Hey guys! I think I'm gonna concentrate on one fanfic at a time, cos I have like ten that I want to update atm but then I'd confuse myself if I was writing chapters for them all at the same time, so this fanfic is probs gonna be updated a lot over the next few weeks, and the others not so much So good news if the only story you read of mine is this one!XD

Enjoy the chapterrrr!:)))

Chapter 8- The First Day of Summer

Wendy stayed with me for the rest of Sunday, and all of Monday, although her parents and I rightly forced her to sleep in her own bed and not in that creaky chair by the bedside. I was able to sit up now, and walk out the room to the bathroom by myself. The doctor was overjoyed with my progress, saying he might even take the stitches out Friday, instead of Sunday. It really was a treat, watching his face, still quite young only thirty at most, light up when he saw my healing progress.

"My, my Peter, you do heal fast."

"Well… I guess it must be the fairy dust." I said with a smile.

He looked at me with half a frown, half a smile, on his face (an odd combination at that), "Yes…" He ruffled my hair fondly, "I suppose it must be."

He really was an extraordinary man, so warm and benevolent- not at all a bad grown up- maybe they weren't all bad. Perhaps I'd turn the 'evil doctor' game into the 'friendly doctor and evil illness' game.

Tuesday came and Wendy came to say goodbye with her book snugly sat in her satchel along with a notepad and a pencil. Again she was dressed smartly, this time in shamrock coloured dress, short sleeved, with golden buttons down the centre of her chest. Mary had done her hair up into a neat bun, but still a few wisps had struggled free and danced along her cheek bones.

"I'll see you in a bit, be careful," She said as I munched away on my toast.

"I always do!" I sang.

She kissed the top of my forehead softly and left.

I paused in my meal and gently touched the spot on my forehead. Closing my eyes softly I breathed in deeply, what was that feeling? That pull, desire, whatever you want to call it, what did it mean?

I shrugged it off and picked up the book on my bedside table, and began to read, as Wendy has taught me to.

It felt like days before she returned… I finished one book, got onto the next one… had lunch… played a strange game called chess with John, in which I spectacularly failed…

"No no no! You can't move the Knight that way."

"Why not?"

"Because you just can't- it's the rules."

"Well I change the rules!"

"Peter! This isn't Neverland you can't just change the rules of a game because you feel like it."

"Then London is boring! Rules were made to be broken!"

But eventually she was back.

"It's being printed! The manager said he'll get it into the bookstores by next Tuesday, all across London!" Her face was flushed pink, and her eyes were sparkling like sapphires, like treasure.

"Oh Wendy!" John leaped up and dived into his sister's arms.

Wendy laughed aloud, the kind of laugh that could create a fairy, and kissed the top of his head affectionately.

I paused; did Wendy kiss everyone like that? Like she kissed me earlier… Was I just thought of as a little brother to her?

I shook my head. Why did it matter how Wendy acted around me? How Wendy thought of me?

I too stood up.

Wendy walked across to me slowly, her smile dazzling my eyes, with a spring in every step she took, "John leave us a moment please."

"What why?" John wailed.

Wendy turned and looked at him.

"Fine!" He said hastily, seeing Wendy's 'mother look' and he skipped out the room, "Michael! Did Wendy tell you?" His footsteps disappeared down the staircase.

I cupped her face in my hand, "I'm so proud of you."

"No… I need to thank you Peter, for taking me that night last year... for coming and listening to my stories- you've given me a life, a future. I'm an author." She shook her head in disbelief, "Can you believe it? Me, a woman at that! An author?! Oh Peter!" And she flung her arms around my neck and nuzzled into my neck, "I'm an author…"

"You gave that future to yourself, with your writing, your skill… and your own imagination."

I pulled her back and looked directly into her eyes, "You only have yourself to thank." With that I leaned closer to her, my lips ever so slightly parted.

"Peter…" She stretched up to me, so our lips were almost touching, noses grazing against each other. Then she pulled back, and blinked, "How long are you staying?" She inquired suddenly, her eyes questioning and almost… scared?

