She was next to him the entire day, but in all her attempts to shield him from the sun, his skin still managed to turn a bright red. She gave him sips of water that he succumbed to drinking after hours of arrogant refusal, and, for a reason unknown to her as well as the boy she so diligently cared for, brought him food and comfort.

Peter had tied Graham to the base of a tree and sentenced him to a day boiling in the sun without food or drink (which didn't dissuade Marie from helping him anyway), along with the threat of "dealing with him later." Though everyone expected something horrible, no one knew exactly what Peter had in store for the poor lost boy.

And so Marie sat with Graham, as the cold morning turned into scorching hot midday and then a cooler afternoon. He protested for the first few hours, the first many hours, really, until he realized that despite his best efforts, Marie would refuse to leave. She was that kind of person, he'd realized, the sort of good that's strangely rare, a good Graham hadn't seen in a long time. There certainly wasn't any sort of people like that in Neverland.

When she asked about the boys, Graham was unsure of how to answer. His skin was burning, and though his anger had dissipated at the girl, he still didn't really trust her. But they were alone in the clearing Peter had placed him in, and he couldn't really get into much more trouble than he was already in now.

So he told her everything, from the first lost boys to the ones they had then, and how they fluctuated based on their skills and what Peter required at the time. He replaced every one he killed, so most of the veteran boys weren't surprised when Peter disappeared with a boy and two days later, a new one showed up. Graham also told her that he expected to die, but she only gave him a bleak smile and told him she wouldn't let Peter kill someone.

"Why are you doing this?" They hadn't spoken in awhile—Marie was dabbing the skin with cold water from her fingers and letting it drip down his face for a cooling affect that she wasn't sure even worked. He was tied with some sort of unbreakable bond to the tree, so the sun could hit him at every point, no matter where he or the sun rotated. Marie had tried to break him out of his prison, even loosen his bonds, but nothing worked. So she stayed with him.

"What?" Marie was in a sort of trance, dripping the water down his skin, hoping it was soothing. He hadn't told her otherwise, so she took it as a good sign.

"Why are you doing this," he said again, his hoarse voice making the question a statement. She stopped for a moment, and looked into his eyes. He no longer looked angry—only sad and pitiful. Marie tried not to pity him, but she couldn't help herself.

"I'm doing it because I want to," she replied, and offered him another sip of water. He shook his head. "Don't get dehydrated, it'll only make everything worse."

"Why do you want to do this?" he asked, and she frowned.

"Must kindness always have a reason behind it?"

"Well, usually kindness comes with some sort of price." He looked at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. "Like magic."

"Well, surprisingly, kindness isn't magic, though on this wretched island, I'm beginning to think it is." She stopped dripping water on him for a moment, closing her eyes. The sun went temporarily behind a cloud, and she herself finally had a break from the sun. The skin around her shoulders that wasn't blocked by her tank top was turning pink, and she was sure she would have a peeling sunburn by the time she was subjected to darkness once more.

"I just don't understand why you're being so kind to me after I was so rude to you."

"Rude is a pleasant way of putting it," she said with a wry smirk, and met his eyes. He didn't look angry—he looked regretful, and actually very apologetic. Marie didn't buy it for a second. "You were a huge ass." Graham let out a short, raspy laugh, shaking his head and turning away. Marie motioned for him to drink again, so he did, and drained the rest of the water.

"Thank you." He smiled at her—she really was lovely to look at, and he supposed he knew why Peter was keeping her around. He doubted Pan would keep her for the reasons he himself would, but it definitely wasn't just her storytelling. As she walked away to get more water from the bucket he had recently drained, he watched her, and knew for certain that Peter was keeping her there for more reasons than one.

"Graham, you look rather crimson." A voice interrupted his thoughts, and he snapped his head in the direction of the sound. His dry lips parted for a moment as he laid eyes on Pan walking toward him with a confident, cocky stride. Graham had failed to realize that, though it was still light, the sun had disappeared from the sky and the trees had begun casting their shadows. He wondered how long Marie had been gone, because he was positive that it was still sunny while she was there.

Peter stared down at Graham with a cruel smile, tilting his head so that he could stare at Graham face to face. "Where's your little dove now?" Graham stared forward, refusing to make eye contact with the boy. That's all he was, a boy, an immature, insolent, little boy, and it astounded him that no one else managed to see that. He didn't care if he died knowing it—at least he would die not living a lie.

Marie was walking back into the clearing with a fresh pail of water when she witnessed Graham somehow managing to turn to face the other way, his red, bare back facing Peter. It wasn't Peter's hand up, somehow moving him into that position, or the stretched and bloody skin of Graham as he twisted and his bones threatened to snap inside him. It was his screams.

"PETER!" The scream was louder than it was meant to be, but it got his attention. Marie's eyes were full of horror at the scene in front of her, but Peter couldn't stop. "Peter, stop this, please!" She wouldn't cry—she couldn't cry, but her hands were instinctively covering her gaping mouth as he twisted and twisted, his yells getting louder with each inch he moved. "Stop it, now!"

