A/N: The next few chapters will focus on Emma and Mary Margaret's attempt to get back to Storybrooke, and will also have the first of the characters' histories I am planning to include in this story.

Chapter Eleven: Ocean's Edge

"Emma, come on, get up."

Emma opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep. Mary Margaret was leaning over her, shaking her shoulder, but her eyes were turned sideways to focus on Hook as though she was afraid if she let him out of her sight for even a second, he would disappear.

Emma started into a sitting position. "Third day," she said, and scrambled to her feet in anticipation. Hook had estimated it would take three days to walk to his ship, and today was the third day. They should reach the ocean by nightfall.

"Put out the fire," Hook ordered tersely, nodding his head towards the still smoldering embers. There was something odd in his voice, an inflection that made Emma pause and study his features.

"You're worried," she said with a frown. She glanced over her shoulder, then turned in a full circle. "Is someone following us?"

"Who is left to follow us?" Mary Margaret countered pointedly. "Cora killed everyone… and we don't know where Mulan and Aurora are."

Emma felt a twinge of guilt at that statement, but pushed it down as firmly as possible. She'd already been through this reasoning more than once. They didn't even know where their two friends were, and even if they had known, they simply did not have time to go after Mulan and Aurora if they were to make it back to Storybrooke and stop Cora from destroying everything they loved. They could find a way back to this land after they had dealt with Cora, and they would rescue their friends then. But for now, they had to trust that Mulan could keep Aurora safe until they were able to reach them.

The reasoning was sound and logical and really couldn't be argued with – but it didn't quite assuage the guilt.

However, the look of unease in Hook's gaze pulled her thoughts away from Mulan and Aurora. "The ogres?" she asked sharply, not yet ready to face another one of those monsters.

"The ogres wouldn't notice a fire," Mary Margaret replied. "We're fine, Emma. No one is following us."

Emma wasn't convinced, but decided not to press the issue. She would keep an eye on Hook, and they would address the problem when it came.

Her stomach rumbled.

They hadn't eaten particularly well the last two days. Hook had brought back some kind of meat for each meal, and Emma had very deliberately neglected to ask what it was. Mary Margaret had collected some berries the first day and dug up some edible roots the second, remarking idly to Emma that identifying nonpoisonous plants was one of the things she had learned as a fugitive hiding in the woods.

It was a life Emma couldn't imagine, and each meal had been a reminder of how much she did not fit into this strange land that had been her birthplace.

But now it was just a ruin, and even Mary Margaret didn't seem to have any desire to call this place home.

"What I wouldn't give for one of Granny's burgers right now," Emma muttered.

Hook smirked, clearly amused. Then he lifted his eyes towards the sky, scanning for something.

Emma followed his gaze but saw nothing. She rubbed at her eyes, brushing away the dirt that had gathered in the creases of her skin overnight. She was grimy and dusty and desperately needed a shower.

But first they needed to get home.

She turned to Hook again. "What?" she snapped, her tone a bit harsher than she had intended. But worry shortened her temper, and there was something about the pirate that managed to get under her skin.

Hook shrugged, then said, "Feels like we're being watched."

Despite her insistence that everything was fine, Mary Margaret still reacted automatically to those words. Her hands closed immediately over her bow as she swiveled, turning in a slow circle. "I don't see any movement," she replied.

"Exactly," Hook confirmed.

Mary Margaret blinked at him, and then a look of concern crossed her features. She quickly kicked dirt into the fire and beckoned to Emma.

"Let's go," she said hurriedly.

Emma followed. "What it is?" she asked Mary Margaret urgently. Hook might not see any reason to tell her his suspicions – or perhaps he just enjoyed withholding information that he knew she wanted – but Mary Margaret would explain.

Mary Margaret lowered her voice and murmured, "No wind."

Emma opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut and instead turned her gaze back towards the sky. The tree branches above them were silent, with no wind to rustle through the leaves or cause the limbs to sway. The bushes and shrubs and tall grass that dotted the landscape between the tree trunks and sprawled across the ground were still as well.

It wasn't hot, and the air was not as stifling as Emma would have expected with no wind. It was just quiet.

And unnatural.

"What does that mean?" she asked, lowering her gaze just in time to keep herself from tripping over a gnarled tree root.

"I don't know," Mary Margaret admitted, "but it can't be anything good."

"Cora?"

"Maybe."

