A/N "I Can See Me" lyrics written by Barry Harman. Composer uncredited. Performed by Ashley and the Starlights/Amy Anzel in Jem S1E23 (The Jem Jam, Part 1, first aired February 8, 1987).

Chapter 7

The four band members looked at one another. "Well," Craig said slowly, "this is the place."

"The Grasshopper?" Kimber read the sign dubiously. "Did Tech-Rat say what kind of place this is? If I remember right, Jetta ran with a rough crowd before she became a Misfit. If some… bar fight breaks out and we're in the middle of it and we get arrested, I mean…"

"Well, they say there's no such thing as bad publicity," Aja quipped. "Normally, Jerrica might beg to differ, but since she's the one asking us to find Jetta, I think she'll probably be a little more reasonable than usual. Especially since Jetta was a Misf—" She glanced at Stormer and lowered her eyes. "Sorry."

Stormer shook her head. "Don't be. When we met Jetta for the first time, she was in the thick of a brawl."

Craig sighed. "Look, guys, the European part of the tour's over. Dublin was our last stop before we fly into New York and play our way back to LA. Jerrica changed our tickets to give us an extra two days here instead of flying out tomorrow."

"I was looking forward to three days in New York," Kimber groaned.

Craig gave her a rueful shrug, but continued. "So, we go in, we see if Jetta's here, we tell her about the benefit, and then, if she says yes, we've got a full day tomorrow to just… do that whole touristy thing in Dublin instead of Manhattan. I've never been to Dublin Castle and there are a bunch of museums worth checking out, too."

"And if she says no?" Kimber asked.

Aja laughed. "Then we still do that whole touristy thing, but we make time to come back tomorrow night and try one last time." She looked meaningfully at the others. "Ready?"

Stormer took a deep breath. Then she led the way up to the club door. "Guess we're not going to get any readier standing out here and talking about it," she said. "Come on, ladies and gentleman. We're going in."

As they walked past the club's foyer, strains of jazz music greeted them, growing louder as they made their way in. "This doesn't look like one of Jetta's usual hang-outs," Stormer whispered.

Craig looked around. "Do we take any table, or does someone have to seat us?"

"I don't know," Aja said. "I hope we don't need a reservation. I didn't think to call ahead."

"No worries!" a cheerful voice spoke up from close by and the four looked over to see a young woman smiling at them. "We've a crowd tonight, it's true, but there's space enough for you?"

Stormer and Kimber exchanged a glance. "Is she asking us or telling us?" Kimber asked, bemused.

Stormer shrugged, but the two trouped after the hostess and their bandmates to a round table with four chairs and a tea light candle that floated in water in a translucent red globe that was open at the top.

"Your server will be here in a moment with your menus?" the hostess said, though to their ears, it sounded once again as though she was asking.

"Sounds good," Aja smiled. "Thanks."

They looked around. The tables were nearly all filled, though there were still a couple of empty ones. The atmosphere was lively and the background music had them feeling good already. The server arrived and plonked down leather-bound menus before them cheerfully, and they smiled and reached for them.

"I'll give you a chance to look them over and be back in a few, shall I?" she asked, this time a definite question, and they nodded.

That was when a voice sounded over the speakers. "We'd like to thank you all for joining us this evening. To kick off our live entertainment, we have," the lights came up on a corner of the room, revealing a low stage with four people seated beside musical instruments, "Saoirse Howard, Ken Shaughnessy," at each name the performer bowed and the crowd applauded, "Mark Hanrahan, and Sheila Burns-O'Flaherty!"

As a woman with a large saxophone and two-toned hair cut and spiky, inclined her head, Stormer's jaw dropped. "That's Jetta!"

Neverland

Pan stood on the edge of the cliff, watching as the dawn broke. A familiar dark shape in the sky drew steadily nearer, angling its approach toward the island. The Shadow looked larger than usual today, more voluminous. As it came closer, Pan smiled broadly. The Shadow was, in fact, the same size as always, but from afar, it had been impossible to tell that it clutched in each wispy hand, a struggling young man. Each dangled by the scruff of their jackets—Pan had long got over his surprise that the fabric never ripped on these journeys—and both faces bore a peculiar mix of terror, fury, and resignation.

