Over the next few days Mrs Darling attempted to keep Wendy and Peter entertained and after being somewhat convinced that he would not keel over she took them on outings. Rather then spend tense day after tense day all but alone with him Wendy reasoned she would rather be tense by his proximity in public. More routes of escape. First they had walked around the National Gallery where Peter feigned boredom but was secretly impressed by what he saw. He was even more impressed when Wendy showed him the priceless painting that had been almost destroyed by an angry suffragette wielding a meat cleaver. However people stared at her and her mother nervously, as if their combined femininity would erupt into protest, something that Peter, the very personification of anarchy, would enjoy immensely so Wendy had quickly moved them along.

On another day Mary took Wendy for tea at the Ritz, an early birthday treat and then went shopping for a dress for the party. Peter had been absent, an occasion that caused her equal parts relief and worry as she wondered what trouble he was getting up to alone. But she breathed easier to finally be out of his presence. Of course once alone with her mother Wendy knew it was ample time to try to explain her silence for those months that she was gone. It proved easier then she imagined.

"I was so low mother, so cut off from the world. I – I suppose the longer I left it the harder it was to begin," she explained gutturally while her mother listened quietly. At first Mary had looked stern but the more Wendy fed her lies that she was willing to believe and softer her reproach became until she was staring at her only daughter with tears in her eyes. It made Wendy feel terrible, the dishonesty and the pretence that she had to spin out for the person she loved the most readily in the world. She realised in that moment that if she did stay in London she would have to live a life of lies. It was an exhausting prospect but Peter was right about one thing, she was becoming a master at lying.

After the teary tea at the Ritz she was taken to see Kew Gardens and this time Peter went with them. He trailed behind sullenly, whipping flowers with sticks and pulling leaves off tree branches. If she had been paying attention it would have been the first time that Mrs Darling saw something other than a sycophantic front but she was too entranced by the foliage and glass houses. It was not the gardens that Peter had a problem with, it was the supervision. He had never been so stifled in his life and while Mary was not the most stringent chaperone Wendy knew he found her presence gratingly ridiculous.

"What does she expect to happen? For us to dance naked around the begonias when her back is turned? You know they all suspect that we've done worse so I don't know why they bother following us – me – around everywhere," he gritted out as they headed into the Palm House. Wendy could sympathise with his annoyance but reasoned that the world was safer with Peter Pan in watchful eyesight.

She mused as she walked around the tropical, bright glass house that as long as he remained with her the less likely he could cause trouble elsewhere. From what Felix had said Neverland was breaking free of his control, the Lost Boys reclaiming their autonomy, even the weather was probably improving. If he did return to the island it would not be business as usual, he would have a fight on his hands.

Strange, my life would likely be easier if I went back and his would be equally so if he stayed.

Inviting friends that you hadn't seen or talked to for months was difficult but doubly so when you couldn't even remember who they were. This had been remedied when Peter, surprisingly, suggested that she select the names of the girls who had sent the most letters of condolences or want of news. Two names had jumped out of the pile, their letters making up the majority:

Heather Bunting and Maimie Mannering.

"She likes to be called Mai for short," Wendy said as she read one of Miss Mannering's letters, pointing out the way the girl finished off her correspondence. "Whoever she is I think she was a good friend, her concern is heartfelt."

"Well you can get to know her all over again tomorrow," John said encouragingly but fell silent when Mary walked past Wendy's room with a box. She stood, anticipation swirling up from her gut but Mary wagged a finger from the doorway.

"Not until the morning. It will be a surprise," she said and swayed away, looking self satisfied. It was in times like these that Wendy could fool herself into believing that she had never left, that she had never heard of Neverland or Peter Pan but she was always proved the contrary soon after.

That night, too excited and nervous to sleep, Wendy sat on her window seat and watched the garden below, spotting the odd fox or stray cat that streaked into bushes, all seemingly shrieking and hissing in heat. The sound of a vixen crying was like a woman screaming and Wendy shivered, drawing away from the window.

As she went back to bed she hard another cry, though this clearly belonged to a boy. It had been happening for the last few nights and she had suspected that Michael or John were having night terrors but every time she approached their nursery it stopped. She opened her door, stepped over Nana and tiptoed along the corridor, about to climb the narrow stair case when she paused, head cocking. There was a low moaning coming not from above her but behind.

