Disclaimer: I don't know who owns Peter Pan, but is certainly isn't me!
Authors note: Did everybody see Return to Neverland? The thought of a Peter/Wendy pairing had never even crossed my mind until that final scene, where Peter and Wendy meet up again for the first time at Wendy's bedroom window. I can quite honestly say that that is my all time favorite romantic scene to come from Disney! The way that Peter held his hat in his hands and how Wendy looked away and smiled shyly...it was the cutest thing I've ever seen! I don't care if she is twenty years older than him, I want them together!
Anyway, this is my Pan/Wendy fic borne from that single two minute scene. Enjoy!
*****************************
Time didn't mean anything to Peter Pan.
Neverland existed somewhere outside of time. Much like Peter himself, it was ageless and unchanging, forever constant in a universe of transition. Peter had no idea how old he was because, in Neverland at least, it didn't matter. An infinity of carefree summer stretched before him, each day a mirror image of the one that had passed. Time had no place in his world.
Which was why it had been such a shock to see Wendy again after so long.
In his heart Peter had always known that Wendy must have grown up. Though he never would have admitted it to anyone - least of all himself - that was at least part of the reason why he had stayed away for so long. He had been afraid, afraid of going back to see her and finding a stranger in her place. He couldn't bear having to lose her like that.
But when he saw her that night after returning Jane...Peter understood then that Wendy would never change. Not in anyway that mattered, anyway. Her appearance had certainly altered - the little girl he had once known having grown into a tall and slender woman. In fact, he hardly recognized her at first. But then she smiled...the same warm curve of the lips that he remembered...and he knew it was her.
Nobody had ever smiled at him the way that Wendy did.
After that first visit, Peter returned to Wendy's window many nights. Sometimes he would see Jane and Danny, entertaining the children with wild stories of his latest exploits in Neverland. Danny never tired of hearing about his fights with the pirates, and Peter never tired of telling them. Though he hardly knew it, Peter did a lot of good for the younger Darling's in those war-torn years. His tall-tales of 'injuns and mermaids offered them welcome relief from the wails of the air-raid sirens and the scent of burning rubble.
Other times, however, he would wait until Jane and Danny were tucked in their beds before going to see Wendy. She had claimed the old nursery as her bedroom, and he would often find her sitting in a chair by the fire, diligently darning at her children's rationed clothes. These times alone with Wendy meant a lot to Peter. Sometimes they would talk; sometimes they would sit in silence...it didn't matter either way. All that mattered was that, after so long apart, Peter finally had his Wendy back.
And as time went on, Peter found himself flying to Wendy's window more often. Almost every other night he would swoop in, tapping politely at the glass to let her know that he had arrived. She always left the window open for him, and Peter appreciated the gesture. Wendy might have grown up, but she hadn't forgotten. For that he was grateful.
He would ask her questions sometimes, about John and Michael mostly, and Wendy answered them all with characteristic patience. Both were away fighting in the war - John in France and Michael in South Africa. Peter didn't really understand war, but he knew that it made Wendy sad. He offered to go and bring them back for her once, but she shook her head sadly and told him that they were doing what they had too. Peter didn't understand that either, but he didn't press the point.
John and Michael wrote letters to their sister when the war permitted, and Wendy always read them aloud to Peter when he visited. He would sit cross legged by her feet with his eyes dim and unfocused and his head resting against her knee. He loved the sound of Wendy's voice. Some nights he would ask her to read the letters just for the pleasure of hearing her speak. Her voice gave Peter an odd sense of peace...a kind of serenity that the lively young boy did not often experience. He didn't know what the strange feeling was, but he missed it whenever he was back in Neverland.
He would ask her about her husband too, but the subject seemed to hurt Wendy and he didn't bring it up often. His name was Edward and he, like the Darling boy's, was away at war. Peter wasn't sure what to think about Edward. Wendy obviously cared for him deeply, and Jane and Danny loved him too, but Peter...Peter wasn't certain. He didn't like the idea of this dashing upstart stealing his Wendy away, but at the same time he recognized that he must have made her very happy for her to miss him this much.