"But… how can Cora be watching us?" Emma asked, thinking back to Hook's suspicions. "If there was a way to communicate between the two worlds, David wouldn't have gone under the curse."

Mary Margaret flinched at the reminder of her beloved trapped in that horrible room of tile and flame, and Emma felt a pang of guilt for bringing it up. She knew it haunted her mother, knew that every extra second they were in this place felt like an extra second that Mary Margaret was somehow letting David down, and nothing Emma could say would change that.

But it was still a valid question. How could Cora be watching them if both Regina and Gold had failed to find a safe way to communicate?

"Maybe she knows something they don't," Mary Margaret suggested after a long pause.

"Is she really that powerful?" Emma asked. The question seemed somewhat foolish the moment it left her lips – of course Cora was powerful. Emma had seen first hand what Cora could do, and although she had heard stories from Henry and Mary Margaret, she hadn't actually seen Regina and Gold use their magic – hadn't experienced it.

Except for falling through the hat, and she still wasn't entirely sure how that had happened.

So the thought of Cora's magic caused a instinctual fear to coalesce in her stomach, while Gold and Regina's magic was more of a curiosity that she knew logically was dangerous but felt no emotional response to. But hadn't Mary Margaret said that Gold was powerful enough to stop Cora? And if that was the case, how could Cora know something that Gold did not?

"Yes," Mary Margaret answered flatly, "she really is that powerful."

It was clear from the bitterness of her tone that Mary Margaret was thinking of all the pain Cora had caused, and it was far more than simply beating them to Storybrooke. If Cora had never killed Daniel, where would they all be now?

And what kind of woman killed her daughter's true love?

Of course, Regina had had no qualms about putting Emma into an enchanted sleep despite what that would do to Henry. So perhaps the apple hadn't fallen very far from the tree? Neither woman seemed particularly good at knowing how to love someone.

Mary Margaret interrupted Emma's thoughts by adding in a low tone, as though dropping her voice to a whisper could somehow protect them from anyone who might be magically listening, "Regina and Gold were looking for a way to communicate with us. Cora isn't. Maybe whatever she wants to do is easier, or it requires a different kind of magic, or…"

"Or Rumpelstiltskin and the Evil Queen weren't really trying to help you," Hook suggested pointedly, glancing over his shoulder at the two of them.

Emma frowned at that, but when she opened her mouth to argue the point, she realized that she had nothing to say. Was it possible that Regina and Gold hadn't been trying all that hard to help them? They had wanted to stop Cora – that much was obvious. But had they truly wanted to plan a rescue, or had they only been pretending to help?

Gold had sent them to the squid ink, but had neglected to tell them that the ink was on the paper, and they had lost valuable time stuck in that cell unable to think of a way out. Had he been merely withholding information for his own amusement, or had he been trying to slow them down?

But how would that help him stop Cora?

Or… or had he not actually wanted to stop Cora? Mary Margaret had given Emma a good reason to believe that Regina would do everything in her power to keep Cora away from Henry, but what if Gold did not have the same concerns? What if he had wanted Cora in Storybrooke all along?

Was David the only one who had actually been trying to save them? David, the one without magic, the one who couldn't reach them until he allowed himself to be put under a sleeping curse…

Had Regina known that Snow wouldn't be able to wake David, that he would remained trapped in an enchanted sleep while Snow was stuck in a different world? Had she used this as a way to get rid of her two biggest enemies?

Emma exchanged a quick look with Mary Margaret, and it was clear that she was thinking the same thing.

The blonde sighed. "We'll be back in Storybrooke soon," she murmured, "and we can deal with everything then."

They reached the ocean as the sun began to set.

Hook had been right that it would take them three days to cross the land by foot, and as they stumbled wearily out of the trees and onto the sandy beach, Emma thought she had never seen anything as welcome as the expanse of glittering blue water stretched out before them.

"Where is your ship?" she asked, scanning the water for any sign of a vessel.

"Behind the bend," Hook replied, pointing with his hook towards a place ahead of them where the beach curved out of sight. "There is a cove there, and the water is deep enough to moor the boat. It's called Smuggler's Den."

"Oh?"

"A few hundred years ago, smugglers built a makeshift dock in the cove. It's hard to reach, and even harder to see from the ocean or the beach," Hook explained with a satisfied smirk. "Makes it perfect for hiding something you don't want people to find."

"If you're quite done bragging about your criminal exploits," Mary Margaret interrupted, "we should keep walking if we're going to reach the ship before dark."