When the Shadow descended to no more than five feet above the cliff, it unceremoniously released its captives, who tumbled to the ground with near-synchronized yelps. The younger of the two rolled precariously close to the edge, but his companion managed to seize hold of his sleeve before he could go over.

"All right?" the elder asked, and was answered by a shaky nod. The younger spied something on the ground and handed it to the other with a quick smile.

Pan waited for his guest to don his glasses, before he beamed at them both.

"It's great to have the two of you drop in after all these years!" he proclaimed. "Welcome back, John… Michael. It's been far too long."

"Not nearly long enough," John said angrily. "What is it you want of us, Pan?"

Pan's eyes opened very wide. "Why, to reunite you both with your dear, beloved, sister, of course," he said with a laugh. "Come!"

John and Michael exchanged nervous looks. Both were all too well aware of the Shadow still hovering behind them, silently threatening. They could follow voluntarily, or they could be hauled along kicking and screaming as they'd arrived. John rose to his feet first, and then hesitantly extended his umbrella toward his brother. Michael took the handle and let John help him to his feet.

Gritting their teeth and wondering what new game was in store, they took the path away from the cliff, heading in the direction that Pan had gone.

If they'd passed her on the street, none of the four might have recognized her—not without her shaggy mane of wild black hair and the trademark white lightning bolt streak across her forehead and eyebrow. In jeans and a checkered button down, a vermillion-and-fuschia pixie cut, and understated make-up, she looked both tough and oddly vulnerable, in a way the Jetta they'd known never had.

Then she went into a saxophone solo, and the four exchanged glances and nods. "That's Jetta," Stormer said again, with a knowing nod.

"And she's incredible!" Aja breathed. "I don't think I ever noticed how good she was."

"That's because, back in the old days, she was as likely to beat up a heckler with that axe as blow into it," Kimber quipped back.

"Axe?" Craig blinked.

"Sax," Kimber said. "It rhymes. Also, I think I heard that when it comes to jazz, a lot of musicians call their instruments axes, whatever they are."

"Because playing well breaks opens a lot of doors?" Craig guessed.

"Maybe," Aja was thoughtful.

Stormer waved them to silence. "People are looking at us," she hissed. "I want to hear this! We can try to talk to her after the set."

People were, indeed, sending disapproving glances in their direction. Kimber swallowed, took another gulp of her red lemonade, and tried to avoid making eye contact with any of them.

Wendy hadn't changed, John noted, as his sister approached. In the century or more since she'd come to Neverland, she hadn't aged a day. But as she drew closer, he could see that his earlier impression had been in error. Wendy had always been so ladylike—her dresses and pinafores spotless, her hair always neatly caught back with band or ribbon, never a wisp out of place. At least, that was the image John had retained of his elder sister—who was now not even half his age. Now that hair hung loosely about her shoulders. It was mussed and tangled, with bits of twigs and leaves caught in her curls, and it badly wanted washing. Her nightgown was dirt-streaked and one sleeve was half-detached from its bodice. John didn't care in the slightest. "Wendy?" he whispered.

She blinked at him for a moment. Then her lips parted in an incredulous smile. "John?" she asked hesitantly. Then she practically leaped toward him, flinging her arms about his midsection and pressing her cheek to his ribcage. "John!"

She opened her eyes on the younger man, smiling gently at her and embraced him in turn. "Oh, Michael! I-I scarcely know you. You're both so ol—so much older," she corrected herself.

"You're not," Michael whispered hoarsely.

She turned nervous eyes toward Pan. "How is this possible?" she asked, but there was a nervous tremor in her voice, nothing at all like the wonder that might have been in evidence when she'd first heard tell of Neverland and true magic.

Pan laughed. "I've been playing a long game, Wendy Darling," he said. "And since I always play to win, it's been necessary to send a couple of my playing pieces off to smooth the course. I trust them, you see," he added genially. "I know that they'd never allow any harm to come to you and since they've played their parts well, none ever has. Has it?" he asked, but though he smiled, there was something hard and dangerous in his eyes, warning her that if she didn't speak her next line properly, she would not enjoy the consequences.

She swallowed hard. "No harm at all," she said, forcing herself to smile. And when Pan seemed dissatisfied, she lowered her eyes demurely. "Thank you."

