Title: Acorn and Thimble

Author: Aspiring Shieldmaiden

Rating: PG-13

Book/Film: Peter Pan

Spoilers: If you haven't seen the film, there will be spoilers ahead.

Pairings: Peter/Wendy

Summary: Peter and Wendy still wear their thimble and acorn, respectively. But Wendy doesn't want to grow up and Peter wants her back…and Peter has a certain way of getting what he wants.

Chapter Updated: Tuesday, 12th October 2004.

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot.

- - - - - -

Chapter One

"Stand up straight!" Aunt Millicent barked. "Good Lord, child, you're slouching. Young ladies are never bent over when sitting. And what is that mark on your hand?"

Wendy sighed, dreading the reply, "Ink from my fountain pen, Aunt."

Sure enough, the tirade started. "I thought we agreed you had given up those barbaric ideas of being a novelist. Writing is messy, a man's job. Ladies who hope to make respectable matches steer well clear of that path. I was saying to your mother…"

The girl blocked the rest of her speech out. It was a year since the ending of her time in the nursery - a week since she had last seen Peter. She felt bored; there was none of the excitement storytelling brought with it in Becoming A Lady - Growing Up, in other words.

Peter…

If she shut her eyes, she could still see Neverland. She could still see the perfect blue sea lapping the shore, the darkness of the wood with its carpet of leaves; the house the Lost Boys had built for her. And clearest of all she could see Peter, sword hanging down by his side, smiling at her, laughing. If she brought her hand to her neck she felt the acorn he had given her - the "kiss". It was strange, but she could remember everything about him. She remembered everyone else who had taken part in the adventure – Captain Hook, Smee, all the Lost Boys, of course, as they were now family – but it was Peter who remained in her mind. She could remember being captured and tied up on the ship; Peter catching her as she fell down to meet the sea, and, most clearly of all, giving him her "hidden kiss". Whenever this memory surfaced, Wendy felt strangely light-headed.

"…and your mother absolutely agrees that you need more – good heavens, child, what's the matter with your face?"

Wendy's hands flew to her cheeks. "What's wrong with them?"

Aunt Millicent frowned. "I merely mention it because they are pink, dear, and a young lady certainly never enquires in that harsh tone of voice! Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, Aunt."

Mrs Darling appeared at the living-room door. "Lunch is ready," she said in her gentle voice. Wendy sometimes wondered why she had not inherited it. Why had she had to be born so apparently coarse and vulgar that, when Aunt Millicent had taken her aside so that she could begin instruction, the older woman had suppressed a shudder?

Though Wendy could not know this, the adults in the house had all noticed a profound change in her behaviour since her return. Before, Wendy had been an active child and sociable, never a loner. She no longer spent time with the rest of the family; preferring to stay in her room and, especially at night, stare out of the window, her face turned towards the stars. Her aunt was not shuddering at the prospect of teaching her. It was meeting Wendy's eyes, the restlessness in them, which she dreaded. Any person who did not know the girl would identify the expression as boredom. But that was absurd. Why should a child, who had such an excellent family, wish to be anywhere else then in the company of loved ones? On the other hand, Aunt Millicent's so-called "professional" theory that Wendy would be worn down and reformed within a fortnight was, much to her astonished confusion, proving to be mistaken. But Aunt Millicent perhaps has a right to be concerned. Her newly adopted son, Daniel (Slightly) was shaping up perfectly.

"Wendy Darling, have you heard a word I have spoken to you in the past hour?"

With a start, Wendy realised she was seated at the dining-room table, next to Aunt Millicent as usual. "Yes, of course," she said, smiling prettily.

Aunt Millicent did not look convinced. "Kindly tell me which fork one must use when eating the fish course of a meal."

Wendy racked her brains. She was sure she'd heard the answer to this one before. "Umm… That one," she decided, picking up a fork on the left side of the placemat.

Millicent raised her eyes to the heavens. "No, dear, I have told you this before. It's that one."

"Oh." Wendy blushed. "Sorry."

Mrs Darling, watching her daughter, let the conversation she was having with her husband tail off and observed Wendy's face. It looked oddly distant, as though instead of seeing the room the family was in with its wood-panelled walls, her eyes were focused on something else entirely which wasn't even nearby. Her sister had quite given up talking to her, as she showed no signs of response. When the meal had ended, Mary sidled up to the other woman.

"Wendy is progressing in her instruction, is she not?"

Millicent closed her eyes in apparent despair. "I'm beginning to think there is no hope for her."

"Surely it is not as bad as that. You must be exaggerating, Millicent, as I have known you to do on occasion," Mary said calmly, watching Millicent's lips tighten.

"I assure you it is quite the opposite. It is quite plain that she refuses to learn."

Mary Darling shook her head. "It can't be as bad as that."

Millicent sighed. "Speak to the girl yourself, if you won't take it from me. Let her explain herself."

- - - - - -

Peter was fed up.

There could be a number of reasons for this. It could be because Tink, seeing him in one of his moody, quiet phases, had taken off in a sulk, refusing to answer when he called for her. Or maybe because his new group of Lost Boys were away on a hunting trip and had left without him. And maybe, too, because he was simply bored. There was nothing for him to do alone – except play his instrument. But even that was losing its appeal. It was company that Peter wanted. And not just any company, either.

Wendy's.

Peter's ideas of girls and what they were capable of had always been…pretty unfair, to tell you the truth. Not that he'd seen much of them before Wendy came along, but the glimpses of them he had seen had been through bedroom windows at night when they were asleep, in rooms covered in flowers and pink wallpaper or some other light colour. They'd always looked so fragile. Pretty sexist ideas, but Peter wasn't to know this, not could he be trusted to take into account that everyone looks harmless and soft when asleep, himself included. But Wendy had changed all this. He'd gladly have her back. Just her, for he'd forgotten about her brothers completely. He had very hazy memories of his previous set of Lost Boys, but he couldn't remember their names, and he didn't care much about them now. They'd chosen to grow up, something Peter found hateful.

"Who wants to grow up?" he muttered angrily, wondering why he wasn't feeling perfectly content.

He also hated having to admit this one, too, but Captain Hook had been right. Now, he's kind of forgotten what the pirate looked like, but he remembered the verbal exchanges between them, and one thing he had said stubbornly stuck in Peter's mind:

"She's leaving you, Pan! She'd rather grow up then stay with you."

Captain Hook, as a traditional bad guy, ended up doing everything wrong and losing his ship and life. But he, being a grown up, had gone through the whole process of teenage years and knew what it felt like. And he'd been right about Wendy, because she had left him, hadn't she? Left him to go back to her parents. Taking all of the others with her.

There was a flurry of movement near his head, and a faint chattering noise. Tink was back! What was she saying? Something about the Lost Boys…something they'd seen…

Someone.

A/N: So what'd you think?