Summary: Intending to return to Neverland after his quest for revenge comes to an abrupt end, Killian Jones finds himself in Duodenary, a realm whose existence allows Neverland, and the people therein, to live forever. After months of trying and failing to find a way to go home, a princess comes looking to him for help.

Warnings: Smut (between the first and second page break)

Notes: As ever, all my love and gratitude to all read/reviewed/favorited/followed. It's much appreciated. Part Six goes up on Tuesday.

When the world rights itself, Killian thinks only briefly on the damage to his beloved ship, instead running to find Emma, fearing she'd toppled over the edge.

"Emma!" he shouts, when he doesn't see her. His coat is sodden, and so he lets it fall from his shoulders before he leaps down the stairs, in overpowering desperation. He's only a moment to taste perhaps the most terrible fear he's ever known before he hears her voice.

"I'm right here, idiot," she says, getting to her feet from behind a row of barrels, tied to the gunwale with several, careful knots.

He sighs, long suffering. "Pardon me, darling, while I go check for gray hairs."

She only rolls her eyes in response before she turns her head back to look at the sky. She turns once before him, then twice, when he follows suit. It takes a moment for him to get his bearings, to drink in the familiar stars in the sky. He spots first the constellations depicting the war in Dark Hollow. The stars shift with the movement of the figures above. A winged creature falls to the tricks of the Lost Boys, another taking its place. Like a fiery loop in the sky, it plays again and again, the terrible scene reflected brightly in the dark waters that stir below.

"Where are we?" Emma says, in awe of the magic above.

Killian, though, has lived far too many ageless years in this realm to look kindly upon its superficial beauty.

"Neverland," he answers.

She shifts into his space, then, grabbing hold of his arm. She reaches up, tugs at the collar of his vest until he looks down at her. He's unprepared for how close she is, but relishes it all the same, smiling when he can feel her fingers brush over the tender skin of his neck.

"How long before we forget?" she says.

Though he meant to lean down to kiss her – no time like the present, he supposes – he backs away, nary a fraction, and quirks a brow.

"Forget?"

"Yeah. Isn't there some kind of magic that makes you…" She gestures with the hand free of his leathers. "…forget who you are?"

He frowns. "It's not quite so simple as that, love. Not only does it take many decades, it's also rather dependent on the state of your heart. I forgot much of who I was, not what had happened to me, and only because I gave into darkness. Someone such as you…"

He looks down, scratches behind his ear. "…you could never forget who you were, Emma."

She considers him for a moment before she takes his other lapel in hand. The heavy material of his vest squeaks beneath her gentle insistence, until he's no choice but to look into her eyes.

"You're not dark anymore," she says.

"I'm not sure that darkness is something one leaves behind. I bear the mark of the things I've done, Swan, just as sure as the scars on my back."

She has no reply to this – his Swan, she's a woman of action anyway – and so she only kisses him. Rather chaste, but telling. With the barest pressure of teeth to his lower lip, she tells him to leave his self-pity behind. With the drag of her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, she begs that he forgive himself.

"I'll try," he tells her, when she pulls away. To which she nods. She breathes a moment before she pulls away. She plants her feet apart, unthinkingly, and peers over her shoulder at something in the distance. He follows her gaze, to see the faintest swirl of light above Skull Rock. It's some leagues away, nothing terribly taxing, though he's loathe to step foot on that indomitable island ever again.

"That giant rock looks like someone's head," she says.

He hums. "Skull Rock."

She laughs. "You're joking."

The smile on his face is unbidden, though welcome, as dreadful memories threaten to overtake him. "I think you'll find that children are terribly literal."

"Okay, then, Skull Rock. Is it just me, or does the light shining out through the…" She wrinkles her nose, and unthinkingly takes hold of his hook as she stands by his side, looking out over the starboard side of the ship. "…eye sockets?"

He nods. "Right you are, love. Though that's not unusual, it feels – "

" – weird. It feels weird. Like the world itself is…shifting."

Sure enough, when he tilts his head, and squints his eyes, the air about the island does appear to ripple. The touch of her hand to his person is calming, and it frees his mind enough to feel for the power. He's no sorcerer, but he knows magic when he feels it. There it gathers, and there it multiplies, with dark intent.