Pan grinned cockily. "You see?" he waved his hand expansively toward her, as he turned to her brothers. "She's been my honored guest all this while. And yet," his smile grew a bit wistful, "well, it hardly seems fair, her having a life of ease and freedom while the two of you go off on adventures for months and years at a time. No," he said decisively, "that won't do. Wendy," his eyes brimmed with new excitement, "it's your turn to complete a mission for me. I'm afraid you'll be leaving here shortly."

Wendy blinked. "Leave Neverland?" she repeated, uncertain she'd heard correctly.

"I know it must pain you, Wendy Darling, but you must. There's a task out there in the world you left that only you can do for me."

"Oh, it doesn't—" Wendy caught herself. "It doesn't seem right to… to leave you," she said, thinking quickly and praying she was being convincing enough. "Are you certain I must?"

"Alas, yes. Come," he said, gesturing toward the jungle. "We'll go to your cave, Wendy, and you can make us all some dinner so we can eat while I teach you the game. And perhaps you'll even be able to make me a pocket or two before you go."

"Okay," Craig said, after the set finished and the band disappeared through a door at the back of the stage area. "We found her. Now how do we talk to her?"

"Well," Kimber said, "our fans used to hang out at the stage doors."

"Yeah, and we'd leave out the side," Stormer said. "Anyway, we're not fans or groupies. We're friends. Former friends." She hesitated. "Former bandmates?"

Aja, meanwhile, had managed to flag down their server. When the young woman hurried over, she handed her a folded note. "Could you please see that Ms. Burns-O'Flaherty gets this?" she asked politely, also passing the woman a banknote sporting the face of a balding man with a long mustache.

The woman's eyes widened. "Miss, are you quite sure you've given me the correct note?" she asked. "I know you're not from here and I suppose our money might take a mite getting used to, but you've just handed me fifty punt!"

Aja smiled. "Just give it to her, will you?" she asked.

The woman nodded energetically. "I will," she assured her. "And thank you!"

"Nice," Craig said appreciatively.

"Hey, us rock star types are supposed to throw money around like it's water. Just trying to act the part," Aja grinned.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

"Not lately enough," Aja half-sang.

Stormer and Kimber rolled their eyes. "Those two really need to get a room," Stormer muttered.

Kimber nodded. "Tell me about it."

In the cave that Pan had decorated to resemble a bedroom from the world in which she'd once lived, Wendy looked from Pan to her brothers, fear and wild hope mingled in her eyes. "So, you want me to go back there," she said slowly. "To America."

"California, yes," Pan nodded. "There's a particular girl there, a bit younger than you. I want you to befriend her. For now, that's the only part of the game you need to know. When you come to a new section of the board, you'll receive further instructions."

Wendy frowned. "California," she repeated slowly. "Mother read us a novel once. I think," her voice turned soft with memory as her eyes took on a faraway look. "Why, it was The Young Miner by Mr. Horatio Alger! And he was in California during the Gold Rush! John, d'you remember?"

John nodded, a faint smile coming to his own face. "I do," he said. He sobered then. "But I'm afraid that the California Mother read about there doesn't exist anymore. Time might stand still here, but it's moved on rather back in our realm."

"I can see that it must have," Wendy acknowledged. "How long have I been here?" she asked with a faint note of dismay. "Looking at the two of you it must be at least twenty years." Her brow wrinkled. "More. Twenty-five? Thirty?"

It was Michael who spoke now. "Wendy, when we first came here, it was 1898. John and I have been back a few times, a month here, a year there, long enough to see how the world has changed, but not long enough to let us grow too much older at each visit. But over ninety-six years, those little visits add up."

Wendy paled and her hand flew to her mouth. "Ninety-six years?" she whispered. "That… that can't be."

"I'm afraid so," John said gently.

"But… but… Mother… Father… Nana? They're all…?" her voice broke.

Her brothers nodded. "Dead," Michael said gently. "I'm so, so sorry."

Wendy buried her face in her hands.

Pan cleared his throat impatiently. "You can catch up later," he snapped. "It's not as though you can possibly remember them much after all this time, so pull yourself together. The two of you are leaving at dawn."

