A/N. This story is based on a remark made at Comic Con, that while Rumple is in Neverland, he'll find a surprising way to communicate with Belle. Considering that in 26 stories, I've only had 1 correct guess (David's first name-but I think I'll be proven right in the guess I made in "Saved by Zero" that Belle will become mayor), I'm probably wrong about the means for that communication, but I have a hunch I'll be right about the purpose: to keep Rumple from doing something awful.

The title comes from Peter Pan: "I suppose it's like the ticking crocodile, isn't it? Time is chasing after all of us."

In the Enchanted Forest, Pre-Curse

Legend had it that the first pixie was the creation of a union between an imp and a fairy. Rumplestiltskin had made quite a study of the science of magic, and he knew that this theory was genetically possible, although untested in his time, for the imp species was nearly wiped out a century ago when ogres developed a taste for the tangy, though stringy, imp flesh. In his opinion, it was just as well that the world was unlikely to ever find out what happens when imps and fairies breed: the poor child would be both hideous in its appearance and highly conflicted in its morals.

Rumplestiltskin, though he believed himself to be a genetic cocktail of human, imp and something entirely singular that he simply labeled "Dark," found his sympathies in those days generally lay with the imp side of his nature. The more years that had passed since he acquired the Dark curse, and more importantly, since Bae left, leaving Rumplestiltskin to live alone and isolated from all society, the less human he felt himself to be. Certainly, the scaly green-gold skin and the reptilian gold eyes that glared back him when he happened to catch his reflection in a pail of water more closely resembled imp than man, and when he walked through marketplaces, villagers never remarked upon the strange man in their midst, only the strange "creature": he was perceived, and he knew it, as something subhuman, though his immortality and magic were considered superhuman.

Whatever species others thought him to be, however he chose to self-identify, he knew one thing for sure: his kind must not mix with fairies, not socially, not commercially, and most definitely, never ever romantically. The very thought of an imp and a fairy. . . commingling. . .took him right off his feed and he had to reach for the seltzer water.

And that was in part why Rumplestiltskin had little truck with pixies. Fortunately for him, they had never populated the lands that he frequented, preferring the Shifting Territories, those regions, like Neverland, whose geographic elements change at whim and without warning: mountains will suddenly rise literally from molehills, dense jungles vanish overnight and pasturelands appear in their place, ships being instantly grounded when the ancient ocean upon which they were sailing suddenly turns to desert. Why these changes happen in some lands but not most, no one has figured out, but Rumple suspected the pixies were behind it: inconsistent, unpredictable, and easily bored, they'd been observed using their magic simply for their own amusement, without regard to the cost or the outcome (all of which, again, made Rumple run for the seltzer).

Rumple hated fairies, everything about them, but most especially their meddling in human affairs and their lack of marketplace sense (what moron would give away magic at no charge when he/she knows that magic must be paid for, and that, if not paid for upfront, magic will extract its own, much higher price, later?). He hated fairies in every way imaginable: intellectually, morally and physically (their scent aggravated his sinuses and prolonged exposure would make him break out in hives, not a pleasant picture for a creature whose skin was already scaly). But most of all he hated them emotionally, for they very nearly lacked emotion: they were capable of feeling only a wing-thin kind of compassion for other beings and only a shimmery, pastel-rainbow kind of happiness, never jealousy, never envy, never rage, never possessiveness, never depression

. . . never gut-wrenching grief like that a father feels when his son vanishes forever into a void.

As much as he hated fairies, he hated their lookalike cousins even more, for although they have a broader range of emotions, and stronger feelings, their single motivation in life is to have fun, and short-range fun at that: they don't plan and they don't consider consequences. He not only hated pixies; he downright despised them.

And then Belle came along.

On the Jolly Roger, Present Time

All this said, it's now possible to understand, and perhaps sympathize with, Rumplestiltskin's feelings when the Jolly Roger floats into Nibs Lagoon on the northernmost point of Neverland (for the moment, anyway, though who knows if the lagoon will be here tomorrow). For, the instant Hook drops anchor, the night sky lights up with tiny, zipping-around, multicolored lights, and Rumple's sinuses clog and his skin, though by all appearances entirely human now, begins to itch.

"How beautiful," Snow gushes. She comes to Rumple's side at the bow of the ship, and the light display speaks to the little girl in her, the child who delighted in butterflies and fireflies and dragonflies. Enchanted, she stretches out a hand toward one of the blue-yellow blinking lights, until Rumple slaps her wrist.

"Pixies," he grunts. "They bite."

David comes to her side, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, riding on his hip. Although Snow scoffs, "Oh, don't be silly," Rumple nods his approval of the prince's precaution. Emma, hands in her pockets, joins them.

"He's right," Hook calls out, locking down the wheel. "Nasty little bugs, they are. Their saliva is an irritant, like a mosquito's. And they steal, lie and cheat. They're not to be trusted, no matter how much they blink their pretty eyes and bat their long lashes."

