A/N: Please forgive the non-canonical additions/omissions! In this story, the Lost Boys chose to remain in Neverland as Peter's companions and were not adopted by the Darlings. Inspiration has been drawn from the various adaptations of the original novel/play. Rating for future chapters.

Thank you for reading!

Wendy Darling awoke to a pair of piercing blue eyes, staring down at her.

The eighteen year old gasped loudly as her bleary gaze focused on that of the stranger. Wendy sat bolt upright and rubbed her eyes vigorously with her knuckles. But when she opened her eyes, there was nobody to be seen.

'I can't have been dreaming,' she mumbled to herself as she untangled her body from the lily-patterned duvet. Wendy searched all over her room, opening each drawer, peering under the bed, checking every nook and cranny, all the while wondering who she had seen.

Nobody from Wendy's family had blue eyes; on the contrary, the Darling family were gifted with an earnest, brown-eyed gaze. After several minutes of exploration, a thoroughly mystified Wendy sank onto her mattress, biting her lip in deep thought.

She had been unable to locate the source of those blue eyes nor could she think of any reason for someone to be in her bedroom. However, it would not be the first time that a stranger had entered her room while she slept.

Wendy would never forget her adventures in Neverland nor the strange boy who had took her there. Nevertheless, in the years that had passed since her adventure, Wendy found that her memories of that time were becoming increasingly blurred and distant. It was like trying to remember the events of a dream. The details were hazy and indistinct, slowly fading into the black hole of forgotten memories, from which they could never be retrieved.

Her body went rigid as her mind processed the thought: Perhaps Peter Pan had returned?

She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered the time she danced in the forest with the immortal boy. She felt the slippery, wet grass beneath the soles of her feet, the warmth of his hand clasped over her own and the eyes that glimmered with youthful mischief. They were, indeed, blue. But a darker blue. Warm and inviting. No, they were not the eyes she had seen. There had been no warmth in the eyes that she had looked into that morning. Their precise colour reminded her irrevocably of a sea covered in a layer of sparkling ice.

Wendy cupped her cheeks with her palms and tried her hardest to remember all the curious creatures she had met once upon a time in Neverland.

Tinker Bell.

An image, blurred by the passage of time and the forgetfulness of memory, appeared in her mind's eye. The mischievous, blonde fairy had blue eyes, which had often glared at Wendy with a frosty dislike. But, the eyes she had seen were not those of a fairy. In truth, Tinker Bell's entire head was approximately the same size as Wendy's big toe. There was no doubt that the eyes she had seen belonged to a human face.

'Good morning, Wendy.'

'Good morning, Mother!' replied Wendy as she sat down next to her brother Michael at the dining room table. Mrs Darling gave her eldest a warm smile before returning to her task of buttering toast for the family.

'Sleep well, dear?'

'Yes...I did,' she replied as she reached for the proffered plate of toast that her mother held. 'But I...I awoke to the strangest thing this morning...'

Her father, George Darling, lowered his paper slightly and peered at her anxiously over the morning headlines. Mrs Darling hand wavered, causing a slice of toast to slip off of the plate onto the floor, which Nana gratefully devoured - crumbs and all.

Whoever said that Newfoundlands were inefficient housekeepers had, clearly, never had the pleasure of surveying the Darlings' employee at work. Subsequent to Liza's departure, Nana had proven herself to be competent at many other domestic chores as well as nursing the children.

'Oh,' said Mrs Darling lightly as she placed the plate in the centre of the table. Her hand moved to her neck as she adjusted her perfectly neat collar, tugging gently on the material.

Mr Darling's eyes darted to his left and saw his anxiety mirrored in his wife's face and movements.

The night of their children's mysterious disappearance had been forever branded into their memories. Although Mr and Mrs Darling did not believe in the existence of Neverland, convinced that their children had simply ran away from home, they knew that something had haunted the three of them to make them flee. The couple lived in fear that something or someone would possess their children to repeat their domestic truancy.

'Well, I opened my eyes and…right in front of me…I saw a pair of huge blue eyes! Right in front of my face!'

Mr Darling choked and consequently sprayed a mouthful of tea over the front page of the London Times.