Time passed and the war continued. The tide had turned against the Nazi's, however, and London was no longer nightly ravaged by German bombing. The Blitz was far from over, but the Anderson Shelters were no longer used with such frequency. On this particular night Peter winged his way through a clear sky - not a single airplane in sight. He smiled to himself as he skimmed over a bruise-colored cloud, taking the lack of German activity as a good sign. Peter hoped that the war would end soon. He wanted to see John and Michael again, and Wendy had promised that he would be able to take Jane and Danny to Neverland once peace was declared. Besides, if the war was over then Edward would return, and then Wendy would be happy again...
He found the house without difficulty and swooped down to the familiar window. Perching weightlessly on the sill, he peered into the room and gave a glass a sharp rap. "Wendy?"
The young woman looked up from her darning, blinking in mild surprise at the figure against the darkness. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"Hullo Peter."
***
Time passed and the evening wore on. The deep lavender sky had darkened to an impenetrable black, the flickering fire in the grate providing the only source of illumination in the nursery. Peter couldn't help but think of it as a nursery still, even though it was obviously many years since any children had occupied it on a full-time basis. All around him there were reminders of Wendy's womanhood - a lipstick on the dressing table, a high- heeled shoes placed neatly beside the bed...subtle reminders that his friend had long since grown up. It had been strange at first, but Peter had become accustomed to the change. She was still Wendy...still his Wendy...
He watched her silently through half-shut eyes, his chin rested against a fist. Lying on his front before the flaming fireplace, Peter savored the sensation of heat - a welcome relief after the chill night air. Wendy was sitting in her usual chair, a torn shirt clasped lovingly in her hands. Peter watched with idle interest as she proceeded to sew the tear together. He couldn't help but admit her skill - sewing was an art he had never quite mastered, no matter how many times the young Wendy had tried to sit down and teach him. Peter had never had the patience for such tasks.
"Jane will be sorry that she missed you tonight."
Peter frowned mildly, having not been paying attention. "Hm?
Wendy passed the needle through the shirt sleeve, carefully pulling the ripped seam together. "I said that Jane will be sorry that she missed you tonight. Danny too. They were hoping that you would pay them a visit this evening."
Peter continued to watch her hands in fascination, her slim fingers working with the grace only borne from years of practice. He gave a slight shrug. "I can always see them tomorrow."
"Yes, well," the young woman paused to glance up at him briefly, a teasing smile lifting at the corners of her mouth, "Might I suggest that you try arriving a little earlier tomorrow? You and the Lost Boys might not have a set bedtime, but I'm afraid that my children do. If you persist in arriving at such late hours, I fear that they might never see you."
Peter gave a short chuckle. "Maybe it's just my way of getting you to let them stay up later?"
Wendy arched her eyebrows with a good-natured smirk, and then returned to her darning. "Maybe."
Peter said nothing after that, content to simply sit and watch. The truth was, Peter Pan arrived at such late hours was because he knew that, by that time, Jane and Danny would be asleep in their respective rooms. As much as he cared for the two children, there were times when he wanted to be with Wendy alone...just the two of them...the way that it used to be.
"Wendy?"
She stirred at the sound of his voice, but did not look up. "Yes Peter?"
The red-haired boy tilted his head against the supporting fist. "What's it like to grow up?"
Wendy paused in her sewing and looked up at Peter. Her slim eyebrows drew together in a look of questioning. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged. "Just curious."
The older woman was motionless for a long moment, clear blue eyes intent on Peter. Then, slowly, she set the shirt down. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, gave a slow nod. "It's frightening," she admitted quietly. "Its one of the most frightening things that I ever had to do."
Peter stared at her thoughtfully, then glanced away. Self-consciousness was not a feeling that he experienced often, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to look at her directly now.
"You ever regret coming back?"
Wendy smiled wearily. "I miss Neverland sometimes, but no, I don't regret coming home."
