sunset, and Captain Hook had been absent since the night before. The pirate crew were all enjoying their freedom- it was not a rare occasion when the Captain left for a solitary quest, but neither was it something that happened very often. The crew were making the most of the lack of order; drunken brawls were multiple below deck. As a flailing fist made contact with another pirate's nose, others laughed as the blood sprayed in all directions. A bottle of rum promptly smashed over the other pirate's head, and a sliver of glass embedded itself in his cheek. It would have been a fight to the death, had a familiar voice not interfered.

"Smee," it said.

It was low and almost inaudible through the clamour below the deck. However, as soon as the gravelly voice reached the ears of those closest to the trapdoor, silence fell. The short, ruddy-faced man named Smee glimpsed the faces of his fellow pirates, who had all frozen. They knew who it was. If Captain Hook wasn't shouting, it could only mean one thing. He was very, very angry. Edging his reluctant toes from his bunk, Smee pushed past the men sitting on the floor with their dice and pushed open the trapdoor. He came face-to-face with a pair of highly polished boots, fastened at the edges with golden buckles. These were in his line of sight for the barest moment, before he found himself being dragged by the neck to face the side of the ship.

"What do you see, Smee. What do you see?" The Captain asked, almost pleasantly. Smee couldn't see clearly after the brightness below. He squinted.

"I see the word 'Hook', Captain, sir," Smee responded. "I must say, sir, that it's a fantastic idea. Now it can't get lost anywhere, sir-"

"Shut up, you blithering idiot!" Hook snapped, pushing Smee into the wooden balustrade. "Go see if any of them are still here. Go!" He turned his piercing gaze to the trapdoor again. "Is there anyone with half a brain down there willing to come and speak with your captain?"

There was a groan from the ship as twenty-five men, some still bleeding, scrambled up to the deck, where they obediently faced the wooden panelling. It took a moment for them to see the letters. Only half of them could read, but when the ones that couldn't saw the faces of the ones who could, they went white.

"Captain!" Smee's voice yelled in a strangled voice. He skidded around the side of the cabin, his face the colour of blackcurrants. "The outside of the ship… all of it- all of it is pink, Captain! And covered in pictures of us in… in dresses, sir!" He hopped agitatedly from foot to foot. The whole ship was indeed pink- a startling, brilliant fuchsia, with patches of pale pink and purple mixed in. Smee realised that the crew were not listening- they were transfixed by the front section; the section that held the entrance to Hook's cabin. He turned to see what he had missed the first time, and gasped. This section was the same brilliant fuchsia as the sides, but with no purple or pale pink- one could only guess who had demanded their work to be perfectly smooth. Even the cabin door was pink. Painted smoothly in vibrant green, curling script were the words:

HOOK IS A COWARDLY CODFISH.

SIGNED, PETER PAN.

If this wasn't bad enough, nailed above the door to Hook's cabin was a dead fish, wearing one of his elegant hats. Hook's deep-set eyes burned.

"How could you let that insolent brat aboard this ship? How did you miss this, you stupid fools!" He grabbed the closest drunken pirate and threw him overboard, just to emphasize his fury. The crew said nothing. Hook swelled with anger, then deflated just as quickly.

"Let us deal with this later. My quest has been successful."

The other pirates now chanced looking up. Hook had brought a seething orange, bulbous root of some sort from his scarlet coat. He was met with many nonplussed stares. Sighing at their idiocy, he grabbed another pirate, broke off a small piece of the bulb and ordered the man to eat it. Trembling, he popped it in his mouth and slowly chewed. His eyebrows shot up.

"My, Captain, this is really deli-" his eyes rolled back into his head. There was a clatter of weapons as he fell awkwardly to the floor, limp.

"Captain, you've tried this plan before," Smee put in cheerfully. "Poison is impossible when we can't find Peter Pan. We don't even know where he and those boys live."

Hook rolled his eyes. Of course he knew. Ever since that almost-successful kidnap of the Lost Boys long ago, they'd never found the dratted tree again.

"Not poison, you idiot. It's a powerful tranquiliser." A grin slipped onto his face, and Smee shuddered. "I have a plan. Dixon," he called suddenly, and a wiry man with numerous scars stepped forward. "Take five men and scour the land for supplies. We set sail tomorrow. This is only one ingredient on my list of certain death…" he laughed a cold laugh, and opened his cabin door, forgetting the fish nailed above it. Immediately, a stench flowed out onto the deck. The crew cringed. There was a loud crash and Hook emerged, taking the door with him. With eyes blazing, he roared- to the Lost Boys, to Neverland, to whatever lay beyond-

"Peter Pan!"

