Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Peter Pan. I haven't done much in Christmas-y fics this year, but I've got a snowy one here. :)
The frost of winter swirled about in great clouds of snowflakes all about the Darling home. They settled down gently, like a sprinkling of icing sugar upon a cake, across the grey ground, covering it in fresh, beautiful powder, light and cold to the touch. Utterly enchanting, glowing in the dark of the night, settling down as gently as a feather.
Mr. Darling was fairly cursing under his breath the next morning, and was talking in heated tones to Mrs. Darling. She smiled and brushed her hair out and dressed, all in perfect composure. On the other hand, Mr. Darling nicked himself while shaving and turned puce red.
"The roads are going to be horrid! Getting to the bank will be catastrophic and dangerous! Wretched, wretched weather!" Mr. Darling said, as Mrs. Darling nodded placidly and fixed his bow-tie, which was crooked and loose.
"Of course, dear. Now, I'll get the children up and breakfast on and we'll see about those roads," Mrs. Darling said. This did little to assuage the mutterings of her husband, but eventually he was drowned out by the raucous calls from down below them.
"What is that noise?" he asked.
Mrs. Darling patted his shoulder and went and slipped a look from the window. She smiled at the scene before her and said, "What is called to snow but children, dear?"
"The children!" Mr. Darling said, and he came to the window and saw what made his wife smile, contented by the sight.
Out in their backyard, beyond the back door and its shelter, were their three children. All were still in their pajamas, but none of them seemed to care, but had thrown on their winter clothes and raced out the door. John was wearing his top hat and a scarf and a large coat; still his slippers covered his feet, already soaked as he raced about, collecting the tiny snowflakes on his bare palm. Michael was covered in mittens and scarf and hat and was talking excitedly to Wendy, who was composed and calm, like her mother, in a beautiful coat with her head unadorned, her sandy curls open to the wind blowing them about.
"Call them inside. They'll—they'll get pneumonia or something!" Mr. Darling said, when he really did not like play before breakfast.
"Oh, leave them be for a few minutes! I say I can put breakfast together just fine without the help of the children, dear," Mrs. Darling said. She kissed his cheek and added once she had crossed the threshold of the door, "Or Nana."
Mr. Darling stared at her passing figure for a moment, looking quite dumbfounded as he stood there, completely puzzled, by the window, and then he took a double-take and his eyes widened comically as he looked out and saw their beloved dog, Nana, even now wearing her lovely little nurse cap, leaping about the yard with the children. Michael was laughing and Wendy was gently warning him to be careful as he and Teddy went onto her back. Nana waited patiently for the tiny boy to say, "Giddy-up, Nana!" before she frolicked about the yard, wary of her young charge and feeling youth in her bones.
Mr. Darling grumbled to no one but himself as he turned away from the window and decided to leave the children be as he went searching for his shoes for work . . .
"Hurry, Nana, hurry!" Michael said, laughing excitedly. The snow was falling gently about them. Sun was casting white light across the entire city. Several chimneys showed the usage of fireplaces, for smoke was billowing out of the brick structures. Wreaths hung on doors and someone was playing a merry gentle Christmas tune around the corner. It was a beautiful morning.
"Don't tire her out too much, Michael. It's still fairly early in the morning," Wendy said, though not unkindly, turning back from her younger brother to the snowman that she and John were putting together. She was busy adding chub to the torso of the snowman while John was having a difficult time picking up his snowman head, which was much too heavy.
He let it go and scratched his chin. "I say, is that too large, Wendy?" He turned to his older sister to receive, "Well, it can't be too much bigger than the middle, or larger at all than the bottom one. Make it maybe the size of your head, John."
"What about my head, Wendy?" Michael asked, stopping Nana right by the snowman. He touched the side of the snowman and patted it. Nana licked the thing and whimpered as her tongue was stuck for a moment. Michael frowned and beat against the snowman until part of it came off with Nana's tongue. Nana ate the ice and whimpered as it made her all cold.
"Oh! Poor Nana," Wendy said worriedly.
The dog was chilled.
"Poor Nana," Michael said, petting their dog.
