Author Note: Hi everyone! It's been a while since I wrote a one-shot for this fandom, and the idea has been brewing ever since I started Never Say Goodbye. Expect an update for that story soon, but for now – here's just a one-shot for you to enjoy. I don't own Maroon 5 or any of their music, although technically I have one of their CDs lying around somewhere. I hope you like it! Oh, and Wendy's eighteen… not a young girl anymore. But I'm sure you knew that.
She Will Be Loved
I remember the first time I saw her.
Breathtaking, she was… she had clearly inherited her mother's beauty. With those porcelain features and honey-golden tresses, she could have easily stolen the hearts of many.
Beauty queen of only eighteen
But for me, I found my heart stolen when I looked into her eyes – such an icy blue when she spoke to strangers she didn't like (mainly friends of her father), and yet so sincere and kind when she spoke to strangers she did like, myself included. I knew as soon as I met her that there was something deeper about her – a rebellious streak, perhaps - or something tragic.
She had some trouble with herself…
We met at a party hosted by the bank where our fathers work. I was twenty-one, and according to my father, it was high time I started looking for a wife. Dozens of pretty girls would be present, looking for the right man to settle down with. Many of them would search for someone older, more successful. I had the money, but not yet the success, and I would much rather marry for love than title.
She looked particularly uncomfortable, having been cornered by Bertrand Hobbes, an arrogant older bachelor who had the habit of spitting as he spoke. Something I'd learned about chivalry told me that a girl in that sort of situation deserved to be rescued.
"Mind if I interrupt?" I asked, edging my way into the conversation. "I'd been wondering when I'd get the chance to speak to you, Miss…"
"Darling," she filled in for me, and then she smiled the warmest, most beautiful smile I had ever seen. "Wendy Darling."
Hobbes scowled at this. "Very well," he said, thus ambling over to another young girl across the room.
"I can't thank you enough for that," Wendy replied with a small giggle. "And to whom do I owe this rescue?"
"Montague," I told her, returning the smile. "Robert Montague. I believe our fathers are acquainted?" I motioned to the middle of the room, where I saw my own father speaking with a man who shared some small characteristics of the girl I was speaking to.
Wendy followed my glance to the two men, and nodded. "So they are," she agreed. She seemed so poised, so trained to behave perfectly at such events, until…
"Would you like to know a secret?" she asked me, a slightly mischievous look in her eyes.
Of course I was anxious to know what sort of secrets such a girl could possess, so I took the bait and nodded. I knew there had to be something different about her.
She leaned in closer, though not inappropriately close, and spoke softly. "I loathe parties like these," she confided. "They make me feel completely trapped."
Somewhat brazenly, I took her hand. "Would you care to join me outside?" I asked, trying not to blush. I had met with girls before, but never like this one.
"I most certainly would, Mr. Montague," she responded, her eyes brightening at the suggestion.
"Please," I told her, still smiling, "call me Robert."
He was always there to help her…
Once our families observed a friendship in the making, she and I were constantly together. At first, our visits were chaperoned – anything else would have been improper – and we reverted to polite, stilted conversation that would please our parents.
Soon enough, however, we began to meet on our own. When we took walks in the park, she dropped the excessive poise and told me the most incredible stories I had ever heard. One day, she confided in me another secret of hers – that she had always wished to be a writer.
"I know it's not the proper way of life for a lady," she had admitted, "but it has always been my dream. Perhaps one day I shall publish books under a man's name… oh, I hope I'm not being silly."
"You're not," I reassured her. I admired her willingness to tell me of such things. "I'm quite sure you will accomplish whatever you choose."
Another time, I accompanied her to the nursery of her home, where her several brothers were in bed.
"I tell them stories every night," she explained to me. She turned to the boys. "Now, what would you boys like to hear tonight?"
It was then that I first learned the story of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up. I stood in awe as I listened to her voice, so captivating as she recounted every detail of Neverland and its inhabitants. But as she spoke, I noticed something different in her eyes… something sad.
When the story concluded and the boys were fast asleep, we tiptoed quietly downstairs and into the parlor. We knew that Wendy's parents had fallen asleep upstairs, so now it was just her dog-nurse, Nana and us.