Wendy lifted reddened eyes to her captor. "The two of us?" she repeated raggedly. "You're not letting us go at all, are you?"

"Well, not for good, of course," Pan laughed. "I don't like giving up my favorite toys, even if I might not play with them for a little while. But take some time to enjoy the twentieth century. Take in the sights. Enjoy childhood while you can." He nodded and made a quick hand-signal. "Michael and I will be here waiting once you've completed your mission."

"What? No!" Wendy cried, as the Shadow swooped into the cave and seized hold of her youngest brother.

"No harm will befall him," Pan called over his trailing shrieks, as the Shadow hauled him away. "At least, not so long as the two of you play the game properly. If not…." He shrugged. "Well, let's not talk about 'if not'. Right. I think that's everything. I'm off to have some fun. You two can spend the next few hours learning about the last century. A lot's happened in your world in that time and I'm sure John will want to get a head start on catching you up on that." A menacing note crept into his playful tone. "But keep the conversation to business; no sobbing and sentimentality here. Save that for when I can't hear it. You'll have a few weeks to get acclimated in the other place before you have to worry about meeting the girl anyway, so weep and wail on your time. For now," he chucked Wendy under her chin, "listen to your brother. You're going to an unfamiliar place and you need to know as much about it as you can. Every little bit you recall will help you, so try to pay attention. The Shadow will come to fetch you when it's time."

Some twenty minutes later, their server motioned for the four to follow her and she led them toward a door marked 'Only Employees May Enter Here/Ní Fhéadfaidh Ach Fostaithe Dul Isteach Anseo'.

Kimber squinted at the Gaelic. "Nee... feedfade ack fostaith dull is teach ansayo?" she read hesitantly.

Their guide winced as she held the door open. "It's actually..." she rattled off a phrase that Kimber knew she wouldn't be able to repeat to save her life and thanked her stars that the sign had been bilingual as they made their way down a hallway.

"Right," the server said, stopping at one of the doors and knocking smartly. It opened at once.

"Well," a familiar English voice intoned laughingly, "aren't you lot the proverbial sight for sore eyes! Come on in and tell me wot the bloody 'ell you're doing in Dublin!"

Emma was humming as she, Casey, and Stephanie walked toward their bus. Casey sighed. "Deirdre really did a number on you, huh?" she asked.

Emma blinked. "Sorry?"

"That song...?" Stephanie laughed.

"Oh," Emma winced. "Yeah, I can't get it out of my head." "

"Been there," Stephanie said. "Give it time." She frowned. "And considering that the auditions are in two weeks and then they'll be rehearsing, you'd better give it a lot of time."

"Maybe," Casey ventured, "they'll get some new material?"

"It'll probably be just as much of an earworm," Stephanie pointed out. A bit more softly, she sang, "I can see me standing on the stage, I can see me being all the rage..."

Emma's eyes widened. "You mean, there are lyrics?" she demanded.

Casey groaned. "Now, you've done it! We're just going to have to teach them to her."

"Uh, no," Emma said quickly. "It's okay."

"I'm just kidding," Casey reassured her. "They're pretty easy to remember once you hear them anyway. And you will be," she added. She paused for a beat. "A whole lot."

"Yeah," Stephanie said. "So you may as well stop fighting it. Because before the month is out, we're all going to be singing along! So..." She took a breath and began again.

"I can see me standing on the stage,

I can see me being all the rage,

I can see me going very far...

I can see me a star!"

Jetta heard them out, her expression unreadable. Finally, she shook her head. "Much as it might be fun to see the old gang again," her lips curled into a semblance of her old sneer, "well, maybe not Roxy, but Pizzazz anyway," she sighed, "I'm afraid it's not in the cards."

"What do you mean?" Aja asked.

Jetta sighed. "I dunno if the accent's a tipoff but... I can't join up with you Yanks without a proper visa and I have no idea how long it'll take to get one."

Stormer frowned worriedly. "How long did it take you the first time?"

"There was no first time," Jetta admitted. "I was in America on a lark, walked into a club and thought I could do a better job than the blighter they'd hired to perform. When the crowd disagreed, things got rowdy and you and the rest of the Misfits showed up and the rest, I suppose, is history."