"We should probably have her go inside before she catches cold," John said thoughtfully.
Wendy nodded and brought the dog along, saying kindly, "Come on, Nana. I'll get you inside and Mother can stoke the fire. Poor dear," she said, as the dog ran into the kitchen. Michael watched sadly from the door, where he was holding it open as much as he could.
"Poor Nana," he said sadly.
"She'll be all right, Michael," John said. He was placing the head of the snowman, now an appropriate size for the body, atop the torso. Wendy hurried and placed rocks for buttons, and Michael unwound his scarf and said, "Put this around its neck, Wendy."
"This is the best snowman we have ever made, John, Michael," Wendy said, wrapping the scarf carefully around its neck.
John put his old top hat on the icy head. He stood back, his arms folded, and he nodded, pleased. "You're right, Wendy."
"What's its name?" Michael said wonderingly.
"I don't know. And everything must have a name, mustn't it?" Wendy said, scooping up Michael and holding him in her arms as she scrunched her nose against his.
"Yes, yes! Wendy," Michael laughed.
"It could be a Charles, I think," John said thoughtfully.
"No," Michael said, turning from his sister to their snowman, which was receiving crystalline ice chips on its edged hat, for the snow was picking up its speed in falling. "He is Captain Hook!" He swooped out, as if he had an imaginary sword to decapitate the snowman with.
"Captain Hook? Certainly not, Michael. He's not menacing enough. I think Chester would work," John said, though not so confidently.
"Captain Hook!" Michael said indignantly.
"What do you think, Wendy?" John asked.
Wendy hmmed quietly as she took in the figure. It was tall, almost the height of her, and had sticks for arms; the bright colors of Michael's scarf stuck out in the raw, icy winter. "I rather like Peter," Wendy said.
"You always name everything Peter," Michael said teasingly. He pulled on her coat and laughed.
"It fits him, though, doesn't it?" Wendy asked, as if she couldn't hear him. But she did, and she chose not to comment on that particular trait of hers. She instead walked a little forward, her head cocked to the side, shifting Michael and his hold on her coat, and she said, looking into the charcoal eyes, "Well, doesn't he?"
"He even has a shadow," John said.
This disrupted Wendy. She leaned away and looked beyond the snowman, and saw that there was indeed a beautiful, full shadow. She frowned a little, surprised, and Michael squealed in her arms. "It has a shadow, Wendy!"
"Can snowmen have shadows?" John asked, wondering and thoughtful. He leaned closer to the shadow, his hand scratching at his chin, and then, before Wendy could get a word out, the shadow whipped out from underneath his chin and stretched out for a moment, allowing the three children to stare at it. The boys were dumbstuck, and Wendy said, "Oh my goodness."
"Jim-a-nee!" John said, shocked and pleasantly surprised.
Wendy didn't seem very shocked or very horrified. She instead said in a calm, firm voice, "Whose shadow are you, Shadow? Are you Peter Pan's?"
The shadow somersaulted into the air and danced around mischievously, playing with their heads and their attention. Then he nodded, and he flew away, his body a parallel line, straight as could be, shot into the air like a spear out of a warrior's hand.
"That is Peter Pan's shadow!" John said, almost unable to speak.
Wendy stared after it before a bright grin stretched across her face. Her entire face glowed, from the snowflakes on her delicate eyelashes to the sparkles in her eyes. She was excited. She was feeling the pull of adventure as she put down her brother, clasped his hand in hers, and said, "Wait! Shadow!"
Wendy was getting old and it was high time, her father thought, that his young daughter should leave the playful, childlike nursery, and enter into adulthood by laying claim, and the only claim, to her own bedroom in their Bloomsbury home. But it was terribly evident that Wendy Darling was a), still a child, b), still had an imagination that fit like in a glove into the nursery, and c), a beautiful, healthy sense of adventure.
She ran. She simply ran after the Shadow, the dark wisp of darkness floating through the still lit street-lamped streets. Michael was dragged after her, calling her name in a surprised voice and having to take twice as many steps just to keep her pace. John, after a moment of complete shock at his sister's decision, caught his hat against his hair and hurried after his sister and brother, not losing a moment as his coat flapped in the wind.
