Peter and Wendy
Wendy turned away from the lost boys, all enthralled by their new family, to look at the window. She knew he would be there, the one boy who refused a mother, and yet she couldn't see him.
"Peter." She called gently, leaning out over the sill. Her mother's hand closed tightly around her wrist before she leant a little too far. "Peter!" She cried, almost desperately now. Silence. With tears in her eyes, she allowed her mother to pull her back into the safety of the nursery but still kept her eyes on the open window for any sign of the elusive Peter Pan.
On the roof above her head, a boy sat, crying softly into his knees while a tiny ball of light seemed to be bouncing off him, emitting a sound like chiming bells.
"Tink, get off me!" He demanded, and the light humphed in a stroppy manner before settling on the floor where it dimmed enough to be recognisable as a tiny person. Peter's head fell back into his arms and he continued to cry; it was the cry of a child, full of heart and reckless abandon, but didn't entirely suit the appearance of the boy from whose lips it came. He was not a grown up, but at the same time, he was no longer simply a child. Perhaps this was one journey too many into the world of reality and grown-ups for the Never Boy, or perhaps it was simply because he was losing the one thing that had truly touched his heart in all his years in Neverland.
Suddenly her voice was there, calling out to him through the darkness and his head shot up like a dog who'd just smelt food. She sounded desperate, and that same touch of childishness could be heard in her cry too. Wendy. He rose to his feet, and Tinkerbell, with a roll of her eyes, flitted upwards to follow him. Wendy's voice was gone now, but he knew she'd still be there. She had promised to always be there.
"Wendy." The tiny voice sounded slightly deeper, less childlike, and Wendy half-leapt from her mother's embrace to the open window.
"Peter." She sighed, stopping just short of the window, where the boy was standing.
"Wendy, I wish you could come with me. We could have such fun." He asked quietly, she immediately reached for him.
"Oh Peter, so do I." She sighed glumly, feeling her mother's grip on her wrist again.
"Then why don't you, your mother has Michael and John and all these other children now, can't you come with me and we'll go on adventures and I can have you instead?" The green eyes lit up, while Tink hummed angrily in the background and Wendy smiled at him.
"Mother?" She pleaded, looking up at Mrs. Darling with wet blue eyes. The woman tightened her grip on Wendy's arm and shook her head.
"No dear, you are to become a lady, remember?" Peter growled at this, gnashing his teeth.
"But Mother," Wendy exclaimed, "I don't want to grow up. I'm just a girl. Like Peter's just a boy."
"Wendy, you are fourteen years of age, you will grow up. And Peter is no by either, look at him; he's well on his way to being a young man."
"NO!" The boy in question half screamed, "I will not grow up. I won't, I won't." Wendy agreed with him silently, trying in vain to stop the tears from falling. The truth was that Peter was less of a child than he had been when they'd left Neverland. All that time spent in the space between waking and sleeping caught up to his faster in the real World and his hair was growing, his face thinning ever so slightly and Wendy could have sworn he didn't use to be taller than her.
"Wendy, you will not leave again, I need you." Mrs Darling said sternly, a plea in her eyes, but Wendy just let out a great sob.
"But Mother, Peter needs me too. You have John and Michael and Slightly and Tootles and the other boys now. Peter needs me."
"No Wendy!" Her mother's tone was final, and she turned to Peter. "You are welcome to stay here with us, like all the other boys and I will be your mother, but Wendy will not be coming with you."
"I won't stay here to grow up and be sent to school and an office. I want to be a boy forever." Peter insisted, almost crying with how fervently he believed it.
"Then go." Mrs Darling was unforgiving. Peter leapt up onto the window ledge, ready to fly off but Wendy grabbed his hand, crying relentlessly now.
"Peter." She whispered, and the boy turned back with a heaving sob, feeling something pulling inside his heart. Mrs Darling carefully let go of her daughter, but she and Nana were both on guard to grab the girl before she could escape if necessary, perhaps it seemed heartless, but Wendy was her only daughter, and Mrs Darling did not want to be without her. Peter stepped down off the sill, into the nursery. All the other boys had been herded off by Mr. Darling and Liza to be washed and dressed in something other than pirate attire; it was just Peter, his Wendy and her guards remaining. Tink flitted around their heads in small circles, scattering fairy dust as they both took each other's hands, rising in the air together as they had at the fairy tree in Neverland.