"You could have been a child forever, you know." Peter was now tracing illegible patterns in the carpet with a finger. "You could have stayed with me and the Lost Boys."
"But then I wouldn't have Jane or Danny," Wendy reasoned gently, watching Peter with soft eyes. "Or Edward for that matter."
Ah yes...Edward. Peter gave a small scowl and continued to scribble furiously on the carpet, his pale forehead lined with a theatrical look of concentration. "Do you ever wonder about how things might have been...you know...if you'd stayed with me?"
Wendy looked at him sadly. "Every day," she murmured.
Peter wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing at all. Wendy returned to her darning, and the night passed on.
***
The next evening found Peter Pan swooping over the London rooftops, much as he had the night before. He lighted silently on the window-sill, peering into the room and giving the glass a short knock.
"Wendy?"
She didn't answer immediately, and that struck Peter as a little odd. He'd never had to call twice before.
"Wendy?" He leaned a little further forward, his head now completely in the bedroom. "Are you there?"
"Yes, Peter. Come in."
She was sitting in her customary chair by the fireplace, but tonight she had chosen not to light the grate. The only illumination within the room was a single flickering nightlight...the very one that Peter remembered Mrs Darling lighting before she put her three children to sleep every night. Wendy had her back to him, but even in this shadowy half-light he could see that something was wrong. There was an unnatural slope to her shoulders, and her head was bent forward as though compelled by an invisible weight. Even her voice had sounded tired.
Peter hesitated at the window, watching her in silence for a long moment. Confused and uncertain, he hopped off the wooden sill and crept slowly towards her chair. She didn't move as he approached, leaving him to halt just short of her elbow. Elven eyes looked down at her with barely concealed anxiety.
"Wendy?" he murmured quietly, "Wendy, what's wrong?"
The young woman stirred at the sound of his voice. Glancing up at him briefly, she quickly lowered her gaze to the unlit fireplace. "It's Edward," she whispered, fingers plucking listlessly at the untouched darning in her lap. "He's dead."
Dead was a word that Peter understood well, but had never really had to use. In his battles with Hook, there had always been the vague threat of death at the back of his mind, but he had always dismissed it with his characteristic boyish daring. Do him, death had always been the ultimate adventure...but not one that he had yet had to face. Now, standing here, watching his beloved Wendy wracked with grief, that earlier viewpoint suddenly didn't seem to hold much weight. This wasn't playing anymore.
Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. This was a situation far beyond his own personal experience...he couldn't just sweep in and save the day. Wendy needed words, needed comfort...and Peter wasn't very good with either of those.
"Is there anything that I can do?"
Wendy looked up at him and smiled weakly. "You could stay with me a while."
He paused uncertainly, suddenly realizing that he had his hat clasped in his hands. He couldn't remember having moved to take it off. "Would it help?"
"Yes, I think so." She sighed wearily and allowed her eyes to slide closed. "Just please don't ask me about it. I really don't think that I could bear to talk about him right now."
Peter looked down at her in a mixture of trepidation and concern, not knowing what to say, or even if he should say anything at all. After a while he contented himself with silence. Wendy, he reasoned, would talk if she wanted to.
"I missed you today, Peter."
She didn't open her eyes as she spoke, simply tilted her head back a little against the chair, almost as though preparing for sleep. The nightlight threw a faint yellow glow against the side of her face, the other half lost in inky blue shadow.
Peter paused, then gave a small nod. "I missed you too, Wendy. I'm sorry that I wasn't here."
Wendy was still for a moment, then drew a shuddering breath. Peter watched in alarm as her face contorted in a look of utter despair, salty streams slipping from between her closed eyelids. Her hands flew to hide her face as the first pain-wracked sob escaped her throat.
"Oh, Peter!"