-

"Then I kind of grabbed its neck like this," I motioned, gripping the air in front of me. The Lost Boys were watching with wide eyes, while Peter just continued to smile that mischievous grin from before. "We were flying- but it was horrible. It nearly threw me off, and all I could do was hold on while it dove down. We nearly hit the forest floor!" I exclaimed, remembering the feeling of my stomach turning before we shot up to the sky again. One child gasped. "Then we got higher and higher and I had to shut my eyes. It was horrible, because the feathers were all slippery, and I was trying so hard not to let go. I couldn't think of any happy thoughts because I was so scared. I fell, though I'm not sure how high it was from..." I shivered, and a little boy with green eyes and golden hair hugged me. Tinkerbell just floated above, blatantly ignoring me. I couldn't complain.

"You're alright, Amelia?" the boy said, frightened by my experience. They had probably never experienced flying past the type they were used to, and the knowledge of it being able to hold such dangers had terrified them. I pulled him into my lap; in my peripheral vision Peter twitched.

"Yes, I'm fine now. The Indians caught me when I fell and I… I met chief Tiger Lily. Peter, why did she get old?" I added. He tensed as all eyes turned to him.

"Because they want to grow up," he said eventually, though he said it with a tone is his voice that meant the subject was closed. I nodded, and didn't press him to elaborate. I looked around at the seven children and Peter, wondering how I was going to look after them all. Surely they were better at surviving in these kind of circumstances than me? I was used to being cared for, not the carer. The only experience I'd had caring for children had been weekend babysitting for a friend of my mother's. There weren't seven –eight-children there. I swallowed hard and took a breath. "So what are all of your names?"

The boys were instantly to their feet, where they lined up in height order (apart from Peter, who stood at the farthest end regardless).

"My name's Cubby," the smallest boy said. He was the one who had hurt his head this morning. With a shock of black hair, almost-black eyes and his furry outfit, he was almost a little cub- though I'm sure a cub wouldn't be so clumsy. His face was still very round, even for his age, which couldn't have been more than eight. "I like singing. And eating strawberries," he added with a hopeful tone to his voice. I nodded, smiling, and stepped sideways. Next was the beautiful child who had just sat on my lap.

"Nibs," he said shyly, holding out his hand, which I shook good-naturedly. "It's very nice to meet you Amelia." How many eight-year-olds shook hands nowadays? Big green eyes, rosy cheeks and hair the colour of milky toffee made him look something akin to a cherub. I nodded and went on. The twins were next- identical in every visual way. They both had strawberry-blonde hair, freckles, grey-blue eyes and gleaming grins that appeared at the exact same time.

"Marmaduke and Binky, Miss Amelia," they said confidently and in unison, bowing in a way which made the other boys chuckle. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss."

"Thank you," I said, struggling not to laugh. "Lose the 'Miss', though. Which of you is which?"

Their faces settled into identical, evil grins.

"We won't tell!" they said, perfectly in synch. I raised my eyebrows, grinning myself now. I moved along.

"Tootles," the next boy said. He was the same height as the twins; this, with the contrast of the seriousness in his voice, surprised me. He had chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes, with a button nose that looked odd with his wary expression. His smile was minimal- nervous, perhaps? "It's lovely to make your acquaintance."

I knew all of these names, but somehow they didn't stick to the personalities or appearances I had programmed in my imaginations from all the stories I had been told. I shook the feeling off and moved on. Peter was shifting impatiently at the end of the line. I kept the smile to myself and faced the next boy. He was only an inch or two shorter than myself- eleven or twelve? He was the only boy who was not deeply tanned. His skin was the paler sort that did not go much darker than a peachy colour. This contrasted oddly with his dark brown curls, while his eyes were deep blue. For a moment he seemed to be away with his thoughts. It felt like I could see the ideas swirling about in his head. But then he noticed me watching him intently, and his cheeks turned pink.

"Oh, s-sorry. I'm Slightly," he mumbled, looking away. "It's nice to meet you."

Peter was definitely becoming impatient now. I could see an inch of space between the floor and his feet.

"You must be Curly," I deducted. The last Lost Boy had tight, red curls and brown eyes, though there was no sign of freckles. He was very nearly a teenager, though it would not suit him, as he was too thin and already too gangly for it to help him in any way. I guessed that he was thirteen. I was beginning to realise a pattern in their ages. They went up from the brink of childhood to the brink of adolescence. That must mean that Peter was thirteen, at the very least- perhaps nearly fourteen.