'Perhaps you were just dreaming, dear,' said Mrs Darling kindly as she hastily schooled her alarm into a motherly smile.

'But I wasn't dreaming!'

'How can you be sure of that?' replied Mr Darling tersely as he dabbed his newspaper with his handkerchief.

'Because – because I –'

'Wendy, how many times must I tell you that sentences do not start with "because" –'

'Really, Father, I just meant –'

'No, Wendy. We are not going through all this...this nonsense again.'

'Father...'

'No! No more silly games or stories about runaway children from Kensington Gardens flying through the nursery window in the dead of the night! You are eighteen years old,' he shouted as his newspaper crumpled like an accordion between his clenched fists.

'I know, but –'

'Your mother and I have indulged these childish fantasies for far too long. Especially since…since…that night. We're putting it behind us as of today. And as for you, young lady, it is high time that we think about finding you a suitor.'

There was a dramatic intake of breath from John and Michael, who had, thus far, remained silent during the exchange between Wendy and their parents. They looked to their mother imploringly who gazed at her husband with gentle appeal.

'George, dear, let us talk no more of this subject. Not at breakfast,' she added gently, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

'By Jove, Mary!' he exclaimed, banging his fist against the table surface and, accidentally, upending the butter dish onto the floor. 'The girl is eighteen! Margaret Wiggins at number four is of the same age and ready to give birth to her third child at any moment. Meanwhile, our Wendy isn't even married yet!'

His pale complexion was now shining red with exasperation and his eyes had grown wider and wilder with every word of his tirade. The room lapsed into silence. The only noise that could be heard was the gentle lapping sound of Nana licking the fallen butter dish that lay on the floor.

Exhaling heavily, Mr Darling looked around the table at the faces staring cautiously at him as if he were about to launch into another furious monologue. The only face not turned in his direction was that of his daughter, whose eyes were lowered towards her lap. Her tears painted thin glistening paths down her cheeks and Mr Darling felt a rush of guilt.

'I...I know it sounds harsh, Wendy,' he said gently, laying the scrunched newspaper on the table beside his plate. 'But, you know, growing up is something of an inevitability, I'm afraid.' He reached under the table and patted her knee consolingly.

Wendy nodded as she surreptitiously wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

'Shouldn't you be on your way to work now, dear?' asked Mrs Darling with an anxious glance towards the clock that hung from the wall.

Mr Darling yelped and hastily rose to his feet.

'You're quite right, Mary, dear. I must go,' he said as he straightened his tie and reached for his brief case. 'I will see you tonight. Goodbye, dear. Goodbye, children...Argh, confound it, Nana!' he cried as he stumbled over the dog.

Wendy sighed resignedly and looked down at her breakfast plate. Her father's words lay heavy in her heart. It was starting all over again. Like it had before Neverland.

Years ago, before Neverland, Wendy's parents were determined for their daughter to be married within the forthcoming months, much to Wendy's alarm. However, the Darlings had dropped all intention of marrying off their eldest child after their departure. For nights, they had sat by the window of their children's nursery, crying softly as they wondered if they would ever see them again. Their delight at their return had rendered the subject of marriage and growing up completely forgotten. For several blissful years, the Darlings remained a wholesome, happy family and the children were allowed to continue their studies in peace without any imminent need to grow up.

'You see, Wendy, when you left, I realised that...if you were to be married…then, you would be leaving me again, after a fashion, and I...I never want to feel that way again.' Those were the words of Mr Darling, which he had said one night, when John, Michael and Wendy had crept into their parents' bed. Wendy remembered that night fondly: They had spent the whole night talking and embracing, not worrying about the future or the past or, even, the present as they all had each other.

However, as the years passed, gradually the Darlings slipped back into their old routine. The trio had resumed their schooling and Mr Darling worked long hours at the bank, returning long after Nana had put the children to bed.

Wendy's education had ended several years ago, which meant that she now spent her days shadowing Mrs Darling and moulding herself into the perfect housewife, much to Wendy's dismay. It was not that she did not enjoy spending time with her mother – on the contrary, Wendy treasured the special time that she and her mother shared together, without Mr Darling blustering about his job or her brothers charging around the house – but the realisation that she was preparing for a new era of her life hit her a little bit harder every day.

