Disclaimer: Peter Pan, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie.
Final Touches
Smiling at his own cleverness, Peter soundlessly lowers to the floor the fishing net swung over his shoulder. Quiet as a mouse, he removes items from the net and puts them in different places of the slumbering house and in the stockings hanging on roots and various objects. While performing this task, he admires the small pine tree in one corner decorated with seashells, fairy dust, and ornaments made from twigs and string. He notes all the boys fast asleep with color in their cheeks and mouths turned up in happy smiles. Thoughts of Christmas morning have followed them in their dreams.
It is not until the boy means to put a basket in Wendy's chair that he discovers her asleep in it. Her forearm rests on one of the rocker's arms, and her head lies on her shoulder. A pair of pants with holes in the knees is in her lap. Her cheeks are flushed while the corners of her mouth turn down slightly. Whatever dreams she is dreaming are not as lighthearted as the boys'.
Placing the basket on the ground, Peter crouches before her, puzzlement dimming his hazel eyes. Gently he brushes her hair with his rough fingers. When her expression does not change, he frowns faintly. A tiny voice tickles his ear, and, instinctively, he half-rises and leans forward, placing a soft kiss on her brow. She stirs and he pulls back, watching her yawn. Her eyes open slowly and lazily.
"Peter?" she murmurs sleepily.
"It's me," he whispers.
Yawning again, the girl rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. Peter catches her hand in his when it starts to float back down to her lap. Some of the tiredness vanishes from her blue eyes when they focus on him again.
"You're back," she breathes, the corners of her mouth lifting upward a little.
Grinning, the boy nods.
"You've been gone four days. I started to wonder if you would miss celebrating Christmas tom—today with the boys."
"I promised you I would be back in time, right before I left," he reminds her. He moves closer until he can see himself reflected in her wide eyes; his own are uncharacteristically solemn, and he presses her hand. His voice lowers, "I would not ever miss being here with you for Christmas, Wendy-lady."
Color fills Wendy's cheeks, and a true smile brightens her face. Foreign, yet also familiar, butterflies blossom in Peter's stomach. Tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, he returns her smile and shares his stars with her.
"Merry Christmas, Peter."
"Merry Christmas, Wendy."
THE END