Hook's smirk widened into a grin. "Are you sure you don't want to hear about all the things I did there?" His eyes flicked to Emma and his grin turned lascivious as he added, "And the people I did them with…? I can give you a private tour of some of the more… isolated… parts of that cove, lass."

Emma saw Mary Margaret stiffen. She knew her mother was quite close to losing her temper at the pirate, but that would only amuse Hook. He was trying to get a rise out of the two of them, and hitting on Emma seemed to be the way to do it.

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Just keep walking," she snapped, stepping discreetly in between Mary Margaret and the pirate.

"As you wish," Hook replied with a wink, "but let me know if you change your mind."

Emma glanced away from the pirate and out towards the water. The ocean was dotted with small islands, most of them little more than a slice of land with a few trees. Their presence made the waves choppy…

Choppy.

She looked around. "The wind is back," she murmured to Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret nodded in agreement. "It is. And that's good, because I don't know how we would have gotten the ship out to sea otherwise." But even as she said the words she was looking up towards the sky with a puzzled expression, as though she couldn't quite figure out why the wind was back.

Or where it had gone.

Emma opted not to dwell on that mystery, and instead turned her attention to Hook. "How far out do we need to sail before we can open the portal? Does the water need to be a certain depth?"

Hook raised an eyebrow and said somewhat mockingly, "It's a magical portal. Do you really think it depends on the depth of the water?"

Emma bristled.

Before she could say anything, however, the pirate had turned back towards the water with a thoughtful stare. "The portal will be quite wide, though," he mused, "and will create a sort of whirlpool in the water. We need to sail past the islands."

"So a magical portal doesn't depend on depth, but it does depend on width?" Emma questioned. She blinked. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Those are the laws of magic," Hook replied, "at least the ones that revolve around magical beans." He quickened his pace as they began to cross the beach. "I'd advise you to learn them, because Cora will certainly be using magic against you, but I doubt it will matter once we reach your world. Magic behaves differently everywhere."

"Why?" Emma asked.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Because it's magic," he said simply, "and magic depends on the world it inhabits. There is only one constant." He turned away from her, and said somberly, "It always comes with a price."

The rocks under their feet were damp and slippery, and moss grew in the cracks and crevices in the stone. Hook walked quickly but carefully, choosing each step with caution. He could hear Emma slipping on the stones behind him, her steps less sure and less careful than his own. She walked too hurriedly and too loudly, and without paying much attention to her surroundings.

If she continued acting without thinking, if she continued rushing into everything, Cora would defeat her easily.

Hook wasn't entirely sure if that thought upset him.

The path led between the rocks that surrounded the cove. It started as dirt and pine needles mixing in with the sand, but as they rose higher it turned to stone. Now it twisted and turned through several maze-like passageways before opening out over the smell inlet of water.

The overwhelming smell of salt rushed up towards him, and a smile curved his lips. They were here at last.

The other two stumbled out behind him. Emma and Snow – no, he shook his head, reminding himself that she went by Mary Margaret now, even if Cora had referred to her by a different name. Emma and Mary Margaret both drew breath at the sight of the steep cliff that dropped precipitously towards the water. One misstep, and they would fall.

"Careful," he warned with a smirk.

"Is that your boat?" Emma asked.

"Ship," he corrected automatically, looking towards the Jolly Roger. It floated in the center of the cove near the slender passageway that led out into the open ocean. The anchor held it in place, preventing it from smashing against the rock walls, and a rope tied it to the small wooden dock that jutted out over the water at the base of the cliff.

It wasn't a large ship. In fact, most pirate ships he'd encountered on the seas – as well as most of the merchant ships and all of the royal naval ships – had been larger than his own.

But none of their captains knew how to disappear through portals into other worlds. And none of their captains would have had the skill necessary to survive following him should they get sucked into a portal he had opened.

He turned back towards Emma and gestured towards his right where uneven steps had been carved into the stone and the path descended over loose rubble. "Try not to fall," he warned.

"There is nothing to hold onto," Emma murmured, running her palm at the smooth cliff face.

"You can hold my hand if you'd like," Hook offered suggestively.

She glared at him.

He laughed outright at the annoyance in her eyes and the look of anger that momentarily flashed through Mary Margaret's expression, then turned away from them both and began the treacherous descent to his ship.