"Oh, they're mini-pirates, then," David smirks.

"Don't flatter them."

"For once, I believe you." Regina comes up behind Hook. She runs her hands up and down her arms. "I can feel the magic rolling off of them. It's like. . . cat dander."

"Unfortunately, we have to deal with them," Hook says. "They're the newsboys—or rather, newsgirls—of Neverland. They'll know where Pan is and what he's up to."

"Before they get any closer." Rumple indicates the captain's hook. "Do you mind if I disguise that? Just in case they've heard of you."

Hook glares at the mage. "Why not? You made me what I am." He raises his arm, allowing Rumple to change the hook into a hand. "Here they come. This is more in your line of work. I usually just take what I want: I don't have to deal for it. Do you speak Pixish?"

Rumple wrinkles his nose. "It's a blend of Fairy and Mer, so I suppose I could get by in an emergency, but not sufficiently for the fine art of negotiation."

"Then I'll translate."

"Wait." Emma grabs Rumple's arm. "You trust him not to throw us to the dogs?"

"What choice do we have?" Rumple winces as though he's just swallowed a mosquito, then rearranges his features into something neutral. He picks each word carefully, pausing and nodding periodically to Hook to allow the pirate to make the translation. "Good evening, o bright and beauteous denizens of Neverland. Adventurers are we; as you can see, we have come from a far-away land, dull and uninspiring in comparison to this one. We seek only a few days' adventure before we move on. We humbly ask your permission to disembark, so that we may admire this amazing island. We will take nothing that you have not granted us permission to take, we will harm nothing that does not harm us, and we will leave gifts in gratitude for your hospitality."

Hook makes sounds that mix the tinkle of bells with the whir of a dentist's drill, and one of the lights moves in closer, glowing brighter, becoming larger. Squinting, Rumple can make out the tiny being in the center of the light: she's smaller than a fairy, though he knows that can change if she wishes it; she has two long wings compared to her fairy cousins' four, and her ears are pointed like an elf's. He sees nothing in her to suggest imp genetics. She responds to the greeting with similar sounds, though more flute-like than Hook's.

"She says her name is Princess Sabina. The queen will be out there somewhere," Hook studies the shoreline. "Listening but hiding until her guards have determined it's safe." He bows to the being that's hovering just above the railing, within reach of David's sword. "She bids us welcome—though she's reserved about it. Doesn't trust us yet. She asks our business here."

"Adventure only."

"Aye, good choice. Pixies understand the call to adventure better than any other impulse." Hook translates, then glances at Rumple. "We should give them those gifts now. What've you got in mind?"

Rumple spreads his hand flat, and a satin bag with a velvet drawstring appears in his palm. All the little lights move in closer and shine brighter as they wait to see what's in the bag. His magic unties the drawstring, the bag gaps open and something small wrapped in foil rises from the opening. The foil slowly unwraps itself to reveal the treasure it's been protecting.

"Toffees!" Snow exclaims.

Magic carries the unwrapped treat to the railing, where it comes to rest beside the pixie princess. It's half as big as she is. She pokes at it, sniffs, then carries her finger to her mouth for a taste, and her aura flares like a sunburst and she chatters excitedly. Other pixies dash in, tearing off handfuls of the candy and stuffing them into their mouths.

"Well done, mate," Hook mutters. "Pixies know nothing about gold or silver, but they do appreciate sweets."

"Tell her we have many more bags of this delicacy that we have brought from a land far, far away, and we will consider it an honor if she'll accept them as our gift. And then tell her we have something we think her tribe will love even more, that we would like to offer in trade." Rumple sets the satin bag down on the railing and opens his palm again, this time producing a Peeps marshmallow chick.

No translation is needed for the "ooooh" that the entire squad of pixies exhales. They rush forward for handfuls of marshmallow.

Emma nudges Rumple with her elbow. "Gold! You old sweetie, you!"

He winks at her. "Just wait 'til I get to the ice cream."

The pixie princess swipes at the eager hands of her fellow guards and snaps an order at them: it's too soon to taste this new treat; the bargaining hasn't begun yet. They hang their heads but flitter backwards, casting longing glances at the chick. Sabina speaks and Hook translates, "Let's deal, human."

Rumple smiles a little at the appellation: human, she thinks he is. Well, in his Storybrooke form, he supposes he is more human than imp (though he'd have to think a long time before he could determine just how much Dark remains in him). "Thank you, Princess." He sweeps an elegant bow, although he stumbles near the end of it, having forgotten about his bad ankle. "May I introduce myself and my fellow adventurers?"

He pauses for just a moment, pondering which name to give: "Gold" would have no meaning to the pixies, and would raise no suspicion, but neither would it convey the extent of his powers. "Rumplestiltskin" is known here, both through legend and through history, for he journeyed here once before in his search for Bae. The trip had proven unsuccessful, of course, but at that time, he made no enemies among the pixies or the Indians—only among Pan's Lost Boys.