"Peter?" she whispered in surprise and turned, heading towards his door. She hesitated before it, holding her breath and was about to move away when she heard a muffled inhale from within, a gasp of fright. As she heard it she was suddenly struck with a memory: her first night in Neverland, now so long ago, she had heard someone crying and woke to find only Peter. She had never even considered that it may have been him. Deeply curious she turned the handle slowly, quietly opened the door and slipped inside. His room was dark and though not as lived in and furnished as hers it was comfortable. If Baelfire had stayed with them this would have been his room. Wendy leaned against the door, staring at Peter, not daring to move.

He was asleep, unaware of her presence and very clearly in the middle of a nightmare. He had half kicked the covers off and she could see that his skin was beaded with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. She took a step towards him, like a cat approaching a thrashing mouse and stopped when he choked and gasped, as if he was drowning. She had thought that the clothes he wore and the way he had to comb his hair was bizarre but he looked so utterly alien to her like this. He was vulnerable and quite simply like a child. Moved and unable to resist she stopped at his bedside, staring at him and leaned down.

"Peter," she whispered, "Peter wake up, you're just dreaming," she frowned, wondering what Peter Pan had nightmares about and shivered at the thought. He muttered nonsense words, eyes rolling under his lids and looked in so much pain that she reached out and brushed his sweaty hair off his forehead. Peter's eyes snapped open and as quick as a snake he grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. So close that their nose's bumped together they stared eye to eye, one scared the other furious.

"What are you doing?" he demanded horsely, panting.

"You were having a nightmare! I – I heard a noise, I thought it was my brothers but...but it was you," she said breathlessly, twisting her wrist in his tight grip. She was almost sitting on him, one hand braced against the wall while the other was wrapped around his restraining hold. Their breathing mingled and the longer they remained together the calmer his breathing became while hers came increasingly in quick, sharp bursts.

Peter suddenly smirked, relaxing his hand but did not let go. "I don't have nightmares," he said disdainfully, sitting back and Wendy pulled away, rubbing her wrist.

"Then it was a very unpleasant dream. What was it about?" she asked, sitting and allowed herself the time to calm down. She thought that he would not answer or deny it but he began to frown softly, looking into the distance until he shook his head slowly.

"I don't know, I never know."

"You forget?" she asked but he said nothing and Wendy gazed at him thoughtfully. There was so much about him she didn't know and possibly so much that even he had forgotten. There was a Peter before Neverland, a boy who was untouched by it all and she knew that it must haunt him.

"Peter, do the pipes work on you as you play them?"

"What?"

"Well if you're playing them then you must be wiping away your past too. Maybe that's why you can't remember what you dream about," she ventured and he smiled at her, bemused.

"You could be right and you know if you gave them back to me we could find out for sure."

"Again I have no idea what you're talking about," she said airily which made him grin. He sighed, leaning back comfortably and reached out to play with a long tendril of her hair. It wasn't the first time he had done it and, annoyed, Wendy leaned close to him and ran her fingers roughly through his hair, making him wince.

"Get off."

"Not nice is it? I'm not something to be fondled with," she said primly and he gazed at her, cocking an eyebrow.

"Fondle away..." he offered, lips curling and Wendy's mouth pursed. "We're meant to be betrothed but we haven't even kissed since being here."

"What on earth makes you think I'd want to kiss you again?"

"Well if anyone should be adverse to kisses it's me. Stick out your tongue," he demanded playfully, sitting up, and she did it. "No ink, that's an improvement. It's decided, I shall give you a kiss."

"You will not," she said firmly and scrabbled to her feet but he grabbed her arm, rising with her. She inhaled, about to scream and damn the silly plot all together when he suddenly lifted his hand and dangled something shiny before her face. Wendy blinked, trying to focus in the dim light and then realised what he was showing her. A pendant.

"Happy birthday," he said and Wendy could hear the grandfather clock chiming quietly downstairs. If she hadn't been slightly overwhelmed she would have wondered if he hadn't conducted the whole thing, from the cries in his sleep to Wendy sitting on his bed. Wendy lifted her hand and gently touched the silver trinket, frowning.

"A thimble? This is your kiss?"

"You don't remember or don't realise. The first time you tried to kiss me you left a thimble in my lap before you dashed out of the door."

"So you did know what it was!" she cried, vindicated and he smirked before his features softened and he slowly lowered the chain and thimble onto her palm and closed her fingers over it.

"It was then I realised something I had been denying," he said, gazing at her intensely and Wendy was captivated.

"What?"

