The next morning, Peter did not shuffle morosely down to the piano, but in fact hobbled, on account that his feet were so sore. He had thought about how to court Wendy all night, and had even walked around the garden in careful slow paces to make sure that he was doing it well (and his feet really were sore). The whole dining hall was emptied, on account that the holidays were upon them, and all the girls had been sent home. He sat at the piano, as was now his habit, and stared at the sheet music. He begged to play without looking, but he really must practice his good character.

"It is not good form…" He mumbled to himself. But then again, was it not bad form to think about good form? He rolled his eyes. What a terrible contradiction. Always one to arrange his thoughts to his benefit he concluded that the should play the most beautifully, by ear, but it shall be Bach, because he was an awfully stuffy fellow and must have had the best form of them all.

It had really been a good choice, for Mr. Darling, being a bit stuffy himself, was part of his audience this morning. He had come with Mrs. Darling to judge Peter for himself. Now a Wisterian, a marriage to Peter might actually come to some benefit for Wendy. Although, Mr. Darling had calculated carefully that the expense of sending her away to the school did not quite make up for her poor marriage, but he reasoned, after all, that they had simply given the money to his possible future in-laws, and could be counted towards their earnings (which quite regrettably, was nothing). This had happily balanced the whole checkbook (as they really were only juggling just one figure) and Mr. Darling was so pleased by this, he had agreed to give Peter a chance.

It was good that Mr. Darling was charmed by the song and had closed his eyes to listen, so that he did not see the faces that Peter pulled at the rigidness of the notes. At the conclusion of his song, having done his due diligence of stuffiness, Peter played as he liked. Mr. Darling started a list in his notebook of good and bad marks for and against Peter. He happily marked one for 'good'. Mr. Darling and Mrs. Darling then approached Peter and stood behind him to greet him.

"You play very beautifully." Mr. Darling said, in his most stoutly voice. Peter turned to see them, and at recognizing Mrs. Darling played a foul note. Peter stood, having practiced his bowing the night before, and bowed graciously to Mr. and Mrs. Darling. They returned the gesture, quite pleased, and Mrs. Darling could hardly think that this was the sniffling boy who had been pulled away from Wendy just a few weeks ago. Peter saw Mr. Darling happily mark another for 'good', and said in a hushed tone.

"You are very lucky, Peter. I am happy to report that Wendy is not with child." Mr. Darling said, as if Peter would be pleased.

Peter was not really pleased. Dash it all.

"Ah, and I put in such effort…" He mumbled. Mr. Darling, quite shocked, dug in his paper a big, fat stroke for 'bad'.

Madame Wisteria, seeing a potential disaster, rushed to meet them, carrying in tow a very lovely young lady. It was Wendy of course, but Peter had never seen her look more like a lady. She wore stays in her dress, which gave her an elongated, stiffened look, as if she were sitting on a pole. Her hair was tied tightly in a chignon and Peter was shocked to think that it was not becoming on her at all. She looked at him, and seemed she could not contain her smile. It was to his great pleasure he saw she wore the kiss he had given her in the crinkle of her eye. Peter smiled widely, displaying the one she had given him. Mr. Darling, seeing the sweetness of the display, considered giving him another good mark. But on account of his jealousy that Mrs. Darling had never given him her kiss, felt he had not been respected as a father should, and dashed the thought.

"Should we take a turn around the garden?" Wendy asked eagerly.

"Wendy!" Mrs. Darling cried. "The gentleman always asks." She whispered to her.

"Should… we take a turn around the garden?" Peter said, unsure. Wendy bounced in her stays.

"Oh yes!" She said excitedly. Madame Wisteria, cross at Mr. Darling for putting any bad marks against her son, had started her own list and keenly kept it in view of Mr. Darling as she scribbled down a 'bad' note for Wendy. Reminding him that it was not only Peter getting married to Wendy, but Wendy to Peter.

They were escorted to the garden where Peter made sure to bow at every opportunity to show his eagerness. In entering the garden, Wendy tucked her hand at his elbow and at feeling the recognition of her touch, Peter squeezed it firmly to him. Peter began walking, as he had practiced, in slow calculating paces, not at all put together gracefully. Wendy was jolted, painfully slowly, down the path. Mrs. Darling could not retain her chuckle, and Peter, embarrassed, quickened his pace. Once out of sight, Wendy squeezed his arm excitedly and leaned to kiss him quite repeatedly on the cheek.

"You've shaved." She said in a giggle.