I too took a step back.

"What?"

"In London? How long are…?"

"I need to get better before I can fly home."

"That's not a straight answer."

"Maybe I don't have a straight answer." I retorted harshly.

She stared at me.

"Sorry." I muttered.

There was silence.

"I have to tell Arthur!" She exclaimed suddenly, rushing towards the window and grabbing some paper and a pen.

"Who?"

"Oh yes, you haven't met. Erm Arthur, he's my friend who lives in America. He's nineteen, and such a gentleman! We send letters to each other all the time; he's a writer too! He's helped me when writing those stories about you Peter. Oh and he's written the most beautiful stories himself!" She gazed out the window dreamily and I felt a twang of something sour.

"I'm sure he has," I said bitterly, sitting back down on the bed.

"Yes. He has. He writes romantics, one of his characters was based off me you know." She sighed contentedly and began to write, slowly and carefully curling her letters with such affection.

"How lucky of you." I pulled the covers over me and turned to face the wall.

She put her pen down.

"What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy for me!"

"I am happy!" It came out more spitefully than intended.

"Well you don't sound it!"

"Well then I guess you should stop talking to me and go and talk to Arthur."

She paused.

"Are you jealous?" She looked at me with such incredulity my heart ached. "Peter, Arthur and I been friends for the past year!"

"Jealousy? I've never heard of the feeling!"

Or perhaps it was just my wound aching, of course that must be it; my heart doesn't ache.

"Oh of course because you, the boy who never grows up, only feels happiness." She bit back sarcastically.

"I am a boy, I don't have adult feelings!"

"No you're not Peter."

She stared at me.

Her eyes were so piercing, so steady and bright. I wanted to watch them all day; I could spend hours watching them.

But instead I simply turned away.

xxxxxxxx

We tried to forget it. That little hiccup, but after that she acted differently. Not that differently, but she wouldn't stoke my face with the same tenderness, she wouldn't look at me in that same way; her eyes didn't sparkle when she saw me. I felt like hiding in my bedroom, but Wendy had been right about that beast in some ways, if he'd locked himself in the castle it was unlikely that some random person would stumble in and save him. Stop feeling sorry for yourself Peter, get up!

So I did. But that morning I wish I'd just stayed in my bed. But maybe it was better to know. In the end I probably would have found out anyways. It had been a week, the stitches were out and I was up and moving.

Wendy and George were trying to make pancakes in the kitchen while I was getting out the honey and melting chocolate over the fire to spread on it.

"And now Wendy, see the master at work as I flip!" And on the word he spun the pancake up, "Aaaaand whoops!" In his excitement to catch the tossed pancake he tripped over the basket of groceries and the flung out the pan. To be fair the pancake did land in the pan as it skidded across the floor, but he ended up squashing half the tomatoes in the process. Oh the sacrifices we make to catch pancakes.

The jar of honey dropped onto the table with a thud!

I and Wendy burst into laughter.

"And that!" George stood up, grimacing at the tomatoes squashed on his back, creating a beautiful red painting, "Is how you flip a pancake."

"George dear!" Mary stood in the doorway, a look of horror on her face, "You look like you've been in a war!" She cried.

Wendy dissolved once more into giggles.

"I think we can conclude that Mr Darling can't flip pancakes." I chipped in cockily.

George looked at me with raised eyebrows, "And you can do better Peter?"

"I'm Peter pan! It's in the name! PANcakes!" I nodded at him and winked.

Mary chuckled, "I guess that's true. You have a go then dear, but watch your chest!"

"Will do!" I answered automatically, jumping up towards the pancakes. Delicately placing the mixture in the pan I began to cook the cakes of Pan. Really, how hard could it be? When they were ready I gently flipped the cake up, it was just like flipping my dagger really, and it landed spot on in the pan.

The three of them clapped and I gave a low bow. "Like I said, it's in the name!" I sang, winking at George.

"Humph!" He replied.

"Come on then George, I think you'd better change, don't you have that Sunday lunch to attend?"

"By Jove! I do! It's the 21st of June!"

