Three: Never, Never Land

The day did come when I asked Peter to take me outside of his territory. He was curious as to where I had in mind. I told him, no – I didn't want to go to Pirate Cove yet. No, I didn't want to see the rivers yet. And no, no way did I want to see Hangman's Island.

"I don't blame you – it's a pretty somber place. Some of my best friends died there." He said this so casually!

"Peter, I…I'm sorry."

"Not a big deal. Some of us die. Then again," he pointed at himself, and the ego was back, "Some of us don't." There was silence for a moment. "So, where do you want to go?"

I took a deep breath; I'd been plotting this for weeks. "The Frigid Mountains."

He didn't look mad, just curious. "Really, why?"

"I've just heard so much about them. I wanted to see them for myself."

He smirked. "You know, they're said to be one of the most romantic places in all of Neverland."

"Peter, you don't know romance, you only know sex."

"And there's nothing wrong with that; I'm a perpetually eighteen-year-old boy. To me, they're practically the same thing."

I still had yet to fly, so I had to be carried. I was getting sick of it because it gave Peter a little bit of leverage over me. Just a little.

We reached the mountains in the late afternoon, and Peter set to work at getting the tent up. I walked around, taking in the scenery. It was cold, but not the way earth-mountains are. It wasn't freezing, even though there was snow. It was just kind of a dry cool.

Suddenly, I screeched: a gaggle of penguins came out of nowhere, and I hadn't been expecting it. Peter turned but laughed when he saw what gave me such a fright.

"Don't scream like that, Rose, you'll make me think one of the Tigers has come up this way."

"Um, sorry Peter, but…tigers?"

"Yes, Tigers. They're huge. And very, very smart. Don't ever get caught alone with one unless you can fly, and even then I wouldn't reccomend it." He went back to pitching the tent while I played with the penguins. They were friendly and cute and fun to watch.

Eventually though, I told Peter I was going for a walk. I meandered over the rocky precipices until I found the western edge of the mountains: from here, I could see everything. Looking to the south, I saw two islands. One of those must be Hangman's Island. I thought. To the east was a vast desert, and I had to squint to see that there was an end to it. And then, I saw it: the Far Lake. At first, I thought it was a trick of the wind, but no. There was no doubt about it: the lake had a pulse. It glowed in the neon blush of dusk.

I must have sat there for hours before going back, because it was dark by the time I left. I found Peter making dinner over a fire. We ate in silence mostly – something I never associated with Peter. Finally, he spoke.

"So, what do think about the mountains?"

"They're beautiful." I sincerely meant that.

He smiled, wiping sauce from his mouth. "Just wait until you see them at daybreak." He took another bite, and then said, "These mountains are good places to learn how to fly. Or at least, they were for me." It was hard for me to imagine Peter unable to fly, because that was the only way I knew him.

"Should I practice?"

"Yes." A pause. "Your form is great, you have enough fairy dust…your problem is your happy thought. What's the happiest memory?"

"I…I think I lost it a while ago, Peter. My…my mum died."

Peter looked down into the crackling flames, "Oh. I'm sorry." He sounded monotone.

"Peter?"

He looked up. "Yes?"

"How…how did you know my mother?"

He became very, very stiff. "I met your mother through your grandmother, and your great grandmother before her: Wendy." He was quiet.

I wondered if the story was true. "You loved Wendy, didn't you." It didn't deserve a question mark.

He dipped his head low before answering in his quietest voice, "Yes." There was a wall that came crashing down around us. "You don't know. She was so beautiful, and so kind. But she did not love me enough to stay in Neverland. She got married, and had your grandmother…who I too got to know. Then she also became a wife, and had your mother."

"Peter…"

"Your mother looked just like Wendy. I loved her too. But never the way I loved Wendy. Never. I've suffered for a hundred years because of Wendy, and I'm still waiting for someone to come along to end it."

Everything about Peter is a learning experience, whether I want it to be or not. That day in the Frigid Mountains was no exception: he made me hike the whole way up to the very tallest peak of the very highest mountain; it may not have been as cold as the name described, but it was trying nonetheless.

The snow, although dry and indifferent to temperature, was deep; there were strong winds that seemed to push me in all directions; Peter was undeniably one of the most infuriating "cheerleaders" you can ever imagine having. He wasn't very good at encouragement, but at put-downs, he excelled.

"You're not trying hard enough!" He would shout over the wind, or, "Come on, I can fly in this gale! Move!" Oh, it got worse, I just don't want to relive it.

Finally, I lost my temper: "What in hell does this have to do with me learning how to fly?!"

He hovered there for a while, miraculously undisturbed by the howling winds. Then, in as pleasant a voice as you can imagine, he said with a smile, "If you can't even walk in this weather, how do you expect to fly in it?"

I hated that: he could always make a point out of something…sometimes, out of nothing. "I hate you, sometimes."

He laughed. "You know you want it."