For all her guarded caution, Emma Swan was quite easy to read. He saw the way she looked at Mary Margaret when she thought no one was watching, saw the mixture of longing and trepidation. Neither of his companions seemed to be quite comfortable with the odd relationship they were now navigating, and although Emma was growing more accustomed to it with every passing day, he still saw the unease in her gaze.

And he saw all the other things in her gaze as well – the past heartbreaks, the mistrust of anyone who claimed to be helping, the fear of betrayal that only one who had actually been betrayed could feel so keenly…

He'd seen those looks on the faces of several little lost boys a long time ago.

He'd been able to play on their fears then, and he would be able to play on Emma's fears now, if he needed to. He'd been around long enough to become very good at it. After all, manipulation was a necessary skill for a conman and a liar, and he was both of those.

Understanding his enemy was important, after all.

He wasn't entirely sure if they were enemies – but Emma Swan had made it quite clear when she locked that metal cuff around his wrist and left him behind on the beanstalk that she was not his ally. She'd fooled him once, but he would not make the same mistake a second time.

So where did that leave them?

It was an interesting thought, and one he would ponder some other time. At the moment, he had to focus on his ship.

The sun had all but set as they stepped over the wooden planks and onto the ship. He climbed aboard slowly, thankful to be back on the familiar deck.

"Nice boat," Emma said dryly.

She was trying to get a rise out of him, and he didn't bother correcting her this time. Instead, he ran his hand over the wooden railing as he climbed towards the mast, and his mind began to wander back over memories from a long time ago.

The storm raged.

The moonless sky was so dark he could barely make out the rope in his hands or the cloth of the sails above his head. He could hear the cries of the crew above the wind, but the words were indistinguishable from the crashing of waves against the side of the ship and the patter of rain falling down all around them. The ship lurched from side to side, rising and falling with each tumultuous rush of the water.

The mainsail had ripped down the center, and the rope holding it to the main mast was unraveling quickly. He pulled at it, attempting desperately to lower the sail. They had to lower all the sails, or the storm would surely sink them.

Someone was climbing the shrouds above him, moving slowly towards the topsail. Another was attempting to climb down from the crow's nest, but the rope was dangerously slippery and he doubted they would make it down in one piece. But staying above was even more hazardous in this weather...

The storm had come without warning, and it was threatening to kill them all. He could have turned away from it, instead of sailing directly into the chaos of wind and rain, but that would have led to an even worse outcome. This was their only chance, and when he had given the order to press forward directly into the wind, he had seen the determination on his crew's faces.

They refused to be captured.

To his right and left, oars slapped against the water. They had to keep moving, had to wait it out, had to hope that this storm destroyed the other ship...

"Captain Jones!"

He heard the call and turned, squinting through the downpour. A figure moved behind him, coming closer, and he caught a glimpse of something ridiculously large sticking out of the man's hat.

A feather.

His first mate.

"What?" Jones asked, sputtering through a mouthful of rainwater as the first mate half-walked, half-stumbled towards him.

"They're closing in on us," the first mate yelled, struggling to be heard above the noise.

A sudden flash of lightning lit up the sky, and Jones was able to make out the silhouette of the naval ship. It was indeed gaining on them, and soon enough it would be within firing range.

He had hoped they could lose their pursuer in the storm, but the admiral of the distant ship was clearly either too stubborn or too stupid to give up the chase. Or perhaps he was too greedy.

In an attempt to combat the growing piracy on the seas, the king had offered land and money to anyone who brought in a pirate captain and his crew. As though that would change anything. Did the fool really believe he could stop piracy? Didn't he know that if he cut down one pirate a dozen more would spring up in his place?

"Cap-" Jones heard another cry, but the crash of thunder cut off whoever was speaking, and the warning was lost. It didn't matter, though, because the new danger became apparent soon enough.

"Oh, merciful heavens…" the first mate nearly shrieked, his words ending with a gasp of horror.

Jones twisted, following his first mate's gaze, and felt his heart momentarily stop beating. Before them, the sea swirled around and then seemed to open up. A whirlpool, a giant mouth, a bottomless pit…

And they were headed right towards it.

The shock of the unexpected sight was enough to make him momentarily loosen his grip on the rope in his hands. He came to his senses a fraction of a second later, but it was too late. The rope slipped free of his grasp and flew into the air, and all his attempts to grab at it were in vain. The sail unraveled, caught up in a sudden gust of wind, and the pressure of the wind caused the mast to splinter and snap with an earsplitting crack.