Peter didn't know what to do. Moving swiftly to stand in front of her, he took Wendy's head in his arms and cradled it against his chest in an unconscious gesture of protection. Wendy leaned against him as she cried, shoulders heaving with grief. All day long she had been brave for her children's sake, but she couldn't hold her pain back any longer. There was only her hurt, her anguish, and the wood-scented arms that now surrounded her. Soft words were whispered desperately into her ear, warm hands running comfortingly through her honey-colored hair.
"Don't cry, Wendy...please don't cry...please, please don't cry..."
He kept hold of her tightly, repeating the words like a feverish mantra. A half-forgotten memory suddenly resurfaced in Peter's mind...the memory of an evening many years ago in Neverland. Peter had lost in a game of blind- man's-buff and had been feeling particularly sulky and - as he usually did when he was feeling upset - he had gone to visit Wendy in her leafy home in the forest. There she had laughed at his childish ill-temper and allowed him to sit with her while she mended Michael's torn sock, his head resting in her lap as she worked by candlelight.
A long time had passed since that evening all those years ago, but she was still his Wendy. Now it was his turn to lend her comfort, and Peter knew that there wasn't anything in the world that he wouldn't do for her.
***
"Peter?"
"Hm?"
The fury of Wendy's grief had subsided somewhat, giving way to a depressed quiet. She had not spoken in almost an hour, and Peter had been content to let her be. He now sat once again by her feet, his folded arms resting against her thighs, chin leaning on his wrist. He had been watching her closely for some time now, and was not surprised when she spoke.
She gave a ghost of a sigh and gazed down at him sadly. The once clear blue eyes were clouded and troubled, her skin etched with fine lines that had no business being on one so young.
"It hurts so much, Peter. I don't know what I'm going to do without him."
His unruly eyebrows drew together. "You've still got me."
The thought didn't seem to do much to cheer Wendy however, and a single tear slid silently down her cheek. "You don't understand. You'll never understand because you've never lost someone that you loved."
Peter watched her miserably. "I lost you."
She stirred at the sound of his voice, but did not look up. The heavy quiet pressed around them, the only sound being the hollow ticking of a clock.
"Why do you come here Peter Pan?"
The young boy frowned, then gave a slight shake of his head. "I come here to see you, of course."
"Why?"
Peter thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know." He was silent for a short period of time, and when he spoke again, his voice was low with an uncharacteristic severity. "I'd stay here with you, you know. If you'd ask. I'd stay forever if you wanted me to"
Wendy nodded sadly, then sighed. "I know, Peter."
Neither said anything after that. There was nothing else to say.
After a while, Wendy closed her eyes, head leaning back against the chair with a tiredness she had never felt before. Peter watched her wordlessly with solemn eyes. He considered getting up and returning to Neverland, but something held him back. Suddenly, he didn't want to leave her side.
He stayed with her that night as she slept. The glow of the single nightlight illuminated her pale features, softening the look of pain evident on her face. Even in sleep it seemed that she could not find peace. Her eyelids flickered, and Peter knew that she must have been dreaming. Given the circumstances, he doubted that they were particularly pleasant.
As he watched, Wendy shifted in the chair, mumbling quietly under her breath. Peter watched the sleeping girl in silence, a strange feeling coming over him. She looked so venerable...so helpless...and he knew that he would rather die than see her hurt. No matter how much time had passed, she would always be his Wendy. Nothing could change that. He would always love her, even if he could never truly comprehend just what those feelings meant. And the truth was, that was the one thing that kept him returning night after night.
Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to touch her skin, fingers brushing against the woman's cheek. She was soft, velvety...just like he remembered her.
Despite himself, Peter trembled.
Wendy suddenly frowned in her sleep and turned back onto her side. Peter quickly withdrew his hand, fearing that he would wake her up. After a moment, Wendy seemed to settle once more, shifting more comfortably in the chair. Peter stared at her for a long moment, checking for any signs of discomfort, and then softly stepped backwards, retreating back into the shadows. Like a Cheshire cat, he melted into darkness, only the faint glow of his bright eyes remaining against the gloom.
When Wendy awoke the next morning, Peter was gone.