In the kitchen, Mr. Darling was sitting down at their table. "High time to call the children in, dear?" Mrs. Darling asked pleasantly.
"Yes, quite," Mr. Darling said. He stood up and stepped around Nana, who was warming her poor soaked fur by the stove, making the entire kitchen smell highly of wet dog. He stuck his head out the doorway and looked about, completely calm. Then he made another pass around the yard and snowflakes fell onto his face. They melted quickly as his entire head became the color of a red tomato. He yelled, "CHILDREN!" but they did not hear.
They were still wearing slippers, for goodness' sake! Soaked and dripping with sludge, they slid around corners and nearly slipped more than once. But their eyes gleamed up and caught onto that one elusive Shadow, and that was what they chased along the rough terrain of British road.
"Wait! Wendy! Wendy! I'm slipping!" Michael said, his hand sliding out of Wendy's as her legs carried her faster and faster away. His little legs could barely make a dent the way hers did.
Suddenly his hand slipped from hers.
She turned back to him, a little disheveled and out of breath.
"Oh, Michael," she said, looking between her little brother and the fast disappearing Shadow.
"Don't worry, Wendy! I'll chase it!" John said reassuredly. He kept a hand smashed against his top hat in determination as his young legs sped up. He was going to catch the Shadow, he was going to be the hero, and if not for himself, for his sister and brother, who we return to.
Michael was looking pink, almost feverish, as Wendy stooped to his height and placed her hand against his forehead.
"How do you feel, Michael?" she asked, assessing.
"I . . . I am all right. Let's . . . we have to catch it, Wendy," Michael said between heavy breaths.
"You look bad. I should take you home," Wendy said in a no-nonsense voice. She straightened up and grasped his hand, and led them back towards their home. "I'm taking you back to Mother."
"Wendy, the Shadow . . . !"
"No buts about it, Michael," Wendy said in a voice that made her sound so much older than she was. It was a little wistful, yes, for even she couldn't help a slight look over her shoulder. But no sight of the Shadow was there to greet her. So she turned about face and went home.
Her father went on and on to her and Michael about snow and mornings and keeping warm while Michael sneezed and their mother took off all his wet outer garments. Wendy barely heard Mr. Darling. She merely said, "Yes, Father" and "Of course, Father," to appease him, as she looked out the kitchen window. She was anxiously awaiting the sight of her brother speeding back to report his findings. He did so, after her father muttered about how the eggs and toast were getting cold and also getting higher in price. He came crashing through the kitchen door, breathing heavily and scattering snow all over the floor.
"Goodness sakes, son! You ran all the way home?" Mr. Darling asked.
Mrs. Darling descended on John to gently help him take off his coat and scarf. John said in a whisper, "Yes, sir."
"Bah! Get those things off! You're getting the floor wet!" Mr. Darling said, bristling. He turned back to his breakfast. Michael, who was seated at the table with a blanket wrapped around him, was turned in his seat and watching, waiting, for John to tell all.
Mrs. Darling went to set his coat by the wood stove, and Wendy brought John a cup of tea. "What happened to it, John?" she asked.
"It kept flying . . . higher and higher and higher, Wendy," John said. "It was terrific. Jim-a-nee! But then it disappeared, into the sky. Until it was out of sight."
"Oh well," Wendy said. She smiled a little sadly. "It was too much to hope to catch it."
"We tried!" John said.
"But we don't have it," Michael said sadly.
"Have what?" Mr. Darling asked.
"Why, Peter Pan's Shadow, of course, Father," Wendy said.
"Pete—Peter Pan's Shadow!" Mr. Darling sputtered, and he turned red bursting into another rant to his wife about children and their imaginations! while the children sadly sat about the table. Even after grace Wendy turned in her seat, hoping for a slight glimpse of the Shadow. Anything to prove to her father, who was spitting food about as he ate and chopped and chomped and swallowed, that he was real, that he was not childish but touchable, was what she wanted. Because she believed, and she hoped beyond all hopes that what they had been chasing was not a figment of their imaginations, but a Peter's Shadow.
They're really all quite adorable. :)