A/N: Yes, an other Peter Pan story. I know EVERY ONE does one, but this one is different. First of all, Peter is, or should be, in character. He is not eighteen, or sixteen, he is a little boy. A cocky, arrogant, charming little boy. And there is NO romance with him! (readers gasp in shock) I realize that Faye is larger than life, but she has to be to compete with Peter. And Peter may seem different, but I am only having a little fun. The original Peter Pan was so vague, that you can do pretty much anything to him…

Disclamer: I do not own Peter Pan or any other characters in his book. I do however, own Amanda and the plot. Though I doubt any one would want to steal them. Still the fantasies are nice.

A young girl of around fourteen was sitting in her somewhat shabby yet clean living room. She had green hair (dyed of course) the color of moss when sunlight ripples over it. Her hair matched her eyes, which were hazel but at the moment looked green. Her skin was extremely pale with a great many freckles. She had the kind of skin that didn't tan, but burned. She was about normal height for her age, and somewhat gangly. Her entire body was tall and thin, from arms to hips to feet. This would have been okay if she had curves, yet the little she had was sadly too little too notice.

She was often affectionately called a grasshopper, and she looked like one. The only thing that redeemed her was her face. It was thin and triangular, and like the rest of her, with sharp angles. Yet the way she wore it made her face some how attractive. The green eyes were a little too large for her face. They put you in mind of a frightened doe, about to bolt at any second. Her eye brows had been dyed green to match her hair, making that unusual color look natural. She had a small nose that seemed to come to a point, almost like that was the center of her face. Her mouth was thin, yet it was always smiling an infectious smile. Her ears, oddly enough, often seemed to be pointed. Her pale skin finished the effect.

Unfortunately the effect would have made her look pale and sickly. Yet her constant smile and glowing spirit gave it life. With her thin frame and delicate face, she looked almost like a pixy. Not ravishing, no, she didn't resemble a fairy, but mischievous and surprising.

Her face always showed her emotion, and it could make you laugh and trust her implicitly at the same time. She was a sweet girl, and very unusual. You see, she had some how managed to remain a complete child, and grow up at the same time. She would come out with the most wise and startling things sometimes, and it often seemed to others that she felt the world was her burden. Yet she never forgot the joy of a sunrise, or even of something so little as a damaged flower. For she often found damaged things beautiful.

When she realized others couldn't, or wouldn't see that beauty, she took up drawing. You would often find her sitting in front of a flower with just one withered petal, drawing it. Her drawing skills weren't all that great, for if you would look at her picture you would see it didn't even resemble the subject. Yet, if you looked long enough, eventually you would realize that some thing about it was true. And when you looked back at the blemished flower, you saw how beautiful it was. As I have said, she was unusual, yet not perfect.

She was NEVER on time, often didn't remember things, and was always day dreaming. Also, she was slow to anger, but when angry she was honestly dangerous. You see, she was the kind that hold grudges, and her grudges went deep. Those who angered her were known to meet strange disasters, like a sprained ankle, or just a ruined toy. No one ever knew if she had caused these accidents, and no one was ever close enough to her too find out. Still, everyone put up with her in a slight loving tolerance, and that suited her just fine.

At the moment she was talking with her parents, who would soon be… Wait, why am I telling you when I could just show you? Some times I make the simplest things so difficult. Well, here, I'll stop yakking and let you see.

"Now Amanda," a plump woman said to that pixyish girl I just described, "I am only going to go over this with you one more time; you have to try not to forget ANY THING."

"Mom," Amanda interjected calmly, "I DID remember this time. You and Dad are going on vacation to Paris. You aren't so sure about going, but you won the two tickets at a radio contest, and it's a shame too waste them." Amanda paused and took a breath, "You will be gone for a month and every week Mrs. Carlso will drop off groceries and make sure I haven't burned down the house. Then," her mom started to cut in but Amanda raised her hand in a shushing gesture. "Then you will spend a wonderful week with Dad NOT worrying about me, and not calling me, or Mrs. Carlso about ANYTHING, riiiiiiiight?" the teenager asked in a bored voice.