Authors note: Did everybody see Return to Neverland? The thought of a Peter/Wendy pairing had never even crossed my mind until that final scene, where Peter and Wendy meet up again for the first time at Wendy's bedroom window. I can quite honestly say that that is my all time favorite romantic scene to come from Disney! The way that Peter held his hat in his hands and how Wendy looked away and smiled shyly...it was the cutest thing I've ever seen! I don't care if she is twenty years older than him, I want them together!
Anyway, this is my Pan/Wendy fic borne from that single two minute scene. Enjoy!
*****************************
Time didn't mean anything to Peter Pan.
Neverland existed somewhere outside of time. Much like Peter himself, it was ageless and unchanging, forever constant in a universe of transition. Peter had no idea how old he was because, in Neverland at least, it didn't matter. An infinity of carefree summer stretched before him, each day a mirror image of the one that had passed. Time had no place in his world.
Which was why it had been such a shock to see Wendy again after so long.
In his heart Peter had always known that Wendy must have grown up. Though he never would have admitted it to anyone - least of all himself - that was at least part of the reason why he had stayed away for so long. He had been afraid, afraid of going back to see her and finding a stranger in her place. He couldn't bear having to lose her like that.
But when he saw her that night after returning Jane...Peter understood then that Wendy would never change. Not in anyway that mattered, anyway. Her appearance had certainly altered - the little girl he had once known having grown into a tall and slender woman. In fact, he hardly recognized her at first. But then she smiled...the same warm curve of the lips that he remembered...and he knew it was her.
Nobody had ever smiled at him the way that Wendy did.
After that first visit, Peter returned to Wendy's window many nights. Sometimes he would see Jane and Danny, entertaining the children with wild stories of his latest exploits in Neverland. Danny never tired of hearing about his fights with the pirates, and Peter never tired of telling them. Though he hardly knew it, Peter did a lot of good for the younger Darling's in those war-torn years. His tall-tales of 'injuns and mermaids offered them welcome relief from the wails of the air-raid sirens and the scent of burning rubble.
Other times, however, he would wait until Jane and Danny were tucked in their beds before going to see Wendy. She had claimed the old nursery as her bedroom, and he would often find her sitting in a chair by the fire, diligently darning at her children's rationed clothes. These times alone with Wendy meant a lot to Peter. Sometimes they would talk; sometimes they would sit in silence...it didn't matter either way. All that mattered was that, after so long apart, Peter finally had his Wendy back.
And as time went on, Peter found himself flying to Wendy's window more often. Almost every other night he would swoop in, tapping politely at the glass to let her know that he had arrived. She always left the window open for him, and Peter appreciated the gesture. Wendy might have grown up, but she hadn't forgotten. For that he was grateful.
He would ask her questions sometimes, about John and Michael mostly, and Wendy answered them all with characteristic patience. Both were away fighting in the war - John in France and Michael in South Africa. Peter didn't really understand war, but he knew that it made Wendy sad. He offered to go and bring them back for her once, but she shook her head sadly and told him that they were doing what they had too. Peter didn't understand that either, but he didn't press the point.
John and Michael wrote letters to their sister when the war permitted, and Wendy always read them aloud to Peter when he visited. He would sit cross legged by her feet with his eyes dim and unfocused and his head resting against her knee. He loved the sound of Wendy's voice. Some nights he would ask her to read the letters just for the pleasure of hearing her speak. Her voice gave Peter an odd sense of peace...a kind of serenity that the lively young boy did not often experience. He didn't know what the strange feeling was, but he missed it whenever he was back in Neverland.
He would ask her about her husband too, but the subject seemed to hurt Wendy and he didn't bring it up often. His name was Edward and he, like the Darling boy's, was away at war. Peter wasn't sure what to think about Edward. Wendy obviously cared for him deeply, and Jane and Danny loved him too, but Peter...Peter wasn't certain. He didn't like the idea of this dashing upstart stealing his Wendy away, but at the same time he recognized that he must have made her very happy for her to miss him this much.