Nevertheless, Wendy was very pleased to have finished with her studies. Her worst class had been Geography and her teacher had despised her. Wendy had started the class with high hopes, hoping to learn all about the Indians and their culture for she, herself, had met an entire tribe during her adventures. Eager to breathe life back into the memory of her encounter with the curious inhabitants of Neverland, Wendy looked forward to her first Geography lesson with great anticipation.

To her extreme disappointment, however, the only lesson she had learned from that first class was to hold her tongue, following her altercation with the irritable Geography teacher:

'Along the eastern coast of India, one of the most formidable, and carnivorous, reptiles that you would find is the saltwater crocodile. Can anyone tell me anything about this particular predator?'

Wendy's hand had been the first in the air as she recalled the stump of an arm, from which protruded a sharp, iron hook – an old relic of a crocodile attack.

'Yes, Wendy?'

'Saltwater crocodiles live in the deepest parts of the sea, they –'

'That is incorrect. As I just said, the saltwater crocodile resides in swamps or shallow stretches of water.'

'Oh no, sir! The crocodile that I am referring to lived –'

'My dear girl! When, pray tell, would a young girl, such as yourself, come across a crocodile in the middle of London? Perhaps you fancied you saw one emerging from the Thames…' His lips had curled upwards into a cruel grin as the class erupted in laughter. Wendy could still remember the scarlet embarrassment that had burned her face.

'No, sir, if I may explain –'

'As I was saying,' said Mr Beckett, cutting over Wendy's protests. 'The saltwater crocodile generally inhabits shallow rivers. These beasts can be found in the hotter parts of the world…'

Wendy had crossed her ankles and pondered this thought. Was Neverland warm? She could not remember. They had left in their pyjamas and she could not remember ever feeling chilly, but, she could not remember feeling anything apart from pure amazement at the wonders that had happened all around her.

'Can anyone tell me what makes these beasts so valuable to poachers? Why would anyone seek to hunt these terrifying creatures?'

'Perhaps…' Images had appeared in Wendy's mind's eye of the mad glint in Captain Hook's eye as Smee cast the anchor of the Jolly Roger onto the crocodile's snout. 'Perhaps, if the crocodile took something from someone and the owner sought revenge?'

Raucous, cruel cackling pierced the silence that had followed Wendy's answer.

'Now, really, Wendy! I have had enough of these preposterous outbursts! I'll hear no more answers from you, do you understand? Elspeth, could you give me a feasible answer?'

'Saltwater crocodiles are hunted for their meat and for their eggs.'

'Correct,' he had replied with a fervent nod of his head. 'Now, moving on…'

Wendy shuddered as she recalled her days within the stuffy, old classroom. Nevertheless, it was during those times that her memories of Neverland were the most vivid. Her mind would spend hours soaring from cloud to cloud in Neverland, while her body remained rooted to the hard, wooden stool in Mr Beckett's classroom.

'Wendy, dear! Are you even listening to me?' asked her mother as she clicked her fingers together.

'Yes, Mother,' Wendy replied, straightening the startled expression on her face. 'You were telling me about the...the...'

Her mother sighed gently and turned to face her daughter. Her eyes were wide and beseeching as she gently cupped her daughter's face in her hands.

'I hate to keep on at you, Wendy, but you really need to come down from the clouds. I know that this is not, perhaps, the most exciting experience...learning how to remove stains from shirts,' she said, gesturing towards Mr Darling's shirt, which lay in a basin of water. 'But, one day, you will be a wife and a mother.'

Wendy shook her head free of her mother's gentle grip and looked at the floor. The urge to cry had swooped down upon her unexpectedly and Wendy struggled to hold in her tears.

'Oh, Wendy,' her mother said softly. 'I know that, at the present, that thought does not make you happy. But, I can assure you, there is no greater adventure than motherhood.'

Raising her head, Wendy's eyes flickered to her mother's kind and earnest expression and wrapped her arms around her waist. She knew that her parents were very much in love and that they lived a happy, albeit chaotic, life with three children and a canine nanny. But Wendy could not visualise herself partaking in the same simple lifestyle as that of her parents.