"All right, I see you got every thing under control. Mrs. Carlso is still willing to check on you?" Amanda's mom asked, for the fiftieth time that week.

"YES!" Amanda practically yelled her voice unusually firm. "She is just as willing as she was last week and the week before that, and three months ago." Her voice said plainly how sick she was of this question.

"Maybe I should call…" but Amanda cut her Mom off.

"NO! You remember what she said last time you called her for the twentieth time?" she looked at her Mom, waiting for an answer. "She said if you call her ONE MORE TIME before or AT your vacation she will refuse to watch me. Now, I personally can't wait for a parent free month, and I bet you can't wait to go on your second honey moon. So pleeeeeeeeeeeease do us both a favor and DON'T call her AGAIN," Amanda said slowly and clearly.

A male voice boomed from the kitchen, "Mary, are you quizzing Amanda AGAIN?" the voice asked with amusement. A man walked out, tall for a man with a shock of black hair and an inquisitive smile.

"I know honey," his wife began with a laughing smile, "I know I'm just being foolish, I just worry about my little girl," she told him, getting up and giving him a kiss.

Amanda watched them for three seconds, disgust crossing her face. "EWWWWWWWWWE! GROOOSS!" she exclaimed with a horrified look.

Both parents turned to look at her and started laughing. A car beeped form outside, "We better go Tom," Mary told her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He looked down and gave her a smile, "Goodbye Amanda, see you in a month," he said, giving her a kiss on the top of her head. Her mom did like wise then both parents turned and gave each other another kiss.

"All right, Mom, Dad, its obvious you can't WAIT to go on this honey moon. But can you not start it UNTIL you get there?" Amanda pleaded, pushing them to the door.

Mary and Tom laughed, gave her a last group hug goodbye, and headed out the door.

No sooner had the last sounds of the car faded away then the phone rang. Amanda walked over and picked it up, singing, "Hello?" into the receiver.

"Hi, Amanda is that you?" the voice of Mrs. Carlso asked.

"Yes Mrs. Carlso, this is me," Amanda told her calmly.

"Are your parents there?"

"No Mrs. Carlso."

"Oh, then they left?" she asked in a dejected tone.

"Yes, they had to leave early, last minute change in the plane flight. I'm sorry they didn't call you, but I wasn't able to get the phone to work till just now." Amanda told her apologetically.

"Well, did you manage to find some one else to watch you?" Mrs. Carlso asked in a worried tone. "If only my back hadn't chosen this moment to go out."

"Yes, my best friend's mom is going to check in on me," Amanda told her innocently, "It was very kind of her to step in like that."

"Indeed it was, I didn't know you had a best friend,' Mrs. Carlso commented in surprise.

"Oh yes, she's fairly new, a few weeks or so, her names…Kristen," Amanda told her, her expression worried.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it, it's about time you had some friends. I just called to say that you won't be able to reach me; I'm going up to my daughter's house until my back heals. Her phone bill doesn't allow me to make long distance calls."

"Oh, that's too bad, I'll just have to come over when you get back and tell you about every thing that happened while you where gone. By the way, when will you be back?"

"At the end of the month, my back should be better by then."

"All right, then I'll see you then, bye!"

"Bye."

Amanda hung up, her face impish. "She took the bate hook, line, and sinker!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "No Mom, no Dad, and no Babysitter! And I'm only thirteen," then she calmed down for a second. "Of course, they'll figure it out when they get back, and I'll be grounded for life, but it will be worth it."

She walked over to the answering machine and pressed a button, "One last thing too take care of…" she paused, waiting for a beep. "You have reached the Smith residence; this is Amanda, otherwise known as Faye speaking. Please leave your name and phone number, but I can't guarantee we'll get back to you. I'm bad about that stuff. Oh, and if this is you Mom and Dad, I'm sitting right next to the phone and listening too this. I won't pick it up; I want a parent FREE month. And don't call Mrs. Carlson or she'll stop watching me and you'll have to come home. That means you Mom. Well, that's all; I'll let you leave your messages now." Amanda listened to it, and satisfied went to grab some dinner before bed.