"The first day of summer!" Wendy chipped in.

I froze, "It's what?"

"Oh Daddy's going out for lunch…"

"No. You said the date- what's the date?"

"The 21st of June…" Wendy began slowly, "Peter?"

But I wasn't listening.

"Happy Birthday Peter my dear!" Mother laughed happily as I blew out the candles.

"Thank you mother!"

"The first day of summer!" Father sighed, "What a beautiful day to have a birthday on!"

"If I could live in summer all the time I would!" I exclaimed happily, "Then it would always be warm and the trees would always be lush and full of leaves." I gasped, "I wonder what it would be like to have an outfit made of leaves! A leaf suit!" I looked up at them expectantly.

"What a barbaric thought!" Mother frowned at me and my face dropped.

"Sorry mother."

"I'm afraid you can't always live in summer son, time passes much faster than you think: soon you shall be a man! And what a fine one you'll be."

"But I don't want to grow up." I complained.

"Oh child we can't stop growing. It's impossible." Mother flapped her napkin about her in a fluster.

"Nothing's ever impossible, only improbable." I smiled at her.

"Oh the things you children come up with these days," She tutted at my words and left to clear the plates away.

"Come on son don't look so disheartened, fourteen is a beautiful age! You can start to come into the office with me if you like, and you've only a year left at school!" He sang cheerily.

"But can't I stay younger for a little longer?" I asked, biting my lower lip.

Father laughed at my words, "Oh if only we could! But no, we can't- tomorrow son I want you to come into the office with me. Make sure you get into a nice suit and whatever you do don't speak your mind. People who speak their minds aren't highly thought of these days, we must mould into social standards." He clapped me on the shoulder. "Forget this silly 'not growing up' business now, yes?"

"But I don't want to work in an office when I'm older!"

"Hush child! Don't speak to your father like that."

"But I don't-"

"I shall decide what you do and what you don't do because I know what's best for you." Father's voice raised a notch, "I'm your father. And you shall go with me to the office tomorrow and you shall bite that tongue of yours."

"Why can't I be a sailor? Or a doctor? An office job is so dry!" I fought back, my wild hair mocking me as it fell irritatingly into my eyes.

"An office job is well paid. Doctors can do naught for disease nowadays. Haven't you seen how cholera has sweetly swept the streets clear of people for us?! And why in God's name would you want to be a sailor! You have a job staring at you in the face- if you were a man you'd take it!"

"Then let's thank God I'm a boy!" I stood up sharply.

"You hold your tongue boy!" Father snarled, slamming his hands onto the table.

"Peter?!" Wendy shouted sharply.

"I'm fifteen." I whispered.

"Peter what's wrong?"

"I've never been here on my birthday… I always made sure I was never in London on my birthday…" I mumbled incoherently.

"Peter? It's okay…" She began quickly, "It doesn't matter what difference does one year ma-"

"It makes all the difference!" I shouted. "I can't… I won't grow up. No! No I won't ever, ever grow up! You can't make me!" And with that I stumbled out the kitchen, pounded down the corridor and raced onto the street, despite the fact I was wearing pyjamas, despite the fact my chest was muttering darkly in protest, despite the fact I had tears streaming down my face.

It couldn't be true.

I clamped my jaw together and kept on running, ignoring Wendy's screams at me to stop from behind, I kept going, running blindly, charging into people.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Oy! Manners!"

A sob rose up in my throat and I fought to keep it at bay.

I ran for forever, my chest burnt now, throbbed and seared with agony.

But I didn't care.

With a last push I stumbled into a large park, a lush green area that I'd been to so many times before.

WELCOME TO KENSINGTON GARDENS

I wasn't growing up.

I wasn't fifteen.

It was only the first day of summer.

Oh nooo! Peter's turned fifteeeennn! I know that may not be entirely accurate, like it's only his birthday and he may have only been out of never land for a total of like fifty days or something altogether, but let's just pretend that that's the way it all works;P

Anyways thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this last chappie, don't forget to review- constructive criticism always welcome:)))))

Acia xxx