The boom swung across the deck, hitting Jones squarely in the chest and sending him flying through the air. His head hit the railing as he flew over the side of the ship, and his last thought before he lost consciousness was that he did not want to drown.

"Hook!"

He blinked, and the memory faded.

"What are you waiting for?" Emma demanded. "Let's go!"

Hook lifted his chin and nodded towards the rapidly sinking sun. "It is dangerous to try to sail the ship through the islands and their surrounding reefs at night," he countered. "We need to wait for morning."

"But…"

"In the dark, we'd be lucky to make it out of the cove without crashing onto the rocks," he added.

Emma placed her hands on her hips. "I thought you were a pirate," she snapped. "Aren't pirates supposed to be good at sailing at night? Isn't that when they attack and plunder?"

Hook stared at Emma for a moment, then turned his attention to Mary Margaret. "What do people learn in this world of yours?" he demanded.

"Stereotypes," Mary Margaret answered softly, almost distractedly, as she stepped past him and walked towards the bow. Her gaze was fixed on the thin opening of the cove and the ocean beyond, but then she paused and looked back. "But I agree with Emma. We don't have time to wait until sunup."

"Getting shipwrecked won't get us to your town any faster," Hook countered.

"So what you're saying is that you aren't a good enough pirate to sail at night?" Emma asked sharply.

Hook tensed immediately at the insult, even though he knew exactly what Emma was trying to do – what she was succeeding in doing. The fact of the matter was that of course he was a good enough pirate to be able to sail at night. His… profession… might not be quite as nocturnal as it was apparently thought to be in Emma's world, but some of the best piracy occurred at night. He'd learned to sail in any weather condition, and through any set of dangers, and he was good at it.

He'd learned to sail through whirlpools, and there were very few who could boast that feat.

It would be dangerous to sail through the cove and the surrounding islands now, but not impossible. Of course, it certainly didn't help matters that his crew consisted of two untried and untrained land-lovers. They'd probably never sailed a ship in their life, and he was used to navigating treacherous waters with a more advanced crew.

Once upon a time, he would have rather died in a storm then been taken in chains to the king. But if he died here, he would never get a chance to skin his crocodile, and he had waited too long to lose the opportunity for revenge now.

Pirates were reckless and rash by nature, but he'd learned how to bide his time. He could wait.

"You don't fly a pirate's flag," Emma said abruptly, looking up towards the sail.

"What is a pirate's flag?" Hook asked.

"You know… white skull and crossbones on a black cloth? Don't all pirates have that flag?"

He stared at her blankly, baffled. Where did she get these ridiculous ideas? Mary Margaret had said that although the fairy tales in this other world were hardly ever completely correct, there was always a grain of truth in them. But he was starting to think the fallacies far outweighed any of the truths.

"If all pirates flew the same flag," he said logically, "how would we be able to tell the difference between the ships?"

Emma did not have an answer.

"Never mind that," Mary Margaret interrupted harshly. "Are we going to get underway or are you too scared?"

Hook sighed, his pride winning out against his common sense. "Come on," he said sourly, "I'll show you what you need to do. You're not the first incompetent crew I've trained."

He coughed, and was suddenly awake.

The sun was hot and bright. He reached up to shade his eyes from its unnatural glow. His mind felt foggy, and he couldn't quite figure out what had happened or where he was. He remembered the storm – the cold and the rain and the lightning…

And then what?

The whirlpool.

He clambered to his feet. His entire body ached. His arms were marred with bruises, and he had no doubt the rest of his skin would be as well. His clothing was still damp, and stiff with saltwater. Blood and sweat dripped into his eyes.

But he was alive. That was something.

He looked around.

He was on a beach. The beach was rocky, and small tide pools had formed all around him. Before him, the rocks eventually gave way to sand, and then to an ocean that seemed just a little bit too blue to be natural. Behind him, the rocks extended until they reached the edge of a forest.

It would have been beautiful, except for the bodies.

His ship had seemingly crashed upon this beach. The mainmast was broken, the sail ripped, the crow's nest flung towards the forest, and the foremast had snapped in two as well as was drifting out to sea. There was a hole in the bottom of the ship where a giant rock had cut through the wood, destroying everything it touched.

And his crew…

They were dead.

