Pan's Game || OUAT Fanfic || EDITED VERSION

Chapter 39; It's Not Just A Storybook

"I'm waiting for the day when I'm able to say, "I made it."

~ Jacob Holguin

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Felix's P.O.V

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    "How's the situation in Storybrooke going?"
    "The reports are positive," I say. "Greg and Tamara are confident that they'll be able to carry out their mission without any more speedbumps."
    "What of The Saviour?" Pan asks. "Is she still on to Tamara?"
    I nod. "Yes, if anything, she's even more convinced that she's up to something."

    He shakes his head. "She's a persistent lass, I'll give 'er that."
    "Is there anything else I need to know?" he asks.
    "Greg and Tamara said that they're planning on abducting The Truest Believer soon," I inform him.
    "Good, so you're familiar with the plan for when he gets here?"
    "Yes, but what about Alice?"

    "Don't worry about her, I've got it all planned," he assures me.
    "You do know you can't keep her in the dark forever, right?"
    He nods. "Yes, I am well awear that this'll all backfire someday."
    "And when it does?"
    "I have a plan for that, too."

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Alice's P.O.V

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    "Just. A. Little. Bit. Further," I mumble, extending my hand towards the shelf.
    I hear footsteps approaching me. "Alice—What are you doing?"
    I crane my head to the side, seeing a familiar brown-haired boy. "Oh, hey, Peter."
    "What are you doing?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
    "I'm trying to reach that book," I say, turning my attention back to the bookcase.

    "Ugh!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up. "I give up."
    Peter pushes himself off the doorframe and walks past me me. He reaches up and effortlessly pulls the faded leather bound book out of the shelf.
    He holds the book out towards me. "Here."
    I roll my eyes, taking the book from him. "God, I hate tall people."

    "Well, it's not my fault that you're so short."
    "Stop calling me short."
    "What would you rather me call you then? A midget?"
    "Now that's just plain mean."
    "Well it's true, isn't it?"
    I walk away from him, headed towards the couch. "Don't start."
    "You started it not me."

    I plop against the couch cushions and spread my legs across the couch. I tune Peter out by reading the book...
    It was almost December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible was about to—

    "Hey!" I exclaim as Peter takes the book from me. "Give it back."

    "What are you reading?" he asks, glancing at the cover.

    "Peter, I swear, if you don't give the book back to me right now, I'll knee you so hard you won't ever be able to have children."

    "The Giver," he reads out loud, ignoring my warning. "Hmm. You don't strike me as someone who reads children's books."
    "It isn't a children's book," I say.
    Peter ignores my previous sentence. "Why are you reading this children's book anyway?"

    I snatch the book from his hands. "It's not a children's book. And if you must know, I'm reading this book because I promised Cassie and the twins that I'd tell them a bedtime story. I've run of stories to tell them."
    "That and I need to unwind from this afternoon's training," I add.
    "Don't you have better things to do than spend time with the younger kids?" he asks.