"That you were mine," he admitted, brushing the back of his fingers very softly down her cheek. Wendy blinked. Of course he would not say love, not even now. For someone who loved too much she could recognise someone who could not love enough. Wendy had thought he was denying what they meant to each other. If fate and destiny ordained that two people were destined to love each other then that would be it, it was decided. No doubts and no denials but the truth was much more unruly. How could someone who did not have the capacity to love show it even if they wanted to? Was this the best he could do? Was this all she could hope for if she retuned with him?

"You won't say love because then you would have to give something of yourself in return," she thought out loud sadly, resigned and he blinked rapidly.

"What do you think I'm doing now? What do you think I've been doing every second I've stayed here?" he frowned heavily at her, not comprehending.

"You're doing this to win, I don't think you know any other way. If you knew love, truly knew it, you would not need to resort to this. If you were open and honest, if you proved that this, that I actually meant anything to you other than as a possession," she said, dangling the thimble, "I would consider...consider..." she trailed off, unable to admit that her resolve was wavering but Peter's eyes flashed lightning quick with victory.

"I will always be honest with you, that's what I've been striving to do. I've told you my ghoulish plot and my plans for the future, for both of us. What else is there?"

It was simple really and she smiled strangely. "I want your heart."

Peter matched her smile and took her hand. "Then I'm sorry, I've been told I don't have one and if I did it would be of no use to you"

"Maybe..." she whispered, not daring to hope that it could change. She did not want to give into a foolish, childish dream that he could be different because even if he could that would not wipe away the acts that he had committed or made others do on his behalf. It would be selfish and she would have to throw away any self respect she owned. But could she really fight fate, even one as dark and twisted as this?

"My Wendy-bird," he sighed and took the chain and placed it over her head, before sliding his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her hair free. The thimble rested against her chest, steadily rising and falling as he kept his fingers against her neck, his thumb brushing over her pulse. They stared at each other as if hypnotised and as he pulled her closer Wendy felt her resolve cracking like glass. She closed her eyes, waiting.

"Wendy? Where are you?" Michael called sleepily and Wendy jumped back from Peter, her hair trailing through his clutching fingers.

"Damn!" she swore quietly and Peter chuckled, rubbing a hand through his messy hair with a groan. Ignoring him she moved to the door and peeked out. Michael was clutching his bear, blinking sleepily and Wendy made to move towards him but in that moment their mother appeared. They stared at each other in shock, one surprised to see their daughter coming out of her betrothal's bedroom in the middle of the night and other shocked at being caught doing so.

"Mother, I can explain," she started, moving away from the door as if it burned but Mary shook her head, lips thin, and took Michael's hand.

"Goodnight Wendy," she answered stiffly and then watched as her daughter shuffled guiltily back to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Once inside Wendy flung herself onto her bed with a groan and then kicked and hit the mattress below with her heels and fists in frustration. Again she did not consider then whether being caught had been an accident or something planned on a conniving wish and hope.

Wendy stood before the mirror, turning occasionally to see what the dress was like from the back and sides. It was a pale red, made from velvet and satin with lace at the neck and wrists. It even daringly showed a little of her back while a pink satin sash clinched in her waist. It was beautifully elegant, something that proclaimed her no longer a child but a woman. She was surprised at the transformation. Over a year ago she would have refused to wear such a thing but now it seemed perfectly acceptable because now she actually felt like a grown up. How could she not after what she had experienced? With her hair gathered at the nape of her neck and she brushed her fingers over a few loose curls that framed her face before inhaling and holding it. After being caught coming out of Peter's room the night before her mother had acted primly towards her at breakfast and once they were alone she sat Wendy down and talked.

"I would never dream of making choices for you," she began before Wendy could speak. "But I would not see you hurt. What I witnessed last night will be between us, Michael was too young and tired to realise what he had seen."

"He saw nothing mother," Wendy said desperately but Mary clenched her jaw and stared at her daughter in confusion.

"But I did, you can't deny that. Now I think I have raised you with a freedom that most girls you know do not have but I will not tolerate certain...inappropriateness under this roof," she said sternly and Wendy was reminded of her aunt, her mother's sister, who was the very antitheses of Mary. She knew then that her mother must be very worried for her indeed.

"You have nothing to be concerned with mother. He was having a nightmare and I wanted to see if he was all right. That's it," she stressed sincerely and Mary gazed at her hard, as if she was inspecting Wendy's mind like someone looking at a sheet for marks. Finally she leaned back, apparently satisfied with her daughter's honesty and smiled.

"Good! Now enough of this terribly serious business! We have a party to set up!"