"Well, Swan, how would you like to visit one of Neverland's most charming islands?"

She sighs. "Every girl's dream."

He laughs, and sets to furling up a few of the sails. The winds in the Gear were slow beyond reason, but here in the Neverland, the breeze is steady, and gusts are not altogether uncommon. A stiff wind will send them off course. Emma shuffles alongside him, helping when she can, observing when he waves her off. Killian imagines she'd make an excellent student. He thinks to teach her when this is over. Only…

"What happens?" he says, when he stands leisurely at the helm, after he's donned one of the spare coats he keeps in his cabin. He holds steady at the wheel, staying true to course to Skull Rock.

"What do you mean?" she says. She's only paying attention by halves, he knows, judging by the way she's watching the sails billow, leaning over the gunwale to watch the hull cut through the surface of the water, to look at the spirits that splash about in the wake trailing behind them.

"When this is over, I mean. Shall I never see you again?"

This catches her attention. She turns to look at him, and he busies himself with brushing imaginary dust away from the spokes on the wheel.

"You really think I'd just leave?" she says.

"Well," he answers, turning to smile at her, swishing his coat affectedly, disingenuously. "I am nothing but a pirate."

Killian realizes that he's goading her, that's he behaving like a child, but he feels as though he's not in control of himself. He regrets his behavior even as he plays the part of an unfeeling bastard. Emma, though, she's no fool. She clutches at his shoulder, and maneuvers him around, slipping between him and the helm. Her back steadies the wheel, and she jerks at the buckle on his belt, until he falls into the cradle of her hips.

"You're an idiot," she says. "Do you know that?"

He frowns, cages her within his arms, if only so he doesn't crush her against the ship behind her.

"You'll have to be more specific," he says.

"I don't just…" She hesitates, and the fire in her eyes softens, a bit shy. "…you're the second."

He quirks a brow. "Second?"

"The second person I've ever…gotten close to."

"What happened to the first?"

Emma gnaws on her lip, until it's red and glistening. She twists her fingers in his vest, again and again. He's certain she's stretching it beyond wearability. Then again, he can't find it within himself to care, not when she seems to make a decision, when she lets her demons bleed out in front of him.

"You go first," she says, at length.

"Pardon?"

"Last night. You were saying something about Milah…?"

Killian inhales, sharply. So he'd babbled in the throes of his nightmares once more. He feels embarrassed, to say the least, telling her his darkest secrets in the dead of night, burdening her heart even more than it already is. Next he waits for the cloying touch of bitter nostalgia, the sharp sting of dark magic in the air, the smell of his own blood spilling out the deck. His stomach does turn, but he finds that, with Emma's hands pulling gently at his clothes, he's not nearly as lost as he could be.

Not lost at all, he thinks, when she tugs on the charms at his neck.

"She was my love," he says. He feels heavy on his feet, so he wraps his fingers around her arm, and shuffles until he's very nearly leaning against her. "She was taken. The Dark One…he ripped her heart out and crushed it right in front of me. I came to this realm to find a way to defeat him. But when I returned to the Enchanted Forest, the darkness had already been vanquished by a powerful sorcerer called Merlin, aided in part by the gods. I suppose they'd had enough of his machinations."

Emma listens to his sorry tale with a stolid tilt to her mouth. Her eyes, though, they give her away. She rages silently, and it occurs to him that she does not pity him, merely wants to know him, as he does her.

Killian is surprised by himself, how he can tell her, somewhat impassively, about the loss of his dear Milah. It's softened by the haze of memory, muddied by his years in Neverland. He can't quite recall the shade of her hair, the color of her eyes. She was much a pirate, like him, and he remembers her tenacity, the crinkles by her temples when she smiled. But there's little else, a hole of love, of life, often behaving like quicksand, stifling any other who dares to approach his heart.

Except, of course –

"Emma."

"What?" she says.

"Nothing. I just…it's nothing."

She doesn't press him for more, only watches him. He glances up to make certain they're still on course. The winds are steady, and the Jolly Roger is true, here on the familiar waters of Neverland. So he looks down, and catches the roving starlight glistening in the whites of her eyes.

