A/N: This is an un-OUAT-twisted version of Peter Pan and Neverland, more similar to the classic Disney movie and fairytale version. I was inspired by the song Lost Boys by Ruth B.

"Take my hand. We're off to never never land."

There are shadows in Neverland, some that follow you mischievously and others that haunt your every waking dream. She was the latter.

Time moves so slowly there, amidst the verdant jungle vines and calling birds. The constant meek rays of light blurring the lines of day and night. The rustle of the leaves sound like wind chimes, the roar of a waterfall a soothing lullaby. It's easy to get lost in your thoughts and forget where you are, even who you are.

Still, occasionally something of great import actually happens and time stops still; marking itself like a violent gash across the cloth of all existence. And perchance you will ponder what has led you to this point, where you are, and even perhaps the great magnitude of your future, what paths lie ahead and beckon to you.

It was with very little thought of course or destination that Killian Jones went walking that afternoon, merely looking for a distraction, something to occupy his time as he waited for destiny to come calling, to ferry him away from this strange land. Oh, he might have gotten it into his head to seek a flower, something wild and strange that he heard could bear a channel with the fairies.

What he didn't expect, however, was for someone to find him.

He was walking along, minding his own business, when a shadow fell over him, blocking the light. He thought little of it; it was a common occurrence in Neverland, and he'd long stopped trying to place each and every disturbance, vast though they were, his constant companion on this strange and mysterious island. Instead, he stopped to have a drink, removing his flask of rum from his jacket pocket and tilting his head back to let the sweet liquid burn down his throat.

It was in this position of relevant insouciance that he was suddenly and terribly pummeled to the ground, a creature as quick and as feral as a wildcat toppling him from his stance.

"Bloody hell!" he groaned as he was splayed flat on his belly, surprised as he was at this disturbance, whence otherwise he was rarely gotten the better of.

"Gotcha Captain Hook!" he heard someone say, before his vile temper took over and he toppled the small creature, pinning it to the ground and putting the sharp point of his hook to its neck. He was midway in between a growl and a holler when he was very pointedly disarmed by a pair of beautiful jade green eyes. There was war paint underneath them and across her forehead, marking her as one of the Lost Boys, but aside from Wendy Darling, who never wore paint, he was not aware of any females in league with the scrawny miscreants.

"You're a…" She squirmed fiercely beneath him, almost upsetting his balance, but he dug his hook deeper into the soft flesh of her neck, causing her to grimace as a small bead of red blood surfaced on her porcelain skin.

"What?" she asked, raising her head up off the jungle floor. "A girl?" She spat the words at him, glowering with the fire of a thousand flames, and he had never been so intrigued in his entire life.

She groaned, clenching her teeth quite resolutely as he pinned her to the ground with his forearm, and his eyes widened as he realized with a small measure of disconcertion that his elbow was digging into the soft mound of her breast, spilling out above the corset she wore over her faded green shirt.

"Go ahead," she challenged, "Kill me. I'd like to see you try." The alluring creature lifted her chin defiantly, which dimpled quite adorably even though her eyes were glaring daggers at him. Her cheeks were flushed a rosy hue and her lips were plump and pink. She had the face of a princess, not a ragged jungle rat.

"My apologies, lass," he said, removing his hold from her and rising up, offering her his hand. "It would be a shame to harm a creature as lovely as you."

She looked at him suspiciously, eyeing his hand as if it were some sort of trick. Then she scrambled to her feet, one hand on the bow behind her back as the other reached for an arrow.

"I assure you, that won't be necessary," he told her plainly, raising his hand to assuage her. She studied him for a moment longer before she lowered her hands and put them on her hips with her elbows jutting out, the way Peter Pan was so apt to do.

Now that she was standing, he was better able to study her, amazed as he was at finding a woman in the middle of the forest. Her long, lean legs were clad in brown leather breeches and fitted with pointy-toed boots, and the green of her shirt and her brown corset blended in well with the surrounding foliage. Her hair, however, that was another thing altogether, seemingly having a life of its own as it blew about her shoulders. Long and wild, it was a mixture of golden tangles and braided ropes, red and blue feathers providing splendid decoration for the mass of blonde locks trailing down her back.