Time passed and the war continued. The tide had turned against the Nazi's, however, and London was no longer nightly ravaged by German bombing. The Blitz was far from over, but the Anderson Shelters were no longer used with such frequency. On this particular night Peter winged his way through a clear sky - not a single airplane in sight. He smiled to himself as he skimmed over a bruise-colored cloud, taking the lack of German activity as a good sign. Peter hoped that the war would end soon. He wanted to see John and Michael again, and Wendy had promised that he would be able to take Jane and Danny to Neverland once peace was declared. Besides, if the war was over then Edward would return, and then Wendy would be happy again...
He found the house without difficulty and swooped down to the familiar window. Perching weightlessly on the sill, he peered into the room and gave a glass a sharp rap. "Wendy?"
The young woman looked up from her darning, blinking in mild surprise at the figure against the darkness. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"Hullo Peter."
***
Time passed and the evening wore on. The deep lavender sky had darkened to an impenetrable black, the flickering fire in the grate providing the only source of illumination in the nursery. Peter couldn't help but think of it as a nursery still, even though it was obviously many years since any children had occupied it on a full-time basis. All around him there were reminders of Wendy's womanhood - a lipstick on the dressing table, a high- heeled shoes placed neatly beside the bed...subtle reminders that his friend had long since grown up. It had been strange at first, but Peter had become accustomed to the change. She was still Wendy...still his Wendy...
He watched her silently through half-shut eyes, his chin rested against a fist. Lying on his front before the flaming fireplace, Peter savored the sensation of heat - a welcome relief after the chill night air. Wendy was sitting in her usual chair, a torn shirt clasped lovingly in her hands. Peter watched with idle interest as she proceeded to sew the tear together. He couldn't help but admit her skill - sewing was an art he had never quite mastered, no matter how many times the young Wendy had tried to sit down and teach him. Peter had never had the patience for such tasks.
"Jane will be sorry that she missed you tonight."
Peter frowned mildly, having not been paying attention. "Hm?
Wendy passed the needle through the shirt sleeve, carefully pulling the ripped seam together. "I said that Jane will be sorry that she missed you tonight. Danny too. They were hoping that you would pay them a visit this evening."
Peter continued to watch her hands in fascination, her slim fingers working with the grace only borne from years of practice. He gave a slight shrug. "I can always see them tomorrow."
"Yes, well," the young woman paused to glance up at him briefly, a teasing smile lifting at the corners of her mouth, "Might I suggest that you try arriving a little earlier tomorrow? You and the Lost Boys might not have a set bedtime, but I'm afraid that my children do. If you persist in arriving at such late hours, I fear that they might never see you."
Peter gave a short chuckle. "Maybe it's just my way of getting you to let them stay up later?"
Wendy arched her eyebrows with a good-natured smirk, and then returned to her darning. "Maybe."
Peter said nothing after that, content to simply sit and watch. The truth was, Peter Pan arrived at such late hours was because he knew that, by that time, Jane and Danny would be asleep in their respective rooms. As much as he cared for the two children, there were times when he wanted to be with Wendy alone...just the two of them...the way that it used to be.
"Wendy?"
She stirred at the sound of his voice, but did not look up. "Yes Peter?"
The red-haired boy tilted his head against the supporting fist. "What's it like to grow up?"
Wendy paused in her sewing and looked up at Peter. Her slim eyebrows drew together in a look of questioning. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged. "Just curious."
The older woman was motionless for a long moment, clear blue eyes intent on Peter. Then, slowly, she set the shirt down. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, finally, gave a slow nod. "It's frightening," she admitted quietly. "Its one of the most frightening things that I ever had to do."
Peter stared at her thoughtfully, then glanced away. Self-consciousness was not a feeling that he experienced often, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to look at her directly now.
"You ever regret coming back?"
Wendy smiled wearily. "I miss Neverland sometimes, but no, I don't regret coming home."