"Graham," she says.

He frowns.

"My, uh…person, I guess."

Killian treads carefully, feels the tremble in her fingertips. He imagines this is where she runs, where the sunken sands of her own heart bury all inklings of love. She's quiet for quite some time, and he wonders if he ought to give her a nudge. But even with fear tensing at the chords of her neck, she hangs on to him, tighter still. So he only waits. When her nostrils flair, and her lips quiver, he waits. When she rests her head against his chest, he waits.

"He was taken too," she says, when they're beneath a different scene playing out in the sky, this one of the Lost Boys learning to fly. "By Regina."

Killian's grip tightens on her elbow, until she leans back, makes a noise of protest.

"Sorry, love. That was just – "

"Unexpected?"

"Aye."

"I've forgiven her."

He quirks a brow, and she sighs.

"For the most part."

"It would be difficult not to be wary, Emma. You carry a weight on your shoulders, one that convinces you to question yourself." She sighs, and he sidles closer, taking hold of her shirt in-between his fingers and thumb. Then, quietly, he says, "What happened?"

"She saved my life." When he quirks a brow, she waves him off. "It's a long story. Basically, my mom told a secret when she was young, and it ended up getting her fiancé killed. She spent years trying to get her revenge."

He hums. "Perhaps Regina and I have more in common than I thought."

"She did the same thing."

"The same thing?"

Emma looks down, reaches out to fiddle with his hook. "She crushed Graham's heart. But then she met Robin. And her mother tried to have her killed. It…escalated, and I ended up a sort of a target. She saved my life. I could have killed her when she did. I was angry enough. But then I…I just couldn't."

Killian tugs harder on her shirt. "That's generous of you."

Emma shrugs. "Sometimes, I look at you…"

She trails off, and then she looks up at him, then. Really looks at him. Out of words, it seems. Understandable, given the general terseness of her speech. Instead, she tells him, silently, and he parrots –

"Sometimes I look at you," he says, "and I wonder if it will happen again."

She nods. "How long until we reach the island?"

"Another hour, perhaps."

"What would you say…" She pulls him closer still, and all at once, the adrenaline accompanied by fear, it fizzles out in his blood, and he's once more overwhelmed by how hard, how fast, he fell for this woman.

"What would you say if I asked you to make love to me?" she says. Propriety would demand she be embarrassed by her request. But she looks him head on, and thinks propriety would similarly demand that he not very nearly beg –

"I would ask that you do the same to me."

It only occurs to him, once they're down in his cabin, that he's not been touched like this since Milah. His crew would often indulge, and he had no problem with that, though they would cajole him to join. To find a willing lass and forget himself for a time.

Only, of all the things he's forgotten, Killian remembers too well what it feels like to linger. With touches, with kisses, in bed in the morning, on the ship throughout the afternoon. He knows what it's like to know a woman before he makes love to her. Once, after Milah was taken, he'd fallen into bed with someone in a small village in the southern reaches of the realm, where the sand burned hot, and the waters were blue and clear and cool. But, in the end, he couldn't go through with it. Every touch was a means to end, not a start, not even somewhere in the middle. Now, though, now –

"Emma," he says, when she's thrown his coat to the floor, tossed his vest unceremoniously over her shoulder. She's tugging his shirt out from beneath his trousers when he speaks, "Tell me this isn't the only time, love."

She tilts her head, and abandons his shirt to frame his face with her hands, to pull him down until he can feel the flush on her cheeks.

"Unless we die right afterwards, no, it's not the only time."

He smiles against her mouth, though his own lips still tremble. "That's rather morbid."

Emma shrugs. "Just being honest."

She kisses him, then, or he kisses her, and he can taste it on her tongue, that she means it, that she won't leave him, not if she can help it. So he surrenders himself to the way that her fingers crawl back down to his shirt, the way that they pull, perhaps a bit too hard –

"You're going to rip my shirt, Swan."

"I've seen your closet, you have like thirty of these."