"Okay," he said, smiling despite himself. She stared at him in disbelief, and he dropped his hand, leaving Graham turned over with his back facing them. It was red beyond belief, tender, too, and Peter smiled. Graham let out a gasp of relief, and collapsed by the tree. "But to stop this, I'll have to start something else."

"Peter, stop it, please!" She ran over to him, her face creased with distain. "You said I could choose his punishment!"

"I asked you your opinion."

"Please don't hurt him anymore." Her eyes were huge, tears at the edges and a plea, so many pleas in the reflection of her eyes. Peter shrugged and moved off into the woods.

"What's it to you?"

"I—" she hesitated, looking past him at Graham. Peter stopped walking to turn towards her, and followed her gaze. Graham was breathing heavily, strangled gasps coming out as his back moved up and down with each heave. Peter looked back at Marie and saw pity. In her eyes, in her stature, in her hands. She had dropped that pail of water she was using for who knows what, and her hands were by her mouth, covering it as if she was about to scream.

This frustrated Peter—no one pitied the lost boys. Pity was something unknown to them as soon as they arrived in Neverland, because they weren't pitiful. They were strong and they were tough and they were unbreakable—but by the screams that Graham had just expelled; that wasn't an act of a lost boy. He was pitiful. And any act of pity towards one of his lost boys was a direct act of pity towards him.

Peter smiled, a plan forming like tiny webs spreading across his mind. He smiled because, even though Graham was emitting cries across the clearing, he was only doing damage to himself. Graham was no longer a lost boy. And, in the boyish, prideful mind of Peter, the worst punishment was not death—it was pity.

Peter took off once more into the woods, a gruesome smile wide on his face, and Marie stumbled after him.

"Peter, wait!" she yelled, her high voice ringing through his ears. He kept walking, trying to find the one he wanted, one that would snap and bend but never break. "Please, Peter, stop this!" He ignored her, knowing full and well she wouldn't be able to catch up with him if he walked at this pace.

She was right behind him, about to grab his shoulder, in fact, when he stopped abruptly and she ran into him. Peter muttered a few choice curse words as he stumbled forward.

"I'm sor—"

"Marie." Peter began to turn around, his annoyance with her plain on his face. She was such a nuisance, and Peter was about to shout at her for it when he met her eyes.

The fact that her eyes were a peculiar shade of brown, very light and clear looking, was the first thing he noticed. There was a ray of sun coming down right above them, glinting off her face and casting shadows by her nose and eyelids. But her brown eyes were full of hope, full of mercy and pleas and he was struck suddenly by how much good she stood for. And then he realized that there was never sunlight in this part of the forest, and why was it shining on her, of all people?

"Peter?" she asked, and he realized he had been staring at her for longer than deemed appropriate. He blinked and looked away, dropping his hands that he had unknowingly placed on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I—"

"Stop apologizing," he said, but his voice was quieter and held less authority than he meant it to. She opened her mouth, probably to apologize, but closed it with a small smile, despite her situation. Peter wanted to turn away from her, but he didn't. He just stood there while Marie talked.

Once again she asked him to let Graham go, to just forget anything happened, and she offered herself to be punished instead. Stupid girl. But Peter let her talk because he liked the sound of her voice and suddenly it was all he wanted to hear, even if she was rambling.

But he couldn't let Graham live—not after what he'd done.

Marie stared at him, awaiting an answer. She felt like she had been talking nonstop into an empty void, because Peter was looking at the ground and not at her. She was thinking that maybe she'd been wrong, maybe he wasn't a monster, that she was too quick to judge, when he met her eyes again. They were filled with the fury they had been minutes ago, before she had began talking to him, and her face fell.

He turned around roughly, bending over and grabbing a long, flexible looking stick. Marie walked toward him, staring at it. She felt her stomach drop as he held up the stick and inspected it, flicking it out like a whip. "Peter, don't—"

"You do not tell me what to do!" he shouted at her, his face creased with a childish anger as he pushed past her. Marie was taken aback as he stormed through the forest, leaving her behind and helpless.

For some reason, this disappointed Marie. She let herself fall to the ground, while a subtle realization crawled its way into her mind. She had let both of them down; Peter and Graham, and she didn't know what to do. She'd tried to reason with him but Peter didn't listen, and he had walked back there with that stick, maybe to let Graham go—

Though as much as that thought filled her with hope, another one pooled dread in her stomach. What must have been a lashing stick, Graham's position, with his back out to the woods. She stood up, feeling dizzy, and sprinted after Peter, following the trail of crushed leaves.

A/N: This… ehe… took a bit longer than usual because I procrastinated, and also because we left of vacation and I haven't seen nor heard of any available wifi. So, here it is, finally, and *hopefully* the next chapter will be out soon.