We each sat down, not knowing what to say. Finally, I decided to speak up. "Have you ever been to Neverland?" I asked, smiling.
Wendy returned the smile. "Perhaps," she said mysteriously. "Have you?"
"No," I responded, shaking my head.
"Well, have you ever left the city?" she asked, genuinely curious now.
"Only to visit other cities," I admitted. "Paris, Amsterdam, Vienna, and the like. Nothing incredibly exciting."
"I'm sure it's all very exciting," she disputed. "I've never been to any of those places."
"Perhaps one day we shall go," I told her. I couldn't believe my boldness tonight. "Have you ever heard of Egypt?"
"I have." She grinned. "Have you ever fought an ogre?"
What kind of question is that? I wondered, though I tried to keep up with this little 'Have you ever' game. "I did once, in order to rescue a fair maiden at a party," I joked, referring to our first meeting. I was unsure if it was proper to laugh this way with someone I was not married to, but for once I disregarded what was proper. "Have you ever swum in the ocean?"
"Too cold," she replied with a shiver. "Have you ever seen a falling star?"
"Not yet," I told her. "Have you ever defied your parents?"
She nodded slowly. "Once," she said honestly, looking to be deep in thought, but she did not care to elaborate. "Have you?"
"When I was sixteen," I told her, "I ran away from home." This actually seemed to impress her, even though it wasn't intended to. "I wanted to escape everything that was expected of me, but eventually I came back. I realized I had to accept the life that was given to me." I paused. What should I ask her? I wondered. I finally decided to ask something bold. "Have you ever been in love?" I asked playfully, not realizing the effect it would have.
Immediately, she turned away, and I could feel the room grow colder. "I don't want to play this game anymore," she said quietly, and then there was silence.
She always belonged to someone else…
I had no idea who the man was, or if he was still a part of her life, but I did know that Wendy had been in love with him, and that he had broken her heart.
I desperately wanted to know. As our meetings continued, we avoided the conversation that had taken place that night, but the more I didn't know, the more I wished I did. I wanted to fill in that gap in her life. I wanted to make her whole again. I'd known all along that something was not right, but I had always wanted to be the one to fix it.
I drove for miles and miles and wound up at your door
I've had you so many times but somehow I want more
One day, enough was enough. I knew I had to do something, and so for once in my life, I took action. Mustering all the courage I had, I bought a bouquet of flowers and raced, fast as I could, to the Darling manor.
The rain began to pour, but I didn't care. I knew this was what I had to do in order to make her see. I was falling deeper and deeper in love with her every day, and I wasn't going to let a silly thing like rain get in the way of that.
Soaked from head to toe, I knocked on the door. Her mother answered the door.
"Why, Mr. Montague!" she exclaimed, rushing to find me a towel. "You're soaking wet! Come in… we don't want you to catch cold!"
"Is Wendy here?" I asked, stepping inside at once. "I need to see her."
"Of course," Mrs. Darling replied, rushing toward the stairs. "Wendy, dear, you have company!"
Wendy appeared at the top of the stairs.
"I'll give the two of you a moment," Mrs. Darling said with a smile, as Wendy arrived in the parlor. The woman disappeared upstairs.
"Robert!" Wendy exclaimed, her eyes wide when she saw me. I suppose I must have looked a right mess. "You're soaked to the bone!"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," I told her, grinning as I handed her the now wet bouquet of flowers. "I came here because I have been dying to ask you something."
Wendy raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Something so important that you had to run all the way here in the rain?" she asked, setting the flowers down on a nearby table.
I nodded. "Wendy, it would take more than rain for me to not want to see you. I would climb mountains, jump over buildings, and fight the mightiest dragons just to be in your presence." I knelt down, pulling a small box out of my pocket. "Miss Darling, this box contains a ring, one that has been passed down in my family through generations. My mother gave it to me two years ago, and instructed me to give it to a suitable young woman that I could one day live with. And since the night I met you, I've learned, you've been an extraordinary young woman I couldn't live without." I opened the box and held it out to her. "Will you marry me?"
