Peter stared grimly into his empty palm, the mistake of letting her go echoing in his thoughts. The memories of flying through the sky were still fresh, the days they spent laying in the grass of Neverland together, saving the lost boys, saving Wendy from hook. It all seemed to happen so fast, the hardest thing he ever did was let her walk off the ship. He did want what was best for her, but he couldn't ignore the giant bullet wound her absence left in his heart.
More than once had he gone back over the years, to beg her to come back, to live with him and never grow old, never to die; but Peter always stopped himself. The smile on her bright face, as he stared through the window into her life without him, Peter watched Wendy age. He saw her grow old, from the distance, he saw her get married, her children, her grandchildren. He saw it all, from the outside.
He was outside even now, but he was not alone, like he had usually been.
Wendy was here, or at least part of her was.
Tears rolled down his cheeks, through the salty droplets he stared down at her cold stone grave. She died weeks earlier, he hadn't found out until he realized Wendy hadn't been home a lot, it was later that he heard she was dying in a hospital bed, in London.
Peter went, using the moon as his guide to find Wendy. It was through another window that he watched her in her old age, hooked up to strange machines, that beeped and whirred as she wheezed and coughed. She had no husband now, he had passed years earlier, it was ironic almost; his name was Peter too.
Maybe she missed him almost as he missed her, Peter liked to think that Wendy thought of him often and if she could've come back, she would've.
He never wanted to hear the truth however; he knew the truth would be too painful for him to bear.
But as he watched her in through the fifth story window of that hospital, he knew he wasn't a child any longer. He was in a young body, but in his mind as he watched the only woman he ever loved die; his mind was no longer innocent. Innocence is what made kept children young. He felt as dark and cold as any man would in his situation; and that terrified Peter.
Inside he felt like he was being torn apart brick by brick, being thrown into a shredder, his exterior was cold, still.

He floated in the window, it must've been past midnight, but even in Wendy's old age, she could always feel when Peter was near. She opened her blue eyes slowly, staring at the window. Their eyes met, she smiled softly, Peters eyes welled up, his throat tightening. She was dying, and yet she still smiled at him. He wanted so bad to hate her. To make this love end. To make this pain of losing her forever dull somehow, perhaps if he told her he hated her, then he really would. He wanted so bad to go in there and tell her he wished she'd die. He was so angry, to filled with misery his hands shook, jaw clenched.

Wendy, cocked her head to the side, slowly pushing her way out of bed, wincing at the pain in her abdomen. Taking the iv and walker with her, she pushed the window open. Staring at Peter.
At first he didn't notice the window, still caught up in his rage; when suddenly Wendy cleared her throat, holding out her hand for him. His face softened, floating over to her. He rested his hand on her cheek.
"It's good to see you Peter." She whispered hoarsely.

He nodded, moving to hold her hand in his. He knew then, he could never hate Wendy. No matter how many times he told the boys, or himself, in the end he loved her, he would always love her.

But this time they both knew he couldn't save her. There was no saving Wendy.