– until she can run her hands over his back. Again, as she traces the scars there with her blunted nails, he shudders, thinking of how long it's been, worrying it's been too long, thinking that everywhere she touches burns too bright, that he loves her too much, that he'll lose her if he thinks too hard…

"Killian," she says, once she's pulled his shirt over his head, and buried her hands in his hair, making a terrible mess of it.

"What?" he answers, sluggish and slurred when she presses hard against his scalp.

"You're thinking too hard."

"Funny, I was just – "

"I'm thinking hard too, you know."

He cracks his eyes open, wondering when, exactly, he'd shut them. Her eyes glisten, wetly, and he reaches up to take gentle hold of her elbow, loops his hook in her belt and pulls, until she's flush against him. They stand still. For a long, drawn moment, time stretching and grinding to a halt between them. He tilts his head, and takes a measured step, so that she stands in the moonlight. He realizes that, despite the warm, brilliant starlight of Duodenary, it's not quite like the light of the moon, which sets her skin aglow. Slowly, he reaches up, and drags his thumb down her jaw, down to the dent in her chin, then further still to the chords of her neck.

"I won't leave you, Emma," he says, at length. "Death be damned, should it come. I'll turn back time if I have to."

"Don't think you can damn death."

He tries not to smile, and he tries not to kiss her, but he does both, drawing in and out of her mouth, tugging at her clothes until she too is bare from the waist up.

"I'm not gonna leave you either," she says, when he pulls away to kiss along the arch of her jaw, down the slope of her neck. Her hands begin to wander, until they find that straps that crisscross up and over his shoulder, holding his brace and his hook in place. She wriggles her fingers beneath the leather, and he sighs, even as she does the same when he drags his knuckles over the underside of her breasts. He's so distracted by the way she breathes – erratic and warm against his neck – when he touches her nipples that he's quite taken by surprise when he feels his bunk at the backs of his knees, practically falling on his arse with a quiet oof. Emma nudges his legs apart, and stands between, grasping handfuls of his hair, and tugging until he replaces his fingers with his mouth. He sucks, just barely, turning from one to the other, then back again, until she's scratching at his back, harder and harder with each pass of his tongue.

"Shall I make you come with my tongue, Swan?" he asks.

Emma laughs, even as she shuffles behind him onto the bed. Reaching down, she begins to tug at her own pants, pushing until he turns, kissing her belly as he pulls them down her legs.

"You don't kid around with this whole sex thing," she says.

Killian hums in question, even as he carefully pulls her feet free, until she's completely bare beneath him. He kisses her belly, and the muscles beneath begin to bunch up, then relax, back around again, in a telling rhythm. He shuffles further down, until he's breathing over her sex, pausing to look up at her –

"Well?"

"Me laughing was a yes."

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, and then he's kissing her, rolling the flat of his tongue until she plants her feet on the bed, until her hand is holding so tight to his hair, his eyes begin to water. He dips inside to taste, and then meanders back up, repeating the same motion until he works first one, then two, fingers inside of her. He strokes, and he sucks, until she comes with a breathy cry, the sort of sound he won't soon forget.

"Would you prefer I be on top?" he says, when he's back at her side, though his fingers remain behind, stoking the pleasure he can see in her eyes with terribly gentle presses of his thumb.

Emma shakes her head. "No."

"Bottom, then."

"No."

Killian hums. "We can stand, if you wish, but fair warning, it will be from behind, and I won't be lasting very long."

She laughs.

"So that's a yes."

Emma turns on her side to face him, and throws her leg over his. She wriggles around him, until his erection throbs between her legs, pulling him down and arching her back. The longer she positions him, the more he pants, thrusting mindlessly between her legs. When she has him to her liking, she goes back to the straps on his arm and shoulder, and tugs until it falls. Emma caresses the skin – callouses and all, feeling relief in the open air – that she finds, before she tugs him closer still.

"Like this," she says, and she takes him in hand, allowing him to press slowly inside, with a spectacular groan. Each push and pull brings him deeper, until their hips are flush, and his stomach presses over and between her folds with each thrust.

"Do you ever think," Killian says, staving off his orgasm with deep, measured breaths, "about the moment we met?"

She nods, face buried in his neck.