"You could have been a child forever, you know." Peter was now tracing illegible patterns in the carpet with a finger. "You could have stayed with me and the Lost Boys."
"But then I wouldn't have Jane or Danny," Wendy reasoned gently, watching Peter with soft eyes. "Or Edward for that matter."
Ah yes...Edward. Peter gave a small scowl and continued to scribble furiously on the carpet, his pale forehead lined with a theatrical look of concentration. "Do you ever wonder about how things might have been...you know...if you'd stayed with me?"
Wendy looked at him sadly. "Every day," she murmured.
Peter wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that, so he said nothing at all. Wendy returned to her darning, and the night passed on.
***
The next evening found Peter Pan swooping over the London rooftops, much as he had the night before. He lighted silently on the window-sill, peering into the room and giving the glass a short knock.
"Wendy?"
She didn't answer immediately, and that struck Peter as a little odd. He'd never had to call twice before.
"Wendy?" He leaned a little further forward, his head now completely in the bedroom. "Are you there?"
"Yes, Peter. Come in."
She was sitting in her customary chair by the fireplace, but tonight she had chosen not to light the grate. The only illumination within the room was a single flickering nightlight...the very one that Peter remembered Mrs Darling lighting before she put her three children to sleep every night. Wendy had her back to him, but even in this shadowy half-light he could see that something was wrong. There was an unnatural slope to her shoulders, and her head was bent forward as though compelled by an invisible weight. Even her voice had sounded tired.
Peter hesitated at the window, watching her in silence for a long moment. Confused and uncertain, he hopped off the wooden sill and crept slowly towards her chair. She didn't move as he approached, leaving him to halt just short of her elbow. Elven eyes looked down at her with barely concealed anxiety.
"Wendy?" he murmured quietly, "Wendy, what's wrong?"
The young woman stirred at the sound of his voice. Glancing up at him briefly, she quickly lowered her gaze to the unlit fireplace. "It's Edward," she whispered, fingers plucking listlessly at the untouched darning in her lap. "He's dead."
Dead was a word that Peter understood well, but had never really had to use. In his battles with Hook, there had always been the vague threat of death at the back of his mind, but he had always dismissed it with his characteristic boyish daring. Do him, death had always been the ultimate adventure...but not one that he had yet had to face. Now, standing here, watching his beloved Wendy wracked with grief, that earlier viewpoint suddenly didn't seem to hold much weight. This wasn't playing anymore.
Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. This was a situation far beyond his own personal experience...he couldn't just sweep in and save the day. Wendy needed words, needed comfort...and Peter wasn't very good with either of those.
"Is there anything that I can do?"
Wendy looked up at him and smiled weakly. "You could stay with me a while."
He paused uncertainly, suddenly realizing that he had his hat clasped in his hands. He couldn't remember having moved to take it off. "Would it help?"
"Yes, I think so." She sighed wearily and allowed her eyes to slide closed. "Just please don't ask me about it. I really don't think that I could bear to talk about him right now."
Peter looked down at her in a mixture of trepidation and concern, not knowing what to say, or even if he should say anything at all. After a while he contented himself with silence. Wendy, he reasoned, would talk if she wanted to.
"I missed you today, Peter."
She didn't open her eyes as she spoke, simply tilted her head back a little against the chair, almost as though preparing for sleep. The nightlight threw a faint yellow glow against the side of her face, the other half lost in inky blue shadow.
Peter paused, then gave a small nod. "I missed you too, Wendy. I'm sorry that I wasn't here."
Wendy was still for a moment, then drew a shuddering breath. Peter watched in alarm as her face contorted in a look of utter despair, salty streams slipping from between her closed eyelids. Her hands flew to hide her face as the first pain-wracked sob escaped her throat.
"Oh, Peter!"