I muttered curses after him the whole way up.

By the time we reached the pinnacle of the highest mountain – The Chair of Neverland, Peter called it – I was almost unable to breathe. Had we been on earth, I doubt I could have. Luckily for me (and Peter, I suppose) the Magic of Neverland kept us breathing.

Peter came to stand beside me in the snow and held me up while I caught my breath. Once I did this, he looked at me, those mischievous emerald eyes sparkling with maniacal glee. A single word escaped those thin lips: "Ready?"

"What for?"

"Jump."

Silence but for the wind. "WHAT? Are you mad?!"

He chuckled, "Perhaps." Then, he did something I still can't forgive him for: he pushed me off the top of that mountain. I never did regain a real memory of that fall…but I'll tell you what – it hurt. It hurt like all hell and then some.

So after my blackout, I remember waking up in the tree house, bandaged and bruised in my room. There, sitting on the ledge of my tree branch was a lost girl whom I recognized as Suzanna. "Oh my goodness! You're awake! Thank god!" She rushed into my room and checked my temperature, asked me if I wanted food, that sort of thing. She was very kind to me. "We were all ever so worried about you when Peter told us what happened!"

I watched with a pinch of anger as a flash of gold embellished the way her tiny wrists moved. I suddenly hated that pretty golden hair – those bright, almond-colored eyes. But still, I couldn't deny that she'd taken care of me.

"Really now? What did…what did he say?" It was a strain just to speak.

"Oh, it truly is wretched: thinking that one of our own – Princess, at that! – took a tumble off the top of the Chair of Neverland! What did you slip on? A stray piece of ice?"

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her pale skin was flushed with embarrassment. "You don't have to tell me if it brings up bad memories. I was just curious."

And then it hit me: she thought I'd fallen in an accident. And judging by this, so did everyone else. Peter. Peter, that bastard had lied! The ass who'd pushed me off a cliff lied and told everyone that I'd slipped! Like it was my own clumsy fault! "No," I said as flatly as I could, "It's fine. I – I did hit a loose patch of ice."

Sometimes, I still regret defending his decision to lie.

It took a grand total of two weeks for those injuries to heal, and even longer than that for the emotional damage to be repaired. What really hurt the most was how Peter just…went on living, like nothing ever happened.

Of course, being me, I couldn't just let him go.

I cornered him one day, and the quietest of battles ensued. "You fucking liar."

"Pardon?" he sounded cheerful as ever.

"I can't believe you! How could you go and pull a stunt like that?" I knew my hands were already up in the air as I spoke. "Going and pushing me off a mountain – almost to my death – and then telling everyone that it was my own stupid mistake? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

He stood from a map he was looking at and crossed over his desk to linger in the air just before me. "Nothing is wrong with me, Rose. Then again…there's not too much that's right, either." There was that goddamned smirk.

"You really don't care, do you?" I could feel my body shake with anger.

"I wouldn't go that far." He was feigning hurt. Those stupid lips pouted as if he thought it would save him. I wouldn't answer. "Look," he sighed, the first real sign I'd seen in a long time that remotely resembled frustration. "I never meant for you to get hurt. I felt awful, ok? But I was trying to help you."

"Oh yes, just toss me off the highest point in Neverland you can dream up, Peter! That'll do it!"

"No, you don't understand! Socratic method: either you'd be forced out of fear to fly, or in your final moments of life, you'd dream up something happy. It made sense in my mind." His voice drifted softly into the carpet.

He pulled from his left wrist a golden bangle, tossed it at my feet. I picked it up to examine it, but clenched my fist around it. "I'm not one of your skank girlfriends, Peter! I won't be mollified by a cheap trinket of your fake affections!"

He wouldn't look at me, only the section of wall just above my head. "Take it, nevertheless." His voice was broken; agitated. I could see his face coloring to match his scarlet hair, and yet, there was no pulse of a vein in his neck: no pulsating sign of human anger.

"No." I threw it back at him.

He bent gently down to pick it up. He sighed and walked over to me, taking my wrist and forcing it on my arm. "It's a gift." When he turned his back on me, I screamed and pulled hard at the thin piece of gold. It snapped into pieces – the sound seemed to reverberate across time.

Peter's shoulders were shaking. Never before had he endured hearing that sound. Never before had he truly been rejected. I suddenly felt very bad for what I'd done. "Peter, I – I'm sorry."

"Get out."

"I –"

"GET OUT, NOW!" I'd never heard him scream like that. I ran from the room and chased my own shadow into my room, staying there for the remainder of the night. I didn't even show up for dinner. I've been told that although – by obligation – Peter went to dinner that night, it was as though he were made of stone.

That fight had seemed so loud to me, but I know that we were the only ones who heard it. It was our first secret, and a very shameful first secret at that.

A/n: Thank you so, so, so much to all who've reviewed so far! It means so much to me!

xo, annie.