"Truth be told, I thought you'd come to kill me, then kidnap me – "

"You're never gonna get over that, are you," she says, still breathy, leaning back to look up at him. He smiles when she does, and presses a little harder, just that bit faster.

"I thought I recognized you. Even then, I knew you."

She shifts, and he pauses, feeling his stomach draw up tight. When he resumes, it's faster still.

"I knew you," he repeats.

"I knew you, too," she says.

That's the last that either of them say, at least until they come, her with her fingers down between them, and he with her name on his lips.

"Sometimes," she says, when he's taken a strip of cloth between them, and laid down beside her to wait out the rest of the hour, "I just randomly think about you asking animals for their magic, about those narwhals, and – "

"Think about how charming I was?"

" – and I laugh about how ridiculous it is."

"In a good way," she adds, when he pouts.

They lie still for a good while after that, his chest brushing against hers with each breath he takes. And he just looks at her, until the clock she carries in her mind tells them they only have fifteen minutes remaining, and they slowly redress in the hazy starlight.

"Do you think this will work?" she says, quietly, when they stand before one another by the ladder that leads back up to the deck. They linger, just as he always cherished, and he tangles his fingers in her hair as he answers, honestly –

"I don't know, Swan."

She sighs, and presses one last, long kiss to his lips before she climbs up, with he, as ever, quick to follow.

They arrive in Skull Rock just as Killian said, right on the hour. Or so she tells him, still keeping track of time, despite the fact that it doesn't move. He moors the Jolly just off the southwestern corner of the island –

"Southwestern?" she says, endearingly confused.

"Eight o'clock," he answers.

– before they row in on a skiff. They anchor it in the sands and make their way towards the central edifice. It hulks impressively above them, brown-black stone dull in the fog that rolls from its mouth. As ever, it is terribly foreboding, wrapped in shadows, suffused in magic that makes his gut twist. He never did like Skull Rock, despite the rumors to the contrary. He'd only ever used it as a cover, sailing up and around to avoid the scrutiny of the Lost Boys, who would linger on the coasts just west of the island. He'd only ever made land a half a dozen times or so in his centuries in Neverland, and only ever to recover from a skirmish, or to fell a tree to repair the Jolly Roger. Even then, he'd hated it. And now, more than ever, as they traverse deep into the fringing forests, where he's never stepped foot. Up close, he can see the way the air twists. Whatever magic lives in the skull, it's more insidious than he ever remembers, hissing through the air and making his hair stand on end. As they walk along a path worn through the trees, the very air around them seems to narrow and stretch – to breathe – as they make their way. He grabs at her hand when a particularly vicious wave of power coils just above them.

"This is fucking creepy," she says.

"My sentiments exactly."

They're careful to watch for danger as they go. But besides the light, the power, they appear to be alone. He's always been one to trust his gut, and he finds nothing amiss. Which is why he keeps on glancing over his shoulder, suspicious of the lack of obvious threats. If power does linger here, there's likely something or someone who intends to use it. Emma agrees, and so they pick up the pace towards the clearing that lies at the base of the stone walkway that winds up into the heart of the rock.

"Maybe something just kicked up the connection between Neverland and Duodenary," Emma says.

"Aye. Perhaps."

She tugs a little harder on his hand. "You don't sound convinced."

"Nothing feels awry."

"And?"

"And this is Neverland, darling. Something always feels awry."

She considers this a moment, before she says, "Eye of the storm?"

He answers only with the subtle downturn of his lips. They've only a quarter league to go, at most. Only moments, it seems, before they break into the clearing, along the edge of a pond that pools near to the base of their destination. As many centuries as he'd spent in Neverland, he never did like to frequent the island of Skull Rock. It was foreboding, and not just because of its shape. Magic could always be felt, flowing. He wonders now if this was it. For down the creatures of Duodenary rain, just as they rise in the waters of Emma's home. They float easily along a current that billows in the air. Where, in Duo Twelve, they're simply old, tired, they're now very clearly dead. They touch the water, and break dissipate into dust. A gentle pulse of light follows in their wake, and appears to flood beneath the earth, between the trees and up into the great rock before them.

"Fuck," Emma says. She squeezes tightly to his hand, and he looks down at her. She watches as the creatures of her home realm meet their end, and he watches as tears well up and fall.