"Yep, that's me," Curly grinned. His tanned skin made his hair stand out like a flame. With a nod and returning smile, I moved on to Peter.

It was only now that I noticed the true difference between him and the others. Though Curly was taller, Peter was definitely older. That fact was inescapable, though it would not do to tell him that. It was unnerving that this was the same boy that Wendy had fallen in love with, and the same boy that Jane had fought with. He looked only slightly younger than the boys in my class at school. His voice was husky, but not low. His shoulders weren't broad enough to be a teenager's, yet. Did he even realise? This was the Boy Who Would Never Grow Up- did he not realise how close he was to adolescence? I had always imagined him to be younger- years younger. Wendy had been eleven years old, and it had been the early 20th century. Had he not changed one little bit? How old was he, really? And why did the Indians get older, and he didn't? There was something more to this that I couldn't fit in- a part of the puzzle of Peter Pan and Neverland that didn't make sense. Would I ever know what it was?

"Even the sound of it offends me!"

I jumped.

"Amelia? Are you alright?" I heard Peter murmur. My sight cleared and met those bright blues of his.

"Did you just say something?" I asked, frowning.

"Yes, I asked you if you were alright," he replied slowly, peering at me. A shiver ran down my spine. What were these strange voices in my head? They sounded so familiar. Yet at the same time so far away. Peter's hand felt too warm on my shoulder, and Tinkerbell was glaring daggers at me. I gently shrugged it off, and forced a smile to cover my deep unease, moving up the line, and swiftly taking a step back in alarm. Yellow-green eyes, at first fixed on me, switched to Peter.

"Peter Pan, I request that you put down your weapon immediately," the girl said calmly to the point of Peter's dagger, which was barely an inch from her face. Upon seeing who it was, he groaned quietly and withdrew the weapon.

"What do you want, Emerald Eyes?" he barked.

"Peter!" I scolded. "You don't speak to visitors that way!" Though she hadn't given any notice that she had entered the tree, which was rude in itself. Peter had the grace to look ashamed and flew to his throne at the head of the dinner table.

"Hello," I said, turning to the newcomer, who looked as surprised as I did when I realised that we were both girls.

"You're-" we both started. Jinx, I thought. The girl named Emerald Eyes looked around my age, if not a little older. The russet of her skin matched the shade I had seen in the tribal teepee, though her eyes were a vibrant and unsettling lime green.

"You must be the Fair One the elders spoke of," Emerald Eyes said seriously, gazing at me with those strange eyes. "I felt drawn to this place. It must have been because of your presence."

I couldn't think of an adequate supply, so I settled for a simple "thank you."

"Your welcome," was her steady reply.

The girl named Emerald Eyes was very beautiful, and that was unnerving without the addition of the unblinking stare. Her hair was black and shiny, pushed in a deep side part and threaded through with tiny braids and purple beads. Her dress was composed entirely of tan hide, stitched meticulously with what looked like leather strips. I suddenly felt very conscious of my too-short nightdress and messy blonde curls. Cursorily I smoothed the white cotton down.

"You arrived here yesterday," Emerald Eyes said, more as a statement than a question.

I nodded anyway.

"Please accept this as a greetings present."

She handed me a small leather pouch, drawn together with a strip twisted grass.

"I wasn't expecting a present," I admitted, scrutinising the little bag closely. I wasn't set to open it, but she continued to watch me. I pulled the top apart, and into my hand fell a shiny red rock. Disappointment threatened to make my face falter. However, I'd always been taught to accept all presents graciously, so I plastered a smile on my face and thanked her. She seemed nice enough; there was no reason to come to a disagreement over… a rock. After all, the Indian tribe was nothing like I'd ever seen before- I knew already by experience. No reason to get offended. I tucked the rock into my bra.

The corners of the girl's lips lifted in a smile. Peter just looked nonplussed.

"So you know who ever to ask for, I am the daughter of the Xenoi witchdoctor. Feel free to visit any time."

I wasn't sure I felt warm enough towards her to be on visiting terms, but her offer sounded sincere.

"Thank you for your kindness." I repeated the words of gratitude by force of habit. Still, Emerald Eyes studied my face. The sensation that I was under a microscope intensified.

"What?" I questioned, the slightest note of exasperation escaping me now. The response I received was so unexpected that I was speechless.

"You're very beautiful, Fair One."

For some reason, my first action after this comment was to look at Peter, but he was already shoving Emerald Eyes out of the tree. She offered no resistance.