"So, we've established that you know who I am, but just who, might I ask, are you?" he questioned her, completely and utterly at her disposal.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked childishly, whilst he found his flask on the floor, picking it up and wiping it against his coat. A small wet pool remained on the forest floor, and he tsked at that, always remiss at wasting good rum. He took another small pull while she remained motionless, watching him.

"Perhaps I would," he told her, holding out the flask to her in offering.

"What is that?" she asked, and even though she was still scowling, he could tell there was something bright and inquisitive in her eyes.

"Rum," he said, wondering just how long the poor lass had been on this bloody island.

She reached out gingerly to take the bottle from his hand, turning it left and right and almost upside down as if she'd never encountered such an object.

"Ah ah ah. Careful lass, you're going to spill it, and you already wasted a fair amount when you pummeled me to the ground," he chided her.

She stopped turning it then and hesitantly brought the bottle to her mouth, puckering her lips sweetly as she threw her head back in what must have been a very large gulp. Coughing and sputtering, the rum came back from whence it went, spraying quite a bit directly on his face as he flinched at the impact.

They both paused for a moment, before the air split with laughter, as she pointed at him and covered her mouth, mirth taking over as she bent at the waist, so great was her amusement at spitting in the face of the great and fearsome Captain Hook.

And then, unbelievingly and unexpectedly he began laughing too, the small chuckle that escaped his lips coming as a welcome surprise before erupting into a full, carefree chortle. The air around them sparked with something vibrant and alive, cascading up into the canopy of the trees. Her smile made him feel something akin to hope, a reminder of the man he used to be merging with his current self and filling up the broken spaces to make him whole, if only for a moment. So he allowed the feeling to reign free, to open upwards and outwards as he studied the twinkle in her eye and the dimple in her cheek.

Removing his handkerchief from his coat pocket, he wiped at his face as their laughter died down. A small trace of rum clung to her lower lip, and he stopped breathing as he watched her lick it away slowly with her wet, pink tongue, her gaze heated as she met his stare and held it.

He stepped towards her then, moving into her proximity so he could smell her, the scent of her feminine cologne filling his nostrils as he watched her eyes widen coquettishly. He smirked at her, certain his charms would work for him the way they always do with the fairer sex as he watched her pulse flutter charmingly in her neck.

In the small space between them, she handed him back his flask, and he wrapped his hand around the bottle, pulling her with it, incrementally closer. He almost flinched at the contact, her delicate fingers soft against his thumb as he slowly began caressing her knuckles. The air hung heavy between them, and for once in his life he felt speechless, the sheer intensity of her nearness making him almost dizzy with an alarming rush of enchantment.

"Are you a fairy?" he asked her, tilting his head, certain now that she must be magic.

She was studying him too, her eyes wide with interest, and his breath caught when she reached her other hand up with an almost imperceptible caress and touched his cheek, tenuously following the below his eye.

Ignoring his question, she seemed lost in her own thoughts as she said softly, "You're not at all how they said you'd be. You're actually kind of...pretty." She smiled her own secret smile, and he nearly dropped the flask as she removed her hand from the bottle.

Feeling suddenly bashful, he scratched behind his ear unconsciously with his hook, his cheeks growing warm as she backed slowly away from him, her eyes still locked on his face.

"Please, lass, tell me your name," he all but begged her, and he should have been embarrassed at the fervent tone in his voice, but he wasn't.

She smiled again, that secret, mysterious smile of the sirens and then she bowed low before him, one hand across her slim waist and the other out to the side as if she were an actress in a play.

"Emma, Queen of the Lost Boys, at your service," she finished with a flourish, before she turned and ran, quick as lightning, disappearing between a curtain of vines and leaving only the echo of her laughter behind her.

He's not sure how long he stood there, staring after her, stroking at his chin in wonder as he repeated her name to himself, testing it on his lips in a devout whisper. "Emma."

And just like that, time began again, at least it did for a weary old pirate who'd experienced too much harsh reality and not enough wonder. The spell she cast on him reverberated through his soul and he knew without a doubt that he would forever be a changed man.