"Oh My." Mrs. Darling breathed, clutching a hand to her chest as Peter spun her daughter gently through the air. They danced slowly, getting closer and closer together until Wendy's head was resting on Peters shoulder, their arms wound round each other like Babes in the Wood. They stilled for a moment, looking up at each other, before Wendy suddenly began to sink to the floor, unable to find happy enough thoughts to keep her afloat. Peter followed her down, not willing to let go just yet. He'd told her once that he felt for her like a devoted son, but that wasn't true. He didn't want to have feelings and he certainly didn't know what love was, but he couldn't help but feel some sense of attachment to this strange creature in his arms, and the hidden thimble she had bestowed upon him. On this train of thought, he reached for the chain round her neck and found the acorn button he had given to her; his kiss, which had saved her life.
"Keep it on always, Wendy, promise me you won't forget?" He asked in a cracking voice. She shook her head fiercely,
"Always, Peter; I'll never forget. You will remember me too, won't you?"
"Of course I will. When I'm not off having too many adventures." His cocky grin was back, and she ducked her head to hide the emotions his arrogance drew to the surface. She didn't doubt that she felt some kind of love for him; her precious Peter. She leaned forwards, her lips right by his ear and whispered so that neither Mother, nor Nana could hear;
"I'll always leave the window open, Peter." And she felt him nod, his body sagging slightly in relief. He released her from his arms, and they separated with nothing more than a soft press of her lips to his cheek. "Goodbye Peter."
"Goodbye Wendy." And he stepped backwards off the window ledge and out into the night. He'd flown about twenty metres, before turning back to shout at her;
"Remember, second star to the right and straight on 'til morning. I'll be waiting there for you." He chuckled lightly, and she joined in, her voice suddenly sounding like the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard.
"Oh, the cleverness of you." She called after him, and with a sad, soft smile, and the wink of a star, he was gone.
TWO YEARS LATER
On his return to Neverland after leaving Wendy behind, Peter found that he had grown up far more than he ever intended to. He was probably around fifteen or sixteen now, with muscled arms and a deeper voice and occasionally stubble grew across his chin. He could still pass as a child, but only just, and it meant he was too afraid to go back to visit Wendy, for fear that he would grow up completely and Neverland would then reject him. Tinkerbell was still his most loyal friend – and his only friend – but since they'd returned from leaving Wendy things hadn't been the same.
Try as she might, Tink simply couldn't live up to his expectations of a companion and for that reason he had been spending less and less time with her. She knew he was sad, and always missing his Wendy bird, but she also knew that he was outgrowing the land of fairies and pirates; the lands of dreams. Ever since killing Hook, she supposed, his perspective had shifted to something more akin to that of a grown up, and the trip back to the real world had allowed his body to catch up. He no longer fitted with her, in this make-believe place, but she'd never tell him that. She was far too selfish and loved him far too much.
Occasionally he'd catch sight of Wendy's old wolf and her cubs, who were now grown up and having cubs of their own, and think he heard a snatch of her laugh – like bells in the wind – or there'd be a flash of red, the exact colour of her hair but it always disappeared before he could find it. Those moments hurt the most, because he knew that she was dreaming, but he could never be sure that it was of him. What if she had forgotten him? It had been about two years in real time; she'd be sixteen now, a young lady doing grown up things and attending grown up parties and being sold off to some so-called husband that wouldn't be him. He'd never admit it aloud, but it was those dreams; where he pictured her all grown up, married to some faceless man, with a baby in her arms, that had him crying in his sleep now.
Sure he'd had adventures, the clock that stood beside his bed in their little Wendy-house was a testament to that; having been retrieved from the stomach of the crocodile, alongside a rusted, silver hook. Neither of these trophies felt particularly fulfilling because he didn't have her to share them with, for the first time he could remember, he thought that maybe growing up wouldn't be that bad, provided he had Wendy to do it with.
In spite of his fears, she hadn't forgotten him. While she had mostly forgiven her mother for not letting her return to Neverland with him, things had never been the same between them. At first she meant to follow him, to go after him as soon as she could get away and remain with him forever, but she could never regain the happy thoughts she'd once had; even when still glittering with fairy dust, her feet remained firmly on the floor. It was as though he'd taken all her happy thoughts with him. So now she sat, legs dangling over the windowsill in the nursery in a manner which would horrify her Aunt Millicent with its unseemliness, leaning forwards into the night air and wishing on a very specific star that he would find his way back to her, so she could fly once more.
She'd long ago moved out of the nursery into her own bedroom, leaving John and Michael to their faux sword fights and extravagant stories of which she was not meant to be a part. To her horror, though, those childish pursuits had gradually turned into games of chess and conversations about the weather and other such adult things. She'd stood by and been able to do nothing as her brothers forgot about their magnificent childhood and adventures with Peter Pan. To them, Peter was now nothing more than a bedtime story. It broke her heart. She meanwhile had been forced to learn how to sew (although her time as 'mother' had already taught her this skill) and taught how to properly dance with two feet on the floor (however she far preferred Peter's methods). Though her body changed and grew, filling out until she had the figure of an adult, her mind remained that of a child, afraid to grow up until her Peter returned for her.