At the time of his visit, a century ago, the pixies had been reluctant allies of the Lost Boys: co-combatants in the war against pirates and occasional partners in adventure, but there was always tension caused by Pan's greed and demand for obedience. If the pixies' magic or leadership has weakened over the years, Pan may have made slaves of them.

Since that time, Rumple has encountered pixies—or rather, one pixie—on one other occasion, a few years before Regina cast the Final Curse. Nervously, he now searches the faces of the nearby pixies, but he doesn't see her among them. Maybe she was from another tribe, another land. Maybe.

He doesn't know how much international communication takes place among this species, but he'll take no chances that his true name is known here. "I am called Gold, and these are my friends." He introduces each in turn, though he sort of mumbles through Regina's name, just in case she's become the subject of international legend too, and he uses "Captain Jones" instead of "Hook."

"You know if they find out you lied to them," Hook mutters behind his new hand, "we're in a lot of trouble." But he smiles at Sabina and makes his translations.

"'Ask your questions, Gold, and then we will determine the price of the answers,'" Hook interprets for the pixies.

"Here goes." Rumple sucks in a breath. "We seek no trouble. In fact, we would prefer to steer clear of Him while we're here. So our first question concerns His whereabouts—so that we can avoid Him."

The princess paces the railing, considering the question. She stops and asks, "What else do you want to know?"

"As you know, the Lost ones came here from other lands. Voluntarily, of course," Rumple adds hastily, though it's a lie, "and we wouldn't dream of interfering with their happiness here. But we believe there may be, among them, a lad who came. . . by accident. Who. . . fell. From our ship, and may have washed ashore a short time ago. If so, we seek his return. He needs to be with us. This," Rumple touches Emma's shoulder, "is his mother. The rest of us are his. . . tribe. And we love him very much." The pixies know something about mothers from watching animals, but the concept of family is foreign to them. The concept of love is not.

The princess' light flickers for just a second, and Hook and Rumple exchange an understanding glance. "Suppose such a thing occurred," the princess says. "Suppose the fallen one came ashore and has found a home here, a new tribe, with whom he's happier."

"Then," Rumple throws a warning glare at the Charmings. "Then, after we spoke to him, to wish him happiness, we would leave without him."

David's knuckles whiten as he grips the sword tighter, and Snow chews her lip. But Emma merely raises her chin and adds, "It's his decision." Rumple surreptitiously squeezes her hand in gratitude for backing him up.

"Suppose," Sabina continues, "the fallen one wants to return to you, but his new tribe doesn't want to let him go."

"We will. . . do what we must, but no more, to release him."

"You will fight for him?" the princess asks. "Kill for him?"

"Fight. I don't think killing will be necessary." To illustrate his point, Rumple calls his magic to his fingertips. When his hand burns with a blue light, he raises it, and from the sea a swordfish emerges, reeled in by the magic. Rumple spins his finger around, and the swordfish pirouettes; he lowers his hand and the fish drops into the sea.

Sabina watches with arms folded. When the ripples in the water have subsided, she snaps, "Too bad."

Rumple blinks. "What?"

Hook shrugs. "I translated it right. She said, 'Too bad.'"

Regaining his composure, Rumple waits. The princess elucidates: "You, pirate: can you, at least, kill?"

Flabbergasted, Hook opens and closes his mouth. His answer comes at the pitch of fingernails scraping across a chalkboard. The princess nods thoughtfully and resumes her pacing.

"What did you say?" Rumple hisses.

"I said I'm a pirate. Fighting, and sometimes killing, comes with the profession."

"You just cooked our goose," Regina grumbles.

The princess speaks again. "You, pirate: will you lead your tribe, then?"

As Hook smirks, Rumple intervenes. "Is that a condition of our bargain?"

"It is."

"Do we understand you correctly, Your Highness?" Rumple asks. "Are you testing our resolve, to see how much we love our child? Or do you want blood to be shed?"

Sabina flies at Rumple, pausing when she's eye to eye with him. "The terms of our bargain, Gold: we will help you to recover your fallen one, if you will kill Pan."

"Crap on a cracker," Emma mutters, and David whistles in amazement. Snow says, "Now wait a minute."

But Rumple addresses the princess directly, and she seems to understand his body language if not the words. "We have a deal." He holds his hand out and another bag of toffees appears.

The princess studies him a moment, then says something over her shoulder. Her squad swoops in, pulling the bag open and dragging out the candy.

"And some more of those squishy ones." Sabina points to the Peep.

"Allow me," Emma volunteers, and she stares hard at the railing. Nothing happens.

"Emma, stop thinking," Rumple reminds her.

"Taste the marshmallow," Regina suggests. "Feel it melt on your tongue."

A row of pink Peeps appears, neatly lined up on the railing. Emma sighs in relief.

As the pixies dive in to tear the candy chicks apart, the princess decides. "We have a deal, humans."