Well, I should probably give you a little back ground information. Amanda, who we will now call Faye, had known about her parents radio vacation for months, and had been briefed on it every day. She had never lied to her parents before, so they let her arrange most of the stuff. They called Mrs. Carlson and asked if she'd baby-sit. Of course, she said yes. Unfortunately Faye's Mom kept calling her to see if she was as willing as five minutes ago to watch Faye. Faye 'innocently' let it drop that, 'My mom will probably start calling you even more once she goes to France. I don't know how you will stand it, you are way too patient.' So Mrs. Carlson called and told Mary that if she called her one more time, 'she wouldn't watch Amanda and they would have to stay home.'

But then, two days ago, she hurt her back and couldn't watch. She called Faye and Faye 'forgot' to tell her parents. Her parents didn't dare call Mrs. Carlson, so they never found out. And Faye played with the phone lines so that it wouldn't work, so Mrs. Carlson couldn't call her parents. Then when they left the phone line 'magically' started working again, with the help of a little imp. That about covers it, oh, and Faye is her nick name. Apparently the people in her town ALSO think she looks like a fairy.

She ended up having heated up leftover chicken and a soda. Around ten she grabbed a book and headed up to her room. The warm summer night had abated, yet the earth seemed restless, almost as if something was going to happen.

Faye, as many call her, headed up the long staircase to her room. She walked down her hallway, and calmly entered her room.

I say calmly because any one else would have gasped in adoration. Her room had a solid wood floor, with ivy painted around the edges. In one corner was an ancient fire place with lovely brick work. The walls were a silk wallpaper, the kind you find in old Victorian houses. It was a light green, almost the calm green you see in some waters, with silvery white embroidery. But the embroidery was so slight that it appeared to be nothing more than a magical shimmer. But most prominent of all was The Window. It was about the size of a young child, and it had stained glass border. A window seat graced it, a light gold in color.

Her bed was a twin sized day bed, with a few undeniably girlish pillows serving as a back. She had a lovely old broken in chair that had a book shelf right next to it. She also had a medium sized desk with a computer swivel chair. Then, the touch that finished off the room was the braided carpet in the center. It covered about half the room, leaving the ivy on the edges of the floor to peak out.

But Faye had long grown used to this room, so she walked over to the book shelf and picked up her favorite, if somewhat dark book, Heart's Hope by Orson Scott Card. The climbed into the old comfortable chair and pulled a soft blanket over her, and began to read.

Soon the restlessness of the country was explained, for a storm broke. The air was swirling in heavy currents, rattling the window and shaking the house. Faye looked up in alarm, her eyes wide as thunder sounded suddenly. Lightning was lighting the sky, the wind was keening, thunder booming, and house was screaming its terror. She knew that the house would be fine, for it had handled worse. But she couldn't help but be frightened.

Suddenly the lights began to flicker, and went out. The lighting illuminated the room, and a petrified Faye. This storm had a malicious feel to it, terrifying and sad. It was almost like a widow grieving for her dead husband. Faye stumbled to her desk, only moving during lighting flashes. The harsh light made her room look frightening and foreign. She riffled through a drawer and pulled out a candle and matches that she used for midnight snacks.

She lit the candle and returned to her chair. Trembling she watched the storm. Suddenly there was a CRASH and something was thrown through the window by the air currents. Glass shards flew every where; Faye flattened her self against the chair and let out a terrified scream. Rain poured in through the opening, the wind stirred glass, almost lifting it from the floor.

Faye's scream died quickly, and she was soon to notice that the odd figure that had broken her window, looked like a boy, covered in leaves thrown in by the storm. Faye looked at the window, and ran down the hall to the second door to the left. There she collected her wits and opened the door.

Inside was a window that had been bought by her parents two years ago when a dead tree had almost broken her window. She pulled it out, and with much effort, brought it too her room. She propped it up against the wall, and gave the boy a nervous glance. She didn't move him, that might injure him more. She did grab her thickest blanket and cover him with it.

Then she ran back down the hallway and grabbed her Dad's work tools. She began to struggle with the broken window, fighting with the wind. When she finally managed to release it from the house, the wind took it and threw it out into the yard. Eye's wide with fear, Faye grabbed the thicker replacement (and winter) window, and began to put it in. Relatively quickly she fastened it and turned to look at the boy.