She continued to dream of him; sometimes they were memories, other times they were tales of what could be, but Peter was always there, in his Neverland where he belonged – the boy who never grew up.
"Wendy, hurry up. You'll be late to attend the Carmichael's if you don't hurry; you know they're looking for Harold to court you and it will be frowned upon if you cannot be punctual." Mrs. Darling called to her daughter, who was roused from her writing with a jolt. Looking up at the clock (she'd bought one in the shape of a crocodile, purely because she could) she realised she was supposed to be leaving for yet another fancy dinner in five minutes, and so far she wasn't even dressed. She threw down her pen quickly, not noticing that splashes of ink adorning her face and the outsides of her wrists. She pulled the elastic from her hair and shook out the coppery locks, hoping they would be acceptable as they were, while she grabbed the emerald gown her mother had set aside for her.
"Just a minute, Mother." She called back, untying the strings on the back of the dress and stepping into it hastily, yanking it up onto her shoulders. "Could you come and fix my dress?" Outside Mrs. Darling sighed heavily, but hurried along to her daughter's aid. When she saw the state Wendy was in; flyaway strands of her escaping in all directions and nails bitten down to stubs, she shook her head and scolded her daughter for such unladylike customs, but made to tie the strings at the nape of her daughter's neck anyway.
John stood in the doorway, a new top hat perched on his dark curls as he looked on in annoyance. His sister was so embarrassing at times; she was locked inside a fantasy world that the rest of them had let go years ago, even Michael, who was the youngest. And now she insisted that instead of becoming a true lady of her status, she would rather waste her time scribbling down stories and poetry and the suchlike. It was most unbecoming and for John, who was close friends with the younger of the Carmichael sons, quite frankly he was ashamed of her. He didn't want them to look down on him because his sister was not good enough for their son, yet she didn't seem to notice or care about the reputation her childish behaviour gave them all.
"Come on Wendy, we're going to be late." He frowned impatiently as she scraped her hair back from her face and tied it back in a simple and haphazard manner. Mrs. Darling scowled at it, but shook her head and ushered the two of them out towards the front door; it would have to do. At least the dress was flattering to her figure, which was slender and most seemly for a young lady on the cusp of womanhood. And young Harold Carmichael was enamoured with her already, not that she'd have any clue, her head was still filled with childish notions of 'Peter Pan' and 'Neverland'. It was all rather unsettling really.
"John, take care of your sister. Wendy, please try and behave in a grown up and ladylike manner; Harold Carmichael is a good boy and doesn't deserve your ridicule or contempt." Mr Darling called as they were bundled into a carriage. With a nod to the driver, the two of them were off down the street to their dinner party.
"So Wendy," Mrs, Carmichael began, her voice lilting in a way only managed by the upper classes, "How is your education going?"
"Well ma'am, my parents have withdrawn me from school and I have a woman who tutors me at home, but I mostly focus on English. I want to be a writer, you see?" She responded, fiddling awkwardly with her fork as she did so.
"Mm, I could tell." Her tone was disapproving as she took in the smudge of ink on her neck that John had missed when in the carriage. She looked down at her lap, cheeks flushing, and John let out a frustrated sigh.
"That is most interesting, my lady, pray tell me, of what do you write?" Harold asked, attempting to regain Wendy's attention for himself. He really was rather fond of this strange girl, if only because she was the most attractive creature he had ever seen. The red of her hair and green of her dress served to make her eyes stand out and her milky complexion glow. She was beautiful. John groaned at his choice of question, but he didn't notice, too enraptured in the way her eyes lit up.
"Why, I write of Peter Pan, of course."
"Peter Pan?"
"Yes, and Captain James Hook and the Lost Boys and the crocodile that ticks because he swallowed the clock."
"Hook?" He seemed momentarily perplexed but shook it off; after all, all characters must seem real to the person who creates them. That would explain the conviction in her voice. "Where do all these adventures take place?"
"Neverland, of course." Her voice has a ring of childishness in it, innocence and vulnerability that further endears her to him, while John looks on in disappointment at her inability to let go.
"Where is Neverland?" Harold asked, genuinely intrigued while his parents looked on; Mr Carmichael wore and expression of confusion and amusement, Mrs Carmichael simply looked disgusted at the prospect of a lady of status having such an odd imagination. Pirates and crocodiles were not topics a lady should indulge in, nor was story writing a lady's craft.
"It is that place you dream of just before you wake; the place in between waking and sleeping where time has no effect and the land never ages. It is where Peter belongs." She trailed off, looking down into her lap miserably as she thought of the terrible separation she suddenly felt from Peter. She had kept her promise not to grow up, but she was certain he would still no longer recognise her, because society didn't allow a child to remain in a lady's body. It was unattractive and improper. When she looked up, all eyes were on her in varying states of awe and pity. There were a few moments of tense silence during which she blushed furiously, before Harold Carmichael cut in with;
"Well, I think that is most magnificent." And he earned himself a radiant smile for his troubles.