And so they did. For the next few hours the Darling household rushed around getting the parlour and garden organised. Wendy had sent out invites numbering eleven while some of her mother's friends and few choice neighbours had been asked to attend. Even a photographer was coming, curtsey of her father. It was hectic but Wendy was glad for the distraction because it meant that she had an excuse to avoid Peter.

She had been truthful with her mother, nothing had happened but Wendy knew that something could have, it was just a matter of timing. Since sitting across from him at breakfast Peter had acted like nothing had happened, being as polite and charming as ever in front of her parents but sometimes she caught him gazing at her with something she had seen only once, a hot hunger that bordered on lust. It was as if he had been given a taste of something, an opportunity and now he wanted more. She was almost relieved. Urges of the body and longing was something that most boys – and girls – of her age experienced and if he did then that made him closer to being human. However it placed her in a pernicious situation.

The chain around her neck seemed to burn and the thimble, now hidden under her dress, was a constant reminder of him and she forced herself to stop touching it. As the clock chimed five times Wendy steeled herself, lifted her chin and practised a smile in the mirror. It was convincing and she would try her best to have a good time, Peter or no Peter. Below was only a little less disordered then before but she could see Liza dashing in and out of rooms, laying out glasses or shooing Nana into her kennel in the garden. She had worked hard and Wendy made note that she would have to thank her afterwards as the doorbell rang and the first guests arrived.

Mr Darling rounded on his family, stressed but forcefully cheery. "Right then, into the fray! Wendy, we've told Aunt M that Peter is your betrothed so keep that in mind precious," he said as Wendy gaped at him in alarm and his features softened. "You look wonderful. You're not a child any more," he said wistfully and Wendy's disdain was tempered. She kissed him on the cheek and then did the same to her mother, who looked just as lovely as she did.

Wendy greeted the guests as they arrived, mostly family and a few old friends but she was concerned to note that not many were arriving and even the ones that were did not greet them with the usual cheerfulness. They stared at her like something strange in a cage and occasionally she could feel their eyes on her as if they expected her to do something shocking, like vanish with a puff of smoke. The room practically held it's breath when Peter finally appeared wearing a suit and, Wendy admitted, looking very handsome. Wendy briefly wondered where he had been when he froze across from her, staring. He looked her up and down and she blushed and in that moment there was no one else in the room, just them.

"You look...different," he said, squinting an eye and Wendy was offended and disappointed.

"Different? I see..." she made to leave but he brushed her arm with his fingers and laughed.

"I'm joking. You look beautiful, so grown up," he admitted and she couldn't be sure if he liked that or not. But as he gazed at her a lusty spark gleamed in his eye and she found it hard to breathe in.

"Don't look at me like that," she whispered, looking around the room swiftly and he grinned in his wicked way.

"Like what? This is quite fun really, I thought it would be mind numbingly boring but I rather like pretending I'm your future husband. Imagine their ill disguised excitement when they learn the truth! Poor Wendy left at the alter!" he said giddily and stared into the garden where a few people were sitting and talking. At least she knew what he would do if their charade reached that far. He was was a terribly nasty person but there was a tiny part of her that was darkly amused. He bent down and spoke into her ear. "I'm sure there's a part of you that's floating on a cloud right now," he whispered and she could not guess if he realised how cruel he was, maybe it came to him as naturally as breathing.

Wendy stared as her family and neighbours smiled at her and greeted Peter politely and she had to concede with him. This was something she dreamed of in the deepest, most hidden place of her heart, a place where she envisioned Peter by her side. All of it seemed perfect but in reality it had been turned into a perverted version of her dearest wish. Now it was a mockery and Wendy knew in that moment her wished for life would never happen while she lived.

As the party progressed she drifted around, standing quietly as people talked but she did not really hear them. She didn't have to, she could see their veiled and ill disguised thoughts and questions:

What scandal happened? What sort of person was she now? Was she truly fallen? How could her family take her back in? She must be a bad influence over her brothers, look how they run around. She must be forcing this poor boy into marrying her. Didn't she run away with another boy who also used to live here?

And on and on. That people would come to satisfy their curiosity was not lost on Wendy and as the minutes ticked by she felt a rolling anger beginning to boil in her stomach. They smiled and drank, all welcomed guests but all the while they scavenged for gossip and scandal in little huddles. Wendy's mood was not improved when finally some of the people she had invited turned up. She thought she would not care if no one she invited turned up but she couldn't deny that she was hurt by the turn out: only two.