Craig frowned. "Wait. So when you were a Misfit, you weren't legal?"

"Didn't seem to bother Eric at the time," Jetta drawled. "And anyway, Pizzazz's dad smoothed things over for me with Immigration back then. Don't ask me how he arranged it or what he arranged, but I didn't have any trouble while I was with the Misfits. Of course, now," she continued, "times have changed. I'm married. I live here in Dublin and I suppose you've noticed I'm not playing the same kind of music. So unless you've got a spot on the roster for a punk jazz band..."

"Maybe we do," Kimber said slowly. "I-I can call Jerrica tonight and see what she says. Because if she's okay with it, then maybe Starlight Music can help you with the paperwork this time."

"Would that be true for all of us?" a voice spoke from the doorway and the four members of Kaleidoscope Haze turned as one to see the other three performers who'd been on stage with Jetta standing behind them. "Sorry, love," the other woman—Saoirse—said, not sounding a bit sorry. "Me mum did try teaching me that listening at doors was a nasty habit but the lesson never stuck. So," she repeated, "how about it? We'd love to play for that concert, if you'll have us."

"Uh..." Kimber shot a look at Aja, who shrugged, as though to say, You got yourself into this one; don't look at me. Somehow, she didn't think that the Starlight label was interested in taking on a punk jazz group, or helping them deal with US customs and immigration. But looking at the three pairs of hopeful eyes trained on her, she swallowed hard and tried to smile. "Uh, let me talk to Jerrica about that, too."

She pretended not to see Aja wince.

Emma stepped a bit hesitantly into Jerrica's office. Jerrica smiled at her in a friendly fashion, and Emma relaxed a little. "You wanted to see me?" she asked her.

Jerrica nodded. "I was just wondering how your first days at school have been going."

Emma shrugged. "Good, I guess. Casey and Stephanie have been helping me."

"That's great," Jerrica said. "I know it's hard starting fresh, especially when you don't know anyone. I guess I just wanted to let you know that if you're having any issues, you can always come and see me and I'll do my best to help you work through them."

She'd heard that speech before, or others very like it. She knew that the right thing to do was smile, nod, promise she would... and never ever take Jerrica Benton up on the offer. She knew that the more of a problem she seemed to be, the faster she'd move on to becoming someone else's problem. And while Starlight House wasn't perfect—in her opinion, no group home ever could be—she had to admit that it was a better placement than she'd had in, well, ever. She didn't want to blow this shot and end up somewhere worse.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Jerrica's eyebrows rose. "I'm with someone," she called. The door opened to reveal Mrs. Bailey.

"Sorry, Jerrica," the housemother answered, "but I have Phyllis Gabor downstairs for you. She says it can't wait."

Jerrica sighed. "All right. Emma? Hopefully, this won't take too long. Why don't you go on up to the common room and I'll come get you when I'm done."

"Sure," Emma said, getting up and following Jerrica out. She waited five minutes in the hallway, before she headed for the stairs. Instead of heading up to the common room, though, she made her way down to the first floor, where she'd seen Jerrica head off to.

Voices reached her from the living room and she made her way there as softly as she dared. Probably, it had nothing to do with her. Phyllis probably had some other foster kid to bring in or maybe she was also the caseworker for one of the other girls here. Probably. Then she caught mention of her own name and she hurried to hear what was being said.

"Boston?" Jerrica's voice rose with a note of disbelief.

"We've had confirmation from Massachusetts social services," Phyllis said. "Emma Swan ran away from a foster home in the Greater Boston Area almost two weeks ago. Mass DCF sent us her file, complete with a recent photo. It's definitely her."

"So... what happens now?" Jerrica asked.

Emma could almost hear the eyeroll in Phyllis's voice. "Well, it's going to take a while," she said. "Mountains of paperwork, bureaucracy, red tape... and that's for both departments. We're looking at weeks, maybe months, before it all gets settled. In the end, though, she'll go back to Boston."

Emma had heard enough. She padded back upstairs, stuffed her belongings into her knapsack, opened the bedroom window and tossed the canvas bag out. Then, she carefully closed the window again and stole quietly to the stairs. If she had any luck at all, she'd be out the door, knapsack in tow again, before Jerrica and Phyllis emerged from the sitting room.