Chapter Two – Over the Breakfast Table

I do not own any part of the novel 'Peter Pan' by J.M Barrie and the following sequence is entirely imaginary.

A Waiting Game

Wendy's POV

Breakfast held no appeal to Wendy that morning. She used her fork to push the slices of meat and cheese on her plate around, toying with them idly. She sat straight backed in her chair at the long dining room table, wishing she were somewhere else. Her father looked incredibly old to her, sitting at the head of the table talking to the boys and her mother wouldn't meet her eyes. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin before placing the scrap of material on the table and pushing back her chair. She stood, drawing the attention of her family.

"If you'll excuse me," she muttered, turning as she said it to prevent anyone from stopping her. The rest of the people around the table glanced at each other in silence. As Wendy shut the door, Mr. Darling tossed down his cutlery.

"This can't go on – it's ridiculous! She'll be 15 in six weeks and still believe in fairy stories. She needs her own room too; In fact, let's move her tonight." His words were directed at Mrs. Darling, who nodded. Even though she knew Wendy wouldn't like it, it needed to be done, sooner or later.

Wendy's tears dripped silently down her cheeks as she gathered the last of her books together in her arms; the last of her belongings from the nursery. She trudged slowly down the corridor to the opposite end of the house – Peter would never find her in this bedroom. It was tastefully decorated in shades of blue, with a view over the garden, but it didn't feel like hers. The clothes in the wardrobe were hers, the books on the shelves were hers and the writing paper on the desk had her name on it, but it didn't feel right. Didn't feel like hers.

She sat on the edge of the bed and watched the sun set out her west facing window. The books slipped from her arms and tumbled into a haphazard heap on the floor; she didn't move to pick them up, but wrapped her arms around herself in a hug. She pulled her hair out from its low bun, and let her dark honey curls spill over her shoulders – the family had already eaten dinner, so she needn't make another appearance tonight. She stripped off her day dress, letting it fall in a pile to the floor and slipped into her nightdress – at least that felt comforting, familiar. She walked to the window and unlatched it. She pushed it gently open, leaning out into the evening air. Her tears had stopped falling, but she knew her father would be relentless. He would send her to boarding school if he thought it would break her out of her "silly little fantasy land."

She laid her tear stained face tiredly atop her arms. Her head ached and she wondered whether for once she'd get a good night sleep. Her eyes closed, her lashes fluttering against her skin. She didn't even have the energy to yawn before she dropped off into a dreamless sleep.

Peter's POV

The nursery window was closed. Closed, with a capital C. Closed, latched, the whole thing, and Wendy wasn't there. She had been there every night, so naturally, so had he. He watched her sleep at night, watched as her mother always sent her to bed, and watched from the shadows as she crept back to her perch. He cast an eye over the huddle of lost boys, in their usual corner piled up with pillows, and Wendy's empty bed.

He flitted to the next window, then the next and the next, becoming more desperate with each. Her parents room, an empty guest room, a small study. He anxiously zipped round the other side of the house peering through the glass of the windows, and was finally rewarded. Wendy looked worn out, tear trails still fresh on her pale cheeks. He hovered as close as he ever dared get to her fragile body; close enough to almost (but not quite) touch her. He sighed – she was so beautiful, perfect in his eyes... Even as he had watched her grow up, day by day, she only grew more striking. He ached to touch her. Just once.

With a trembling hand, he reached for her, kissing the tip of his finger to her dusky pink lips. The butterfly light touch jerked Wendy into wakefulness, causing her to straighten too quickly, knock into the window sill and tumble into the air. She squeaked as she dropped like a rock through the air, falling towards the ground. She closed her eyes, and felt two strong arms close around her lithe body, catching her mid-fall. Her eyes flashed open and she found herself looking into a pair of blue green eyes, of which she had never found the equal. She wrapped her arms instinctively around Peter's neck, holding herself tightly to his body; somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that he'd grown. He floated them gently down to the ground, the grass cushioning their landing, so it made almost no sound. He set her gently on the ground and stood still holding her waist gently; he was a few inches taller than her now, but still had that boyish charm she adored. His hair still looked like a light brown birds nest, his eyes still glowed like the murky waters around Neverland.

He quirked his signature arrogant smile at her; "Hello Wendy."