After a quick examination (baby sitting class) she learned that he was relatively unharmed, a few scratches and bruises though. She almost called 911, but some thing held her back. It was almost as if the stars and wind, and storm itself was begging her not too.

"Fine then! If you stop your yelling, storm, THEN and ONLY then, I won't call an ambulance." She yelled to the wind.

Suddenly the stormed stopped, and Faye, who never believed in coincidences, didn't call the ambulance. She picked up the boy and laid him on her bed, wincing at his cuts from the glass. Then she grabbed a broom and mop and tidied her room. Soon she found herself watching the boy, waiting for him to wake up.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she felt her lids get heavy. Her head began to nod, and after a few valiant efforts too stay awake, she let the shores of wakefulness slip away.

Doesn't she cut a charming picture? Her soaked nightdress, with the book open on her lap, her short green hair, and her face so peaceful and serene.

That was what Peter awoke too, that lovely and sweet picture. God knows he could have left right then and there, but he didn't. For reasons of his own, he chose to stay. Maybe it was her kind expression, her bedraggled self, or maybe, and most likely, it was his curiosity.

He opened his eyes, and let out a slight moan, Faye's eyes, even in sleep, wrinkled in sympathy. He tenderly got up, taking evaluation of his wounds. And looked up, and saw Faye. He stopped and stared, his youthful eyes full of wonder.

He softly rose, not even wincing as his movement broke open newly healed scabs. His curiosity was too strong. He rose and hovered, inches from her face, and began to study her.

His breath was gentle against her face, and it slowly roused her. Her eyes flicked and then softly opened. She gazed at him blankly, her eyes still staring off into never land. Then they focused, and her eyes widened, she stiffened in shock, and let out her second shriek that evening.

It wasn't a long shriek, just a brief one of shock. But it was enough to send a startled Peter sailing backwards a few feet, and landing on the ground. They gazed at each other in shock, her eyes calming and serene, his excited and full of mischief.

Before her was a boy, a young boy, of around ten or twelve. His hair was a deep brown, almost black. And his eyes were a deep brown, so dark that the pupil and iris seemed to fuse. She stared into them, and instead of reflections of herself, she saw towering trees, picture of mermaids, and an odd assortment of boys in furs. She smoothly continued her evaluation; his skin was a chestnut color, making him resemble a gypsy.

His teeth, she soon notice, were still only baby teeth. But what shocked her the most was that the wet leaves that had clung to him during the storm, were clothing. They were, in some odd way, slightly cocky, as was he.

His smile, though charming, was one of supreme arrogance. And his eyes sparkled with the knowledge that he was the best, and every one knew it. He was the classic boy of his age, cocky, tyrannical, sure of them selves, and the ultimate fools. She knew that in one glance, for she had known many such boys.

"Are you all right?" she asked him softly. Standing and walking around him.

He looked at her, and odd expression on his face. "Of course I'm all right," he replied, as if he was talking to an imbecile.

"Well," she began calmly, as I have said, she was used to boys his age, "You just went through my window, so it occurred to me that you might possibly be hurt."

Peter looked down it his various cuts of bruises, "Oh, I've had worse," he told her airily.

"Oh really?" she asked him, a slight note of sardonic amusement tinting her voice. Suddenly a puzzled expression crossed her face, "How did you manage to get thrown through my window?" she asked him, kneeling so she was his height.

"Oh," Peter began, as if this was an every day thing. "I was flying and the storm started, it threw me around, and I guess I landed in your room." He finished and began to look around her room.

"You flew?" Faye asked, sarcasm practically dripping from her voice.

Peter looked back at her, his young eyes confused, "That is what I said," he pointed out slowly.

"Prove it," she demanded, arms crossed against her chest.

Peter gave her a glare, angry that ANYONE would doubt him. "I do not LIE madam," he began coldly, "I am a man of my word."

Faye looked at him, unimpressed. "Boy, you are a BOY of your word, and I still don't believe you."