"Emma…"

"What is going on here?" she wonders aloud. "I mean, I knew they came here to die. But it's like they're being…siphoned or something."

"Was this not a part of your agreement?"

She shakes her head. "Time runs its course, creatures die, their spirits come here to rest. We were always told they eventually become a part of the water. But now they're just – "

"They're dying."

"Yeah."

He wipes gently at her tears, catching them on the backs of his fingers with what he hopes is a gentle smile before he tugs her along.

"Let's fix it, aye?"

She doesn't answer, only follows when he leads. It doesn't take long for them to reach the stone pathway, and not much longer than that for them to find the end, where it empties into a great, glowing cavern. It's roughly globular, with craggy, brown, stone face walls. The ground beneath them is damp, the stalactites above dripping down loudly at their feet. It's dirty, smells of day old fish and rotten earth. At the center of the cavern lies a massive crystal. It too is rather globular in shape, and it pulses with the magic it appears to gather from the dead spirits that dissipate just outside. It seems to fill with water, with power, swirling with colors and foreboding, unknown purpose. The magic radiates outwards when it reaches its limit, stretching the very fabric of time, of space.

"What the hell is this?" Emma says. She circles it, curious, coming closer with each pass.

"What does it feel like?" Killian answers.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the sorceress, love. Trust your gut. What does it tell you?"

She considers the crystal for a long moment, then looks back at him. "That I have to stop it."

He nods, grimly. "What do you need me to do?"

Emma fidgets for a moment. She looks to the crystal, then back to him. She repeats the circuit several times before she settles on him. There's a healthy dose of fear in her eyes. He tries to smile encouragingly, but he fears it comes out as more of a grimace.

"Just don't leave?" she says.

"I would sooner perish."

He means to make her smile. She doesn't.

Emma takes another turn about the crystal before she lifts her hands. A gentle, warming power glows from somewhere within her heart, and Killian watches as it creeps into her hands. He figures now isn't the time to tell her how beautiful she is, how her passion shines even brighter than the magic she wields. So he stands to the side, waits while she presses her palms flat against the crystal. For a moment, it flickers dark, and Killian smiles, triumphant, opens his mouth to spur her on when –

Cold, he thinks. It's the first sensation that registers when something clamps tight around his wrist and yanks him down on his arse.

Wet, is the second. The water beneath him is just as chilly as the metal cinching tighter and tighter around his bones, perhaps even more so, and he grimaces in general discomfort.

Emma, he thinks, third, and, rather stunned out of his wits, look up to find her in a similar position. Not gobsmacked, like he, but put out, and glaring impressive daggers just over his shoulder.

"Ah," a familiar tenor sounds from behind. "Captain Hook. It's been a while."

Killian turns, finds the devil wearing the face of a boy.

"Pan," he seethes.

"Who?" Emma says.

Pan laughs, sounding disturbingly free, as though he's strolling merrily through Pixie Hollow. "Oh, Captain. One would think you'd tell the other visitors about me. This is my realm, after all."

"Must have slipped my mind."

Killian squirms in place as Pan stalks across the cavern. He's certain he's never been so frustrated, so consumed, all at once, by fear and by anger. The closer he gets to Emma, the more his blood boils, and he can only think how close they were. Or…perhaps they were never close. Pan was always a nuisance, but – and he thinks on the spirits falling from the sky, limp in death, mangled in the crossing from one realm to the next, and of Emma's face, tears glistening crystalline and genuine on her face – he couldn't imagine him quite so cruel as to destroy entire realms for his own gain.

"What do you want?" Emma says, when Pan seems content to simply march along the cavern.

Pan hums, seems to consider her for a moment before a flick of his wrist brings the sword at Emma's side to his own hip, and another turns Killian's own sword to dust. He drums on Emma's sword, in casual mockery of the blade's utility –

Namely, in killing you, Killian thinks, digging his hook into the earth and rock beside him.

– as he continues along his promenade. He makes another pass before he stops between the two shackles. Pan looks first to Killian, then to Emma.

"Why you, of course," he says.