She saw them approaching as she sat with Nana in the garden, Peter keeping his annoyed distance and tried desperately to recall them. One was tall and thin with shinning blonde hair while the other was short and plump with flaming red hair that curled around her head. At the sight of her the red head called her name and ran to her, arms out stretched and Wendy felt a pang and knew that this must be Mai Mannering.

"Wendy!" she cried and almost toppled them over as she reached her and gave Wendy the biggest hug. It was like being embraced by a large, particularly affectionate hamster.

"Hello Mai, it's so good to see you again," and it was because now Wendy could recall her somewhat, just glimpses and flickers. The spirited Mai stepped back and the blonde girl smiled at Wendy. It did not reach her eyes.

"It's nice to know that you're still living," she said in a bored tone and Wendy was struck with how much she was like Felix. They were prefect for each other and it made her want to laugh. At Wendy's twitching lips the blonde narrowed her eyes. "Something amusing?"

"No, it's just nice to see you again Heather."

"I'm sure. They say that you are to be married?" she asked delicately but Wendy could see a spark of greedy curiosity and she had a sinking feeling. Heather was not there for Wendy, she was there to gather information and report back. Well if that was her mission then Wendy would give her something juicy to go back with and send the school into a tizzy.

"Yes, it's a spring wedding and the baby is due in the summer. I thought about waiting but I think expecting brides look just splendid in white. Don't you agree?"

Heather smiled at her sorely while Mai giggled behind her hand. Unimpressed, Heather floated away, looking around the garden disdainfully. Mai laughed out loud when she was gone and Wendy shook her head, smiling weakly, knowing that if Peter were there he would have been immensely proud.

"I don't know why you invited her! She's the absolute worst and the biggest snob in the school. The train ride here was not the most pleasant of experiences," Mai joked but looked strained and Wendy was guilty again but also angry at Peter. He would make her invite a bully.

"I'm sorry. I – uh, well," she may as well tell her the truth, or at least some of it. "The truth of the matter is I experienced a...situation and now I'm afraid I can't recall much of the past," she confessed and Mai blinked.

"You don't remember me?" she asked, clearly hurt.

"Only a little, I'm sorry," she said quickly and felt ashamed. Mai smiled bravely and shrugged but Wendy could tell she was shaken.

"Oh well, we can get to know each other again! So then, who is Peter and why did you not tell me about him?" she asked, mock offended, and Wendy drew her into the garden to find a more private seat. She told Mai a fiction that was woven with truth and the forgotten friend lapped it up. Peter had advised against her having a job but Wendy was sure her career lay in acting. Speaking of she looked around the garden but could not see him.

"I'll introduce you to him," Wendy said bravely and rose, looking for him. He was not in the garden or in the parlour. The adults inside were getting steadily drunk, with Mr Darling leading the race, and she quickly ducked out of sight into the hallway. Upstairs was dark but she ascended them, a funny feeling in her stomach that pushed her on.

"Wendy! The photographer is here!" her mother cried out happily and Wendy turned on the stair, not wanting to go back down but she forced herself to, casting suspicious glances back over her shoulder. When she arrived she saw that her suspicious were for nothing because Peter was beside her parents, laughing heartily. He waved her over and she went with heavy feet.

"There you are," he said and took her hand and pulled her to him. "We should have more of these, I prefer your father drunk, much more fun," he proclaimed and Wendy closed her eyes and asked god to give her strength. If her father got too intoxicated she knew the gossip hounds would add it as more fuel to the fire. She would need to draw their prying eyes back to her.

"Oh a photographer!" she cried rapturously, clasping her hands as she looked at the camera equipment now being set up in the garden. "Thank you father, it's the most wonderful present!" she said and meant it. It must have cost him a fortune and for all his bluster she knew he thought it was worth every penny. He did not strive and bread win for himself, he never had.

"You're welcome my dear, anything for you, for all of you. My children are without parallel!" he boasted proudly and the people gathered looked touched. Wendy turned to Peter.

"Have you ever had your picture taken?" she asked quietly, leading him out into the misty garden as he shook his head. It was now illuminated by candles and was a strangely enchanting sight.

"No," he admitted truthfully and they sat and for just that moment, just before the bulb exploded and glass shattered Wendy pretended that it was all real. That was why after more than a century later if you looked at the picture you would see that her smile was genuine. Maybe Peter pretended too because he was not looking at the camera, he was looking at her and there was a small smile of wonder on his lips. It was the only bit of proof that Peter was ever there. But after the light flashed and the cloud of billowing smoke cleared it was back to reality and Wendy blinked spots out of her eyes to find Peter gone. She half rose, concerned but sat back down when her family gathered around her to have their picture taken.