Like a shot, Peter rose from the ground and flew straight at her, stopping an inch away from her face. His eyes were angry, hers startled, "Satisfied?" he asked her darkly.

Faye nodded silently. He floated backward and began to float on his stomach. Faye began to circle him again, ducking under his stomach, and shaking her head.

"But how?" she asked finally.

"Oh, only I can do it," he told her smugly. The worst part is, he really believed that. With the lost boys gone, tinker bell dead, and Wendy and her children forgotten, there was no one to tell or show him otherwise.

"Oh," Faye uttered sadly, her disappointment plain. "Where do you live?" she asked him suddenly.

"Never never land," he told her off handedly.

"Never never land…" Faye trailed off, "I seem to remember that place…" she shook her head slightly, then her brow creased in concentration. "I visit it when I go to sleep, but that's crazy! How can I visit something in my sleep?" At that she looked to Peter for conformation. Needless to say, the flying boy didn't help, "I seem to recall Indians, and fairies, and their used to be pirates…or so the Indians tell me. And there are lost boys, who are led by a cocky young boy named…" At that she paused and concentrated REALLY HARD, "He plays the pan pipes, oh it's something pan, PETER PAN!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "And he can fly, and fight, and…" She looked up at Peter, her eyes widening.

"Why, you are Peter Pan," she said wondrously.

At her obvious awe, Peter couldn't help but strut. "Yes, yes I am," he said cockily, more than pleased with himself.

With this attitude she instantly lost her admiration of him, "Hmm," she said, looking him over, "Well; I suppose you're ALMOST as good as the stories…" she trailed off uncertainly.

He indignantly rose into the air, and glared down at her like a thunder cloud. Though she would never admit it to anyone but herself, Peter sort of frightened Faye.

"What do you mean by That," he asked coldly, his oddly adult bearing also throwing Faye off.

She blinked for a second, butterflies in her stomach because of the strong impression that he was going to gut her… Faye quickly gained control, walking over to her bookshelf and picking up a book in dismissal. "Oh, the stories just seemed so impressive." She watched him out of the corner of her eye with a slight smirk. "I mean, a dashing and charming young man who."

Peter flew at her angrily, his dagger drawn, "I am no MAN," spitting out the word furiously.

With a gasp she dropped her book and backed up to the bookshelf. He spoke, now well aware that she was frightened. With a cocky look, though still angry, he continued, "I am a BOY, a Magnificent boy."

He said the last sentence with such finality that Faye found herself nodding, hoping to pacify him. With a far too satisfied smirk he floated backwards and looked over at her, his arms crossed. Less than pleased with her reaction to him, she picked up her book and put it away.

With a lack of anything to do, she walked over to her bed and sat down. This all seemed like a badly put on play to her; with two larger than life characters battling it out. She looked at him, refusing to speak. He floated for a second then grew bored, and began to rifle through her room.

She watched him, fine with it until he started to go through her drawings, more specifically the ones of him and Never-never-land. I mean, would you want a character in one of your stories to read a story you wrote about him? Sorry but no, that is far too embarrassing, I mean…what if you got him wrong?

Or in this case, what if he saw how intrigued she had been with the charming and suave character of the Indian's stories? She stood up, and walked towards him to take them. "No, don't look at those," she ordered, not realizing her mistake until it was too late.

Peter rose into the air, the folder in his hand. He looked down at her, floating about a foot above her. She glared at him, and he began to open them, "Why not?"

She scowled at him, debating trying to grab his foot, "Because they are MINE and I do not wish you to," she growled.

He smirked, "Really?" he asked, studying a picture of the lagoon. It seemed to shine, and it showed the mermaids in darker pastels; like dirty spots in the water. He paused and looked at it, impressed despite himself.

"Yes!" she almost yelled, and then jumped in an attempt to grab his foot and drag him down. She missed, by less than an inch, and glared up at him.

He looked down at her, and then smiled in a less than reassuring manner. He floated about another foot higher, and then cocked an eyebrow at her. With a dramatic flourish he pulled out a picture. This time it showed an Indian, Lone Wolf (A/N: even the original Peter Pan was over the top, that's the point.) and old friend of Faye's. She always talked to him when she dreamed, and his reserved manner complemented her own boundless energy quite well.