He picked his way through the rocks, pausing at each body to check for any signs of life. The first mate lay closest to him, one hand wrapped tightly around that ridiculous feather he had so treasured. The others were sprawled between him and the ruins of his ship; the chief cook with his frozen blue lips and a look of horror in his unseeing eyes, the steward with blood matted to his white-blonde hair, the boatswain, the other seamen…

"They're all dead," a voice said. "You only survived because you weren't on the ship when it fell through the portal."

Jones spun around, reaching automatically for the sword that should have been at his belt. But it wasn't there – had it been knocked loose during the storm? – and so he reached instead for a fist-sized rock near his feet, hoping it could serve as a decent weapon.

A figure stepped out from the trees.

He was a boy, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. His hair was a mess of unruly brown curls and he wore green breeches and a green tunic, brown boots, a brown belt, and a bow and quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He smiled easily, lips curling upwards and revealing perfect white teeth that stood out against his tan skin.

But there was something unnerving about his eyes.

"Who are you?" Jones demanded. "And what is this place?"

"This is Neverland," the boy replied. "The whirlpool was a portal between worlds. The ship fell through it and crashed on this beach." His smile faltered slightly. "It is possible to sail through the portal – or so I've been told. But it takes a lot of skill, so I've never tried it."

"Where did the portal come from?" Jones demanded.

The boy shrugged. "Sometimes, if the storm is strong enough, they just appear."

Jones narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He didn't know much about magic, but he was fairly certain that portals to other worlds did not just appear. Something – or someone – called them or created them or manipulated them.

Someone had done this, had opened a portal that had destroyed his ship and killed his crew.

"You never told me your name."

The boy gave an overdone bow. "Chief Peter Pan, at your service."

"Chief?" Jones scoffed. "How old are you?"

Before the words had left his mouth, Peter Pan had drawn and arrow from his quiver, fitted it to his bow, and let it fly. The motion happened so quickly that Jones barely had time to follow it, and then the arrow tore through the waterlogged leather of one of his boots, just barely grazing his skin, and buried itself in the crevice of a rock just behind him.

The boy's expression was hard as he answered, "Older than I look."

Jones tensed. He didn't like this situation. He didn't like not having a decent weapon, didn't like having some upstart boy showing off tricks with his bow and arrows, treating him like a child.

"And what is your name?" the boy asked.

"Captain Killian Jones," he answered slowly.

"And you are the captain of this ship?" Peter Pan asked, eyes flicking to the ruins behind them.

"I was," Jones answered sardonically. "It's not much of a ship now, though, is it?"

"Are you a merchant? A member of a navy?"

"I'm a pirate," Jones replied, and flashed a wholly untrustworthy smile.

This admission did not seem to daunt the boy. In fact, if anything he looked even more intrigued. "You were sailing into a storm to outrun another ship," he said, and though it was not phrased as a question, there was curiosity in his voice.

"How do you know that?" Jones demanded.

"I saw it through the portal," was the reply. Peter Pan stared at him for another long moment, then said, "Isn't sailing into a storm dangerous?"

"Yes," Jones replied mockingly, "but so is being caught by the royal navy. I'm a pirate, lad."

"Chief," Peter Pan corrected, his voice hard. "And I would guess that I am older than you, boy. So watch your tongue unless you want me to take it from you." He drew another arrow slowly. "As you saw, I am quite a good shot."

Jones bristled at the insult, but said nothing. He only had a rock and he was trapped in a strange world, and the boy had a bow and arrows and seemed to know this world quite well, so it would do no good to start an argument now. He was a pirate, true – but that did not make him a fool, and it did not mean he courted danger needlessly. He was at the boy's mercy… for now. But sooner or later he wouldn't be, and when that happened, he would repay this humiliation in kind.

Peter Pan smiled, all traces of anger gone, but still those eyes glinted unnervingly. "I have a proposition for you. You are a pirate without a crew. I have a crew and a ship, but no one skilled enough to sail it through the portal. Join my crew, Captain Jones, and I believe that we can help each other."

Jones weighed his options carefully. The idea of joining anyone's crew was appalling. He was a captain; he gave the orders, he did not follow them. But he was stuck in a strange world without a crew or a ship, and no way to get home. If he played his cards right…

"And suppose I agree to captain your ship," he asked. "Where would we go?"

"If you can sail through the portal, you can go anywhere you want," Peter Pan replied. "There are many worlds out there, many places to plunder.

Jones smiled. "Does your ship have a name?" he asked.

"It does," Peter Pan answered. "It's called the Jolly Roger."