"I will be back soon," she called pleasantly, as Peter came back inside, muttering to himself. At some point during the course of the conversation the Lost Boys had gone outside. The room was now empty except for Peter and I, which he was quick to challenge. The tan skin of his face was tinged pink.

"Lost Boys!" He called, flying to the top of the tree and leaning out over the large hole in the top, somewhere above the door. Irritation tainted his previously smooth voice, but I'd just heard his stomach grumble angrily.

Shame washed over me when I realised all of them mustn't have eaten all day. What a brilliant carer I was being. "Lost Boys!" He shouted again, louder this time.

"What's wrong, Peter?" I asked. He gave me an intense stare and my heart jolted in my chest.

"I don't really know," he finally answered, with a fearful expression. "You remind me of someone." I was going to ask him to elaborate, but there was a faint pattering of footsteps that caught his attention first. A cloud of dust rose as three boys skidded into the doorway, then a curse as the remaining four crashed into them as they did the same.

"Don't run inside," I scolded, as a familiar cry of pain from the smallest of the group rose from beneath the curtain.

Soon there were seven again, panting and holding assorted handfuls of fruit and vegetables and other strange roots of questionable origin. Tootles was holding a bow and arrow, and what looked like a very big, dead purple chicken.
"Get on dinner," Peter suggested hopefully, before taking the dead chicken-type creature and a knife from the wooden counter and flying outside. I watched as the boys put all of their finds onto the table and looked at me expectantly.

"Interesting," I said, though this was an understatement. All of the vegetables and fruit they had collected were ridiculously large, and in various colours to what I would call 'normal'. One tomato was as big as my fists put together. Peter's words finally clicked as the boys stared at me.

"Me? I have to cook?"

The boys had made dinner the previous day, so I hadn't had a chance to get used to the 'kitchen'.

"Obviously," Peter shouted from outside. He poked his head in from the doorway. "You do know how to cook, don't you?"

I thought about it. Yes, I suppose I did, but not in a situation like this before- and the ingredients at hand! I'd never seen anything like it. How Grandma Wendy had dealt with this every day, I had no idea whatsoever.

"Well… yeah, I suppose so..."

"Then there's no problem." His eyes gleamed. I thought about it, then set my jaw in determination.

"Right."

I approached this small but varied bountiful collection, and panicked as they wondered aloud what I was going to make.

That was easier said than done. What could I make out of only vegetables and chicken? I tried to remember meals that mother had made, but most of these involved an oven- I only had a very large pot over an open fire. I caught sight of a pile of bread in the corner, and briefly wondered where it had come from, before inspiration hit me. I took most of the tomatoes, some carrots, onions, a tiny bulb of something that, upon further inspection, was definitely garlic, and then picked up some of the roots. A few rearrangements and a discovery of salt later, I had everything I needed to make chicken (or whatever it was) in spiced tomato sauce with vegetables. Perfect.

An hour later, the Lost Boys and Peter were all seated at the table, sniffing the air appreciatively while I carried the pot to the table. There was no ladle, so I had to use one of the spare bowls very carefully. It was difficult, but eventually all of the boys had food in front of them, with a small bread bun on the side.

"Amelia, here," Peter called, as I motioned to sit down on the stool at the opposite end of the table. Tinkerbell glared at me, but I was too hungry to argue. I got up and plonked myself down in the one on his right side, taking my bowl with me. "Let's all say thank you to Amelia for cooking for us today," Peter said, looking down at me with a smile that warmed my insides. I wished for once that Tinkerbell would stop floating in the background, being mean every time Peter spoke to me. What had I done to her?

"The best way of saying thank you would be just to eat it," I said, and dug my spoon into the bowl without further ado. I heard Peter chuckle and a tiny piece of bread hit the back of my head. Tinkerbell.

"Thsh sh mmm!" Cubby mumbled, red sauce dripping down the sides of his mouth. He looked like a little wolf cub. I had to say, I heartily agreed. I finished before everyone else, and it took me a moment to realise that I was staring absently at Peter. Both of us were unaware of this for quite a long time, but as he was dipping his bread in the leftover sauce he looked up.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh." I shook myself mentally and found that I was smiling.

"'Oh'? What does that mean? You say it a lot."

"Nothing. Nothing at all," I said, and got up to serve the strawberries.

–

I loved writing this chapter. It's been in my head for such a long time... it was nice to get it typed out (finally). I think Emerald Eyes is weird. Hence why it's so easy to imagine her reactions... ahem.

Lots of love and grammatical corrections,

~chellybaby xoxo