Leaving her family home would be difficult and Wendy could not bear to imagine what her life would be like without waking up to the noises – that is to say, the riotous chaos – that her brothers created. But that was not the reason for the dread that gnawed away at her. The life that lay before her, a life of marriage and children, with a mysterious stranger who she had not yet encountered filled her with abject misery. When that moment finally arrived, the dream of an adventurous, exciting life would end and she would sigh and continue sewing up the holes in her children's garments. Being 'Mother' to the Lost Boys had been different, it was part of a game in a world of wonders and excitement. Raising children and attending to the needs of her husband in a townhouse in Bloomsbury did not seem like a particularly grand adventure.

It was impossible for Wendy, the girl who had fought pirates, encountered mermaids and kissed an immortal youth, to bury those memories and welcome a life of sewing, cooking and waiting on the wiles of her children and spouse.

In recent years, however, her thoughts had turned from reminisces of Neverland to concerns about her future. The mysterious, shadowed figure of 'husband' loomed in her wake, but, sometimes, very late at night, the figure took the shape of someone she knew very well. Peter. Wendy freed her imagination and let her thoughts of Peter take over. She fantasised about returning to Neverland with him by her side, embarking on never-ending adventures. Excitement and passion would never fade.

But, in the light of day, her fantasies seemed ludicrous and pathetic. She was far too old to return to Neverland and Peter would not have aged a day. He would be furious to see her now and he would never understand that, in her heart, she was still the little girl who had taken his hand and leapt from the windowsill of the nursery.

Sometimes, she imagined what it would have been like if Peter had decided to come back to London with her. The future seemed far more exciting when the mysterious form of 'husband' assumed that of Peter. But he was far too free-spirited and in love with his youth to ever think about settling down to a life of work, marriage and children. Despite the creations of her imagination, Wendy knew, deep down, that it would have been a very unhappy marriage, indeed.

'Come,' said her mother, finally, as they broke apart. 'Let's go into town.'

'Town? But what about Father's shirt?'

'Oh, it can wait until we get back,' said her mother with a mischievous smile as she reached for her hat that perched on a coat peg. 'I think we could both do with a bit of fresh air.'

A balding man with a crown of tufty white hair stood in front of the counter of the bookshop, grinning widely as he addressed the lady behind the till. His smile was pleasant and warm, but Wendy could not help but notice several missing teeth and the nuggets of gold that glistened in their place. His shirt strained over his voluptuous stomach and, despite his suspenders, he had to frequently hoist the waistband of his trousers upwards.

'Unfortunately, sir, the book you have requested has not been in print for several years,' said Mrs Heavey with a shake of her head.

The Heaveys had owned the local bookshop for many years and were friendly with the Darling family. Mrs Heavey failed to notice their arrival and, at that moment, her attention was directed towards the peculiar gentleman in front of her.

The old man tutted loudly as he rolled on the balls of his feet.

'Dear, dear, what a pity. I was so hoping to read it again as well. I remember reading it when I was a young lad...' he replied. His voice was polite and measured, but there was a gruffness to it that did not elude Wendy's hearing. 'Ah well, thank you for your help.'

'Have a nice day, sir.'

The shop assistant's eyes followed the curious man out of the shop. She was not the only one.

'Wendy? Are you alright? You've gone awfully pale.' Mrs Darling's forehead creased in alarm as she raised her hand to her daughter's cheek. 'You're as cold as ice.'

'I...I – I need to speak to that man.'

'What man? Oh, Wendy, really! You don't even know him...do you?'

'I don't know...' Wendy's voice sounded vague and dreamy as she walked determinedly towards the door that the man had just exited through.

She half-expected him to have disappeared down the street, but, to her surprise, he stood outside the shop. With one hand, he tried to light his pipe and the other he used to shield the flame from the strong breeze.

Goosebumps pricked her skin as her eyes fixed on the familiar figure and she experienced the chilling sensation of déjà-vu.

'Wendy! Don't walk off like that. What are you doing?' Her mother grasped her by the elbow and tried to turn her daughter back towards the bookshop. The old man had not noticed her until now, but, as her mother called her name, his eyes lifted from his pipe and focused on Wendy.