After dinner was over, they sat in the drawing room drinking wine when Harold called for everyone's attention. He slipped off his chair and stood before Wendy, who looked at John with an expression of wide-eyed alarm. Her brother did nothing. "Wendy, beautiful, magical Wendy. I know it is the express wish of both of our parents, and all have given their consent and approval, so would you do me the intense honour of allowing me to court you? You are the most splendid being I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and nothing would make me happier than being able to call you mine." She looked up at him in alarm, and realised he was waiting for an answer. John gave a subtle cough, drawing her attention to him, before glaring at her in a way that told her she could do nothing but accept. She smiled slightly, trying not to let him see how awkward she felt, and gave a tiny nod. He crowed in delight, pulling her wildly to her feet and spinning her round so her back was to him.
"I have bought you a present, to show my devotion to you." He drew her hair away from the nape of her neck, and then she suddenly realised that he was unclasping her necklace and her entire body froze. He felt her tense, and his fingers stilled. "Is everything okay?" He asked in a soft, cooing voice.
"Do not undo this necklace." She turned to face him, her fingers fiddling with the acorn attached to the old chain.
"It is lovely," He muttered unconvincingly, obviously confused by her sudden animosity, "but Wendy, I have bought you something that matches your beauty far more appropriately." He opened a small, square box to reveal an extravagant necklace, all silver and diamond that probably cost more money than she'd ever had in her entire life. Still, she shook her head.
"I will never remove this necklace." She stated firmly, looking him directly in the eyes. Mrs Carmichael made to protest, but her husband silenced her. Wendy looked down suddenly, before blurting "I am sorry, I do not feel well, I must take my leave. I thank you all for your generous hospitality and, Harold, thank you for your affections." And with that she rushed from the room, leaving them all in a state of confusion, except for John, who made more formal parting words before tearing after his sister in a fuming anger.
Wendy had never seen her younger brother so furious. They were in her chambers; she sat on the bed, her pacing the floor in front of her. Mr Darling stood aside, looking every bit as angry as his son.
"How dare you embarrass our family like that? Harold Carmichael adores you, and it is improper to reject such a gift of a man willing to put up with your whimsical fancies." John's rant trailed off, only to be replaced by her father.
"John is right, it was wrong of you to reject his gift. You don't deserve his affections, and by God I will not let you continue these ridiculous ideas of yours. You will grow up and act like a lady. No more writing inane stories or dreaming of fairy tale characters. I never want to hear anything of this Peter Pan again, nor of fairies or pirates or Neverland. None of these things exist, Wendy, they are simply bedtime stories told to children and you are no longer a child. As for this," He reached out and gripped the necklace. Until that moment Wendy had remained contrite on her bed, listening and interrupting but when she felt his hands on her precious kiss, she protested. But alas, she was too late. Her father ripped the chain from her neck and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. "You will change and go to bed now. In the morning I personally will escort you back to the Carmichael's house, where you will beg for their forgiveness and accept any and every gift Harold deems you worthy of. Though God knows why he does. And if I ever hear any nonsense of your Peter Pan again, you will be out on the streets. Am I understood?"
"Yes sir." She whispered hatefully, glaring at him with wounded eyes.
"Good." And with that both men were gone, slamming the door in their wake. Wendy immediately dived to the floor after the acorn button, trying not to let her tears spill over.
"I'm so sorry Peter; I didn't mean to take it off. I'm so sorry." She fell back onto the bed, clutching the kiss between trembling fingers. She continued to mumble to herself, apologies and pleas for forgiveness long after she fell asleep.
It was the middle of the night, and the house was still. A gentle tapping on the window disturbed Wendy's restless slumber and she involuntarily called out Peter's name, certain it must be him and not entirely sure it was even real. Had she opened her eyes, she would have seen a tiny ball of light that, while certainly not her beloved Never-Boy, was the closest thing to him that had been in her house in a very long time. Tinkerbell heard her mutterings, her calling out to Peter, and knew immediately that Wendy had not forgotten him. Not that she ever believed the girl would. With a heavy sigh, and a few chiming curses at the sleeping girl, Tink knew that she had to bring Peter back here. Neither of them would ever be happy or at rest otherwise. And so, it was with a heavy heart that Tinkerbell set off that night, flying back towards the second star on the right. As she slipped out of the window and into the night, Wendy sat bolt upright in bed, looking around wildly, sure that moments before she had heard Peter's crowing laugh. But it was simply in her head, as always.