Peter didn't know what to do. Moving swiftly to stand in front of her, he took Wendy's head in his arms and cradled it against his chest in an unconscious gesture of protection. Wendy leaned against him as she cried, shoulders heaving with grief. All day long she had been brave for her children's sake, but she couldn't hold her pain back any longer. There was only her hurt, her anguish, and the wood-scented arms that now surrounded her. Soft words were whispered desperately into her ear, warm hands running comfortingly through her honey-colored hair.
"Don't cry, Wendy...please don't cry...please, please don't cry..."
He kept hold of her tightly, repeating the words like a feverish mantra. A half-forgotten memory suddenly resurfaced in Peter's mind...the memory of an evening many years ago in Neverland. Peter had lost in a game of blind- man's-buff and had been feeling particularly sulky and - as he usually did when he was feeling upset - he had gone to visit Wendy in her leafy home in the forest. There she had laughed at his childish ill-temper and allowed him to sit with her while she mended Michael's torn sock, his head resting in her lap as she worked by candlelight.
A long time had passed since that evening all those years ago, but she was still his Wendy. Now it was his turn to lend her comfort, and Peter knew that there wasn't anything in the world that he wouldn't do for her.
***
"Peter?"
"Hm?"
The fury of Wendy's grief had subsided somewhat, giving way to a depressed quiet. She had not spoken in almost an hour, and Peter had been content to let her be. He now sat once again by her feet, his folded arms resting against her thighs, chin leaning on his wrist. He had been watching her closely for some time now, and was not surprised when she spoke.
She gave a ghost of a sigh and gazed down at him sadly. The once clear blue eyes were clouded and troubled, her skin etched with fine lines that had no business being on one so young.
"It hurts so much, Peter. I don't know what I'm going to do without him."
His unruly eyebrows drew together. "You've still got me."
The thought didn't seem to do much to cheer Wendy however, and a single tear slid silently down her cheek. "You don't understand. You'll never understand because you've never lost someone that you loved."
Peter watched her miserably. "I lost you."
She stirred at the sound of his voice, but did not look up. The heavy quiet pressed around them, the only sound being the hollow ticking of a clock.
"Why do you come here Peter Pan?"
The young boy frowned, then gave a slight shake of his head. "I come here to see you, of course."
"Why?"
Peter thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know." He was silent for a short period of time, and when he spoke again, his voice was low with an uncharacteristic severity. "I'd stay here with you, you know. If you'd ask. I'd stay forever if you wanted me to"
Wendy nodded sadly, then sighed. "I know, Peter."
Neither said anything after that. There was nothing else to say.
After a while, Wendy closed her eyes, head leaning back against the chair with a tiredness she had never felt before. Peter watched her wordlessly with solemn eyes. He considered getting up and returning to Neverland, but something held him back. Suddenly, he didn't want to leave her side.
He stayed with her that night as she slept. The glow of the single nightlight illuminated her pale features, softening the look of pain evident on her face. Even in sleep it seemed that she could not find peace. Her eyelids flickered, and Peter knew that she must have been dreaming. Given the circumstances, he doubted that they were particularly pleasant.
As he watched, Wendy shifted in the chair, mumbling quietly under her breath. Peter watched the sleeping girl in silence, a strange feeling coming over him. She looked so venerable...so helpless...and he knew that he would rather die than see her hurt. No matter how much time had passed, she would always be his Wendy. Nothing could change that. He would always love her, even if he could never truly comprehend just what those feelings meant. And the truth was, that was the one thing that kept him returning night after night.
Hesitantly, he reached out a hand to touch her skin, fingers brushing against the woman's cheek. She was soft, velvety...just like he remembered her.
Despite himself, Peter trembled.
Wendy suddenly frowned in her sleep and turned back onto her side. Peter quickly withdrew his hand, fearing that he would wake her up. After a moment, Wendy seemed to settle once more, shifting more comfortably in the chair. Peter stared at her for a long moment, checking for any signs of discomfort, and then softly stepped backwards, retreating back into the shadows. Like a Cheshire cat, he melted into darkness, only the faint glow of his bright eyes remaining against the gloom.
When Wendy awoke the next morning, Peter was gone.