Her heart began to thud loudly as the man's lips curled into a crooked smile. It held none of the warmth of that with which he had greeted Mrs Heavey, but the gold fillings glinted in the light of the afternoon sun. It was a impish smile and the memories that returned to the forefront of Wendy's mind, no doubt matched his own.

'For goodness' sake, Wendy. Let's go back inside!' insisted Mrs Darling, pulling her daughter away from the stranger. Wendy's woke from her dreamlike state and turned to face her mother, who looked bewildered to the point of terrified.

'I – I'm sorry, Mother. I thought I saw...' Wendy's head snapped round to the spot where the man was. But, to her dismay, he had gone.

'No one,' she muttered dismally. 'Let's go back inside.'

They were barely an hour out of doors before they decided to return home. During their walk home, Mrs Darling failed to coax more than a few words out of her daughter on the subject of the mysterious stranger though she pursued the topic with fervent curiosity. Wendy, though silent, could not hush the chaotic rush of thoughts, storming through her mind.

Wendy's shock was overwhelming to the point that she was incapable of uttering that, unless she was very much mistaken, she had just encountered the bo'sun of the Jolly Roger – Mr Smee.

He was genial, odd and, for the most part, harmless, but a darker streak lurked within the man who bound himself to the cruellest person that Wendy had ever encountered. Wendy had not forgotten that it was Mr. Smee who had pushed her onto the rough, wooden plank, albeit, he had acted upon orders from the captain. He had also been prepared to let her go if she had consented to being the ship's story-teller.

Mr Darling's shirt continued to float in the sink, but neither of the women gave heed to the basin of washing as they marched into the living room and settled into the sofa by the fire.

Wendy smiled grimly over her sewing as she recalled how vehemently she had refused to entertain such a notion and how fiercely she resisted against the pirates' attempts to recruit her. Now, given her current state of affairs, Wendy would gladly welcome the opportunity of employment upon the Jolly Roger – despite the overwhelming presence of pirates. At the time, her experience upon the Jolly Roger had been terrifying, but, back in security of her London residence, the memories had omitted the fear element; it all seemed such exciting fun.

She could feel the intent gaze of her mother as she sewed and Wendy concentrated fiercely on the sliver of metal between her fingers. Her mother had relented and ceased her endless questioning, but her watchful gaze did not stray too far from her daughter over the course of the afternoon.

It was only upon the return of John and Michael that Wendy heaved a sigh of relief and rubbed her eyes, which ached with the effort of avoiding her mother.

'What did you learn at school today, boys?' asked her mother as she poured milk into four glasses and a dish for Nana.

'History! Battles! Sword-fighting!' cried Michael as he ran from the kitchen to the living room. He retrieved one of Mrs Darling's knitting needles from her basket beside her chair and brandished it like a sword.

'Conquering kings! Jousts!' added John as he pinched the other needle and the two engaged in a combat of knitting needles.

'Careful, boys,' called their mother from the kitchen. She entered the living room, carrying the four glasses of milk balanced on a tray. Nana padded behind her, picking up the boys' discarded blazers and ties with her teeth as she went.

'The bloody history of England! King Henry VIII!'

'Now, John, lay down your arms and drink your milk,' said Mrs Darling with an indulgent smile, removing the knitting needle from his grasp.

Wendy smiled as she watched her brothers chat animatedly. Like herself, their trip to Neverland had not quelled their thirst for adventure and excitement and she was pleased to see that they both showed no intention of growing up too quickly or abandoning their love of play and make-believe.

Her father returned home shortly afterwards and it was with regret that Wendy went to bed without getting the chance to tell John and Michael about the mysterious happenings that occurred that afternoon. Whenever they were alone together, out of earshot of their parents, the trio loved nothing more than to recall their adventures and re-experience their time in Neverland all over again.

As she pulled her bed-covers over her chest, Wendy marvelled at the curious events of the day and sent a silent prayer that it was not just the workings of her imagination. She wanted nothing more than to have one more adventure before her life was taken out of her hands and into the mysterious palms of her 'husband'.

The midnight sky slowly faded into complete darkness as Wendy closed her eyes.

But, her eyes had closed for a mere two seconds before she felt an inexplicable urge to open them again. And there he was, gripping the window-frame for support.

Wendy threw back the covers in delight and hurried towards the boy she had not seen for a very, very long time.