Emma looks confused, for all the world like a child as she twists her lips, and quirks a thin brow at the man child standing above her. It's terrible, really, how captivating she is, even while the magical villain before them weighs them, measures them. Killian finds himself resting back on his haunches, strangely…hopeful as he watches the love of his long, miserable life best the demon between them with weary disdain.

"I'm sorry," Emma says, sounding anything but sorry, "but this villain speech would go a lot quicker if you just told us outright what you're up to."

"Or if you just kill us and be on your merry little way," Killian interjects.

"Emphasis on little."

Pan sighs, and his condescending smile fades for a moment, and he chooses to ignore their collective taunt. Killian can see the strain in the boy's shoulders, though, so he counts it as a victory.

"You know," Pan says, "I figured the drain would draw you here. After all, I've heard a great deal about the savior of Duo Twelve."

Emma scoffs. "You've got the wrong person, kid."

Pan sneers. "Perhaps savior is the wrong word. Something I think I've only ever heard uttered in the Enchanted Forest. Witch, then? Enchantress? Or some unbearable metaphor on time. Duodenarians have always been dreadfully dull that way. Whatever you call it, I thought it would be best to dispatch of you first, before I set the new normal."

Killian and Emma alike wait for Pan to elaborate. But, as he's said, he has all the time he needs at his disposal. And so, with practiced boredom, Killian eggs him on –

"New normal?"

Pan smiles, and walks along with Emma's sword in hand, pressing the tip into the ground with each step, as though it were a cane.

"Why is it," he says, "that Duodenary should benefit from the power that Neverland's time provides?"

"Uh, because you get to live forever?" Emma says. "Seems like a good trade to me."

Pan shakes his head. "It's not enough. I want to be able to mold this island. I want to be able to travel between realms, to take the magic of Neverland with me. Life eternal carries a price. I don't want to pay it any longer. Turns out, with the power of all the Lost Boy's shadows here in my heart – "

He reaches into his chest, then, and pulls out the darkest heart Killian has ever seen. He's seen his own, in fact, swirling black in the center, pulsing with anger and vengeance. But this, well this is hardly a heart at all. Merely an aura, swirling black and purple. He can feel the magic fizzle through the air, buzzing through his teeth. Emma appears similarly affected, squinting as though she's looking at the sun.

" – I can pretty much do whatever I want. And so I thought, why not speed the shunt of time into your realm, speed the return in your magical spirits, and harness the power for myself? The time from Neverland flows into the forest in the northeast – "

"Duo Two," Killian corrects.

" – in the northeast. It concentrates in the Gear, and flows outward, until all those little spirits come floating back to Neverland where they belong, bringing their time back with them in the form of age. Only now, much faster. Soon the decay will spread, Duodenary will crumble, and I'll have all the power that I need."

Emma looks at Killian, then, and though he can tell she's afraid, she's also, as she often says, done. So she leans, looking frightfully bored, back against the crystal.

"Can we hear the rest of your evil plan so that I can go to sleep?"

Pan looks amused, oddly enough, and he crouches down in front of her. Killian strains against his shackle, wishing he were closer, wishing he could, at the very least, direct the demon's attention to him in her stead.

"Feeling tired, are we?"

"I never say no to a nap," she says.

This is, of course, a blatant lie. Emma can hardly sleep at night, never mind during the day. Even so, the vulgar smile on the boy's face melts slowly to anger.

"Or perhaps it's the drain," he says, when he leaps nimbly to his feet. "What better way to rid myself of you than to strip your life away, your magic away."

Killian strains even harder. "You bloody bastard," he growls. "Why not just kill us and have it over with?"

Pan picks at a stray thread on his shoulder before he turns back to them, walking backwards towards one of the eyes of the skull. He sheathes Emma's sword. No longer amused, no longer patient, he ignores Killian's plea. Emma, he notices, appears yet bored by the boy. She simply waits, until he elaborates –

"Time moves here in the center of the island, but very slowly. It will be several days before you die. It's for the best, I think. I'd hate for you to miss it. When I rewind the time here, that is."

Only then does Emma speak, softly, "Rewind?"

"With enough power, you can do anything."

And with that, Pan leaps out of Skull Rock, leaving them to die.