"I've been shaved." He said laughing, reveling in her kisses. "Madame Wisteria sheared me like a sheep." She kissed him deeply on the lips now, and although he really was trying to be courteous, could not resist. Naughty Wendy, he thought. They walked normally now, and Wendy could not quite keep her eyes off of him. Safe to say all her joyous bouncing did release her hair some, and strands began to pop out of their constraints. Peter thought this looked much better on her. Speaking of things bouncing out of constraints, he noticed her breasts had been squeezed quite tightly to display their volume and he had to try very hard not to look at them.

"Peter, you've grown up." She said, a bit sadly. "Does it not… are you cross?" He furrowed his brow. He had not been wholly bothered, for he felt he really had quite an adventure doing so. He had grown up for Wendy, after all. He could have stayed a boy, and watched her grow old, and marry… The thought suddenly repulsed him. He shall marry Wendy. No one else should have her, he was sure of it. He felt now that it all had happened as it should, and he felt deeply resolved.

"I'm not cross, Wendy." He said with a comforting squeeze. "I grew up for you. I left Neverland to come find you." He said smiling. "I have told you I love you, haven't I?" He said suddenly not sure.

"Yes, you have." She said, smiling. He nodded.

Even though it was sure that he was positively grown up, he did not feel so at all. He looked onto Wendy and her silliness and felt they were the strangest pair of grown ups he had ever seen.

In her giddiness, Wendy felt this walk to be awfully long and quickened her pace. Peter kept pace with her as if to challenge a race. Which concluded, quite regrettably, in them running through the garden until they popped out of the other end quite winded. Laughing and short for breath, she pointed an accusing finger at him.

"You cut through the roses!" She huffed. He shrugged, for they had all been dead in the winter and were too easy to jump over to not cut through.

They quickly remembered themselves and he took her hand, kissing it lightly as he placed it back in the crook of his elbow. Wendy tried to flatten her hair. They appeared to Mr. and Mrs. Darling as if they had taken a nice quiet stroll, save for Wendy being whacked in the face by a branch. Pleased as punch, Mr. Darling marked another for 'good'.

They were taken inside where they had the whole dining hall to eat a private dinner. A small table was set with the finest dishes for them to sit at. They sat, Wendy placed across from Peter, Mr. Darling sat across from Madame, and Mrs. Darling at her husband's side. They were presented with a first course, to Peter's horror, which was soup. He was an awful slurper, and Madame had slapped so many spoons out of his hands he could hardly recall. He followed all mannerism of Mr. Darling. Picking up his cup only when Mr. Darling did, and laying his napkin just so as Mr. Darling did. His copying did not go unnoticed, and feeling so important and respected Mr. Darling marked happily another 'good'. Mr. Darling's joy was short lived, though, as when they started their meal, he had to mark Peter three times for 'bad'. One for slurping (he really couldn't help it), one for spilling a spot on his trousers, and one for wiping his mouth quite unconsciously with his sleeve.

"Peter, you play the piano beautifully." Said Mrs. Darling. "Do you wish to be a musician?" She asked. Mr. Darling choked at the horror of the idea.

"I haven't even written a whole song." Said Peter.

"Peter is very good at telling stories." Offered Madam Wisteria.

"So, you shall be a writer?" Mr. Darling questioned, not comforted by the idea of writers either.

"I should be a father." He said, remembering that he had indeed not had a child. "Someday…"

Mrs. Darling was touched. "You like children, Peter?" She asked. He thought of his days in Neverland and the Lost Boys and grinned slyly.

"Ay!" He said.

"Perhaps…" Mrs. Darling asked, "You should be a teacher?" Mr. Darling rolled his eyes at this. No one could think anything more horrid than marrying your daughter to a teacher. Peter shrugged, and received another bad mark.

"Peter is my son, he will inherit this school. He would be headmaster at my place." Madame encouraged. In shrugging, marked another 'good'.

"What kind of music do you like?" Mrs. Darling asked.

"You played Bach quite well this morning." Said Mr. Darling.

"Bach is all well," Said Peter "But I do prefer Chopin."

Mrs. Darling wiped her mouth delicately at this and smiled widely.

"Oh, I do love Chopin!" She said, her kiss glowing ever so beautifully in the corner of her mouth. Mr. Darling grew so jealous at this that he marked Peter with another 'bad' note. Peter didn't care. He suddenly liked Mrs. Darling very much. Wendy was not prompted any questions, and it seemed that her opinions were not needed in the conversation. Peter watched her listen politely while quietly eating. He thought this quite unfair, for he was being bombarded with questions and could not concentrate enough on not getting crumbs all over himself.

When the table drew quiet, Peter could see Mr. Darling looking over his notebook with a furrowed brow, his pen pensively hovering between his judgments of Peter. He counted to himself at first, but soon, in his concentration, could be heard mumbling softly.