She grinned and nodded, her eyes beginning to water. "Of course," she told me, taking my hand and squeezing it tight. "Of course."
I knew that I had done a million things wrong – for example, I hadn't discussed a proposal with my parents, and I certainly hadn't asked Wendy's own father's permission. But at that moment, none of that mattered.
I don't mind spending every day
Out on your corner in the pouring rain
We had been engaged for two weeks, and were becoming inseparable. Our families had reacted with excitement at our engagement, and in their reverie didn't seem to mind the fact that I'd gone about it in a different way. I had long since forgotten about Wendy's secret romance.
Both families ate dinner together one night, and the Darling table was completely full. Her Aunt Millicent had attended the dinner as well, along with my parents and younger sister, Juliet. After everyone had settled in the parlor for tea and petits fours, Wendy and I accompanied the boys to the nursery.
"You've heard the story numerous times," Wendy told me, smiling. "How would you like to tell it tonight?"
I returned the smile. "It would be an honor," I replied, happy to be sharing in this part of her life.
I didn't tell the story as well as she normally did, but I suppose story telling is a skill that I haven't yet mastered. But if I blundered in any way, the boys didn't let on – I told the entire story without interruptions.
As I concluded, I turned to Wendy. She was sitting by the window, resting her head against the sill. She had fallen asleep during the pirate scene. "Wendy?" I asked gently.
"Peter," she murmured under her breath. "Peter. Have you come for me?"
And that was when I learned who her first love really was.
Look for the girl with the broken smile
The night before our wedding, we stood outside under the stars.
"Soon," I told her, "we will be together."
She did not say a word, but I could tell that for some reason, she was crying.
"What's wrong?" I asked, taking her hand reassuringly. "Have I done something to upset you?"
She shook her head vehemently. "Not at all!" she exclaimed defensively, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. "Why would you think of such a thing?"
Suddenly I knew that this had nothing to do with me. "You're still in love with him, aren't you?" I asked.
She looked at me in bewilderment. "Who?" she inquired, pretending not to know what I was talking about. "I'm not…"
"With Peter Pan," I answered for her. "You've been to Neverland, haven't you? That is where the stories come from?"
She nodded slowly. "I didn't know that you believed," she told me.
"I do," I replied. "And you were in love with him."
"I suppose I was," she answered quietly, after some hesitation.
"And you still are."
Her tears continued to fall. "I am." We could feel the cold air breezing by. "But I still wish to marry you, Robert. I wouldn't have agreed to it otherwise."
My face fell when she confirmed my suspicions, but I nodded anyway. "I know you wouldn't," I said.
"Because I really do love you," she continued, looking up into my eyes.
I smiled at this. Though I had professed my love for her before, she had never formally returned the sentiments until now.
"I love you, too," I told her, and held her close.
Ask her if she wants to stay awhile…
One year and six months later, she gave birth to our first child, Jane. Jane was the splitting image of her mother, albeit much younger and much tinier, and she brought much joy to Wendy, who told her a story every night.
"How would you like to hear the story of Peter Pan, my little one?" she asked Jane one night, picking her up from her cradle. She smiled. "Would you like to hear it?"
They were beautiful, I observed from my chair, and I couldn't help but smile as well. Over time, her story telling had become even more enchanting, and I knew that Jane would not be her only audience tonight.
"All children grow up," Wendy told her, "except one."
As she continued with the story, I knew that even if her feelings for the boy hadn't changed, she had chosen this life with me and seemed to love every moment of it.
A tear came to her eye as she concluded. Wiping it away quickly, she set baby Jane down in her cradle and turned to me with a sad smile.
"Perhaps I shouldn't tell that tale anymore," she said.
As I stood up and headed toward her, I shook my head. "Not at all," I told her. "You have such a gift, and Peter Pan and Neverland meant a lot to you. If you stop telling about it, you might forget."
"I don't want to forget," she whispered.
I smiled. "I don't want you to forget," I said. I paused for a moment before an idea came to mind. "Perhaps this could be the perfect story for your book."
Wendy returned the smile. "Perhaps it could," she agreed, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. "I love you, Robert."
Even then, I could feel myself falling in love with her all over again.
And she will be loved.