Peter stopped and really looked at it, momentarily forgetting his 'game.' The he glanced down and remembered Faye, the girl glaring daggers up at him. He gave her an awful smile and pulled out another one. This one was of him, and she knew it.

He gazed at it, it showed a dashing young teen fighting a pirate. He smiled slightly, quickly recognizing the contradictory figure as himself. He glanced down at Faye, who was standing and studiously observing the window.

She glanced up and saw him looking at her, and squirmed slightly, looking away. She did not like Peter Pan, he was interesting, but she didn't LIKE him. And Faye hated the idea of someone who bugged her, finding out ANY grudging respect for them.

Peter smirked at her arrogantly, quite clearly saying that this was going to be fun. Apparently after Wendy had left he had lost any respect for the female race, though I hardly blame him. Not to mention he really wasn't all that nice to begin with.

He floated down to Faye's level then looked at the picture. He held so both he and she could see it, "Remarkable likeness…" he said in a contemplative manner.

Faye went to snatch it, but he quickly moved it out of her reach, shaking his head at her condescendingly. She growled, "I don't think so at all," she said angrily. He cocked an eye brow in a lordly manner; quite clearly saying 'continue.' She glared, then said reasonably, "You see, that would require for you to be charming, and dashing…not to mention heroic," she said off handedly. He looked at her, waiting for the punch line, "And well, you definitely don't contain any of those qualities," she said airily.

She gave an oddly dismissive wave of her hand, and walked over to her window seat. He glared at her petulantly, all sophistication gone…and he was once more a young arrogant boy. He flew closer to her and said angrily, "I do TOO!"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, "No, I'm you afraid you don't," she stated, no anger in her tone…this was just a fact.

He dropped the offending folder at her feet angrily and floated away. He muttered darkly to himself as he continued to explore her room. Meanwhile, Faye quickly scooped up the folder, more than relieved to get it back. She fiddled with its edges, looking at the lagoon.

Then she looked up at Peter, the picture of the lagoon in her lap. In a dreamy tone she asked him, "What does Never-never-land really look like?"

Peter paused in his examination of a shoe to look at her; he knew that tone far too well. An echo of many other girls' voices ran through his head, saying the same thing. He shook his head, but one voice stayed…and the impression of large soft brown eyes seemed to float around him.

Faye stared off into one of her dream worlds, a lazy smile on her face as she imagined the lagoon. She was absolutely oblivious to Peter's brief dilemma, a usual affliction when she day dreamed.

Peter cleared his head of memory's dim cobwebs, and looked at her. He glared, "Why should I tell you?" he demanded sullenly.

Faye jerked, brought suddenly out of her dream world. She looked at him, "Please Peter?" she pleaded, more than willing to forgo some pride to hear about her dream-land.

He crossed his arms and turned his back to her, where unbeknownst to her; a cunning grin graced his face.

She stood up and walked over to him, his feet dangling around her shoulder. She touched one of his feet gently to get his attention, and looked up at him imploringly. "Peter, I'm sorry about what I said," she told him, feeling like she was swallowing slugs.

He looked down at her and lowered slightly, his waist floating where her head would be. She knew she had to keep begging, "You really…" She had to pause, hating so much to admit it. Peter smirked to himself, absolutely loving this. She started to fiddle with her sleeve and said in as soft a tone as she dared, "I really do think you are like the picture I drew." She muttered sullenly, but they both knew she was telling the truth.

He lowered himself all the way, yet floated just enough to be four to six inches taller than her. She looked up at him hopefully, and said humbly, "Please?"

There, she had fully humbled herself, and now he was willing to 'grant her request.' He floated into Indian style and began to speak. "The lagoon is so clear and bright that you can…"

That's where I shall leave you, with Faye lying full length on her bed, unable to help but look up at Peter adoringly. He had found her weakness, Never-never-land, and with it he had caught and bound her attention. A few leaves from the bed lay tangled in her shoulder length hair, making her seem to belong in the land Peter described. Or so the stars, night, and Wind told that daring young boy…