"This mark… more like a 1.5… plus this which could be better valued at… 2.3… No, no… Then that would make… 4.6 contra 5.2 in his favor…" He then stared at that big fat mark he had made at the beginning and pondered its value. Mr. Darling, overwhelmed with the figures lifted his gaze from his book to Peter, who was now staring wide eyed at him. In looking at Peter, Mr. Darling was faced with judging Peter with his gut rather than his head. Peter forgot to breath in his gaze.

Wendy tapped against Peter's foot from under the table, and Peter turned to look at her. She immediately turned her face away as if she had no idea what he was so bothered about. He smiled slyly at her and she smirked, spying his smile from the corner of her eye where his kiss was proudly shining against the glitter of her blue gaze. Mr. Darling, in witnessing this heaved a great sigh.

"I think…" He spoke. "That we have done enough for the night." He pushed back from the table to stand, and everyone stood with him, as was proper form, except for Peter. Realizing his mistake, he stood suddenly, nearly knocking his chair backwards.

"Come, Wendy. Mary." He said, suddenly seeming exhausted. "Let us retire." He bowed to Madame, then slowly to Peter, who he still gazed at contemplatively.

"But George," Said Mrs. Darling. "Should we not take the opportunity to dance?" She said, gesturing to the piano. Mr. Darling sighed at the idea, as he felt he really did not need any more displays of Peter attempting to appear a proper gentleman. He had made his decision, but so liked to please his wife that he agreed.

"All right, then." He said, extending his arm towards Mrs. Darling. Madame, secretly glad for the opportunity to play a piece for an audience, happily came to sit at the piano. Wendy walked around to Peter and offered her hand to him. Peter took her hand in his elbow and whispered nervously to her.

"I don't think I know how to dance like they do." He said, already feeling he had disappointed Mr. Darling enough. She smiled.

"Don't pay them any mind, Peter. If this is the last dance we dance, let us take full advantage." Peter looked to her and his eyes saddened. He felt that Mr. Darling was not at all impressed by him. Peter wished that Mr. Darling had challenged him instead to a sword fight. Surely, he would have impressed him then.

"And anyways," She whispered. "If they won't let us be together, we shall run away, and never look back." Peter smiled at her. He would follow her to the ends of the Earth, and it made him happy that she would put up such sacrifice as to leave her family to be with him. The feeling pulled him in twain, for he was glad for her willingness, but saddened by its necessity.

Madame began a most beautiful waltz. With practiced gracefulness, Mr. Darling pulled his wife to him and began to lead her into the dance. Mrs. Darling closed her eyes, and relished in the feeling of the music. While Mr. Darling stared at her, and her beautiful mouth he had not conquered wholly.

Peter led Wendy to the open floor and gazed at Mr. Darling's dancing. He surely could not follow those steps on a whim. He swayed Wendy in his arms nervously. She smiled encouragingly at him, and rested her head on his shoulder, which was wholly unmannered. Peter, holding her closer, began to forget about the others in the room, and his swaying became more heartfelt. What a bittersweet waltz it was, that it was almost impossible not to forget others about you. He thought of when they danced in the fields of flowers, and he could almost imagine, almost pretend that they were still amongst them. Last time they had danced, his feelings were still unspoken, his heart was so young. His Wendy was not wholly his. Now, feeling her in his arms he knew with every drop of blood in his veins that they belonged to each other and always would. He no longer cared if he could be called husband, and no longer cared if he could call her wife. She was his and he was hers, and no protests in the world could change that. With resolution in his heart and Wendy in his arms, he felt lifted and at ease. He felt happy. His pulled her around the room in tender turns. She held to him closely and gazed up to look at him. Ah, yes, it was all so natural now.

If Mr. Darling would have been less occupied with the staring of his wife, he would have seen that there was a peculiar bobbing to the couple beside him. Such as if they were pushing off the floor gently to float before touching back down. The bobbing became so pronounced that they hardly seemed to touch the ground, but hover delicately in the air. Mrs. Darling had opened her eyes and witnessed them. She did not feel surprised as she was overcome with a feeling that she had experienced this before, once, a long time ago. But she could not quite remember.

The waltz ended, and Peter's cheek was now leaning against Wendy's. He relished in the feeling of her skin against his, and kissed her cheek tenderly. How could a feeling like this possibly exist? He thought. He felt all too glad to experience it. Of course, this display Mr. Darling did see and he heaved another long sigh.

"Well…" He began. "I bid you all good evening." Mr. Darling seemed more perturbed than before as he bowed before Peter and Madame again, to lead his family back to their guest accommodations.

Peter and Madame stared at each other, not knowing what to say.

"Well," She began, "We did our best." She patted Peter on the back reassuringly, and turned to make her way to her own chamber.