As the night darkened and neighbours complained that they were producing too much noise and light – an easy target for the Germans don't you know – Wendy finally found herself alone. She was exhausted, having to smile and pretend and lie took so much effort and she just wanted to go to bed. Or get drunk, she considered as she watched people dance merrily to music. She searched for Peter again, frowning. It was as if he did not want the others to see him or maybe it was having so many adults in one place that repelled him. Or maybe he was using their presence as an excuse to cause trouble and not be missed.

Wendy kicked off her shoes and picked them up before stepping up the staircase silently, careful to avoid squeaky boards that would give her away. First she looked in Peter's room and found it empty and then poked her head into the nursery. Nothing. Finally she went back down, towards her room. The pipes were not in there so she did not feel too concerned when she walked in and found Peter looking under her bed. Wendy cocked an eyebrow and sighed.

"Please give me more credit then that. That's such an obvious place to hide something," she said in exasperation and neatly placed her shoes down as he sprang to his feet.

"Never overlook something because it's obvious," he said breezily and continued searching.

"So you're just going to continue as I stand here?"

"Yes, seeing as you're determined to be as unhelpful as possible," he said and opened a box of trinkets and odd ends. Wendy was tired and fed up and she wanted him gone. She would have to prove to him that what he wanted was not there.

"Look," she said stridently and reached behind her headboard and removed the satchel. "It's not in here."

"I know it's not," he said dismissively. "I would love to continue this game but I got word from Felix and I really need those pipes Wendy."

Wendy tutted in annoyance. "I broke them."

"Liar," he said, flashing a smile at her but then focused on the bag in her hands like he had never seen it before now. "What else is in there? Show me," he demanded and Wendy ruffled at his tone but then shrugged. There was nothing in it now, certainly not the pipes.

"Fine," she said and opened the bag and tipped it upside down and gave it a good shake. As she did something fell out and landed by her feet, causing her to blink. She stared down, not comprehending but then did in a split second as Peter sprang at her.

Pixie Dust.

Wendy snatched the bottle up as he collided with her and they hit the wall. Wendy, startled and confused, gave a silent thanks that she lived with brothers and hit Peter low down, making him gasp. It was enough for her to get away but then he grabbed her arm and in the struggle they fell to the floor.

"Give it to me!" he grunted as they scrabbled for dominance, Peter trying to grab her wavering hand.

"No!" in the second she had glanced the dust had looked dull and lifeless, more like green ash than pixie dust but if he was willing to fight her for them they must be vital and that probably spelled doom for someone. He must never get them.

On the floor they fought silently, Wendy pushing him away and getting to her knees only for him to pull her back. They rolled and the lovely dress that Wendy adored twisted around her legs, making it hard for her to move when he suddenly ended up on top of her. She froze, staring up at him and in one unthinking moment she slipped the small phial down the front of her dress. Peter blinked and then lifted himself up on his hands and stared down at her with a strange half smile, amused at her nerve. They were both panting for breath, flushed and hypersensitive. Wendy could feel his hips digging into her, his legs wrapped around hers awkwardly and his warm weight against her was thrilling and oddly satisfying. Wendy was frozen with a heady mix of fear and arousal, almost choked with anticipation, unable to blink. She bucked under him when he moved slightly, adjusting his hands, and the rolling of her hips caused him to suck in a breath and Wendy flushed even more. If someone had the ability to see she would not look like a human but a beacon of flame, burning and unquenched. Peter's eyes travelled lazily from her face, along her neck and then down to her chest and the gaze caused her stomach to erupt with something giddy and hot. She could feel the bottle, it was trapped by her sash from going down any further and was now lying against her waist. Peter saw it and looked back up at her.

"Pete -" she managed to get out before he lowered down on her and she gasped, eyes wide as he leaned down and nuzzled her throat, making her neck arch at the contact. His lips pressed against her skin and she could hardly breathe, as if the core of her, that part that's now fully alive and burning, was twisting her all up and just waiting for the right word to let go. Her chest was heaving, breasts swelling up against his chest and he lowered his mouth further. The graze of his hand against her stomach made her jerk again and he groaned as he slipped two fingers under her sash and tugged roughly.

She made a noise that she was not even aware she could, something akin to that vixen she sometimes heard in the park and in that moment she did not care. She unballed her fists from the rug under them and gripped his shoulders, half pushing and pulling as he leaned up and hovered inches from her face. Peter brushed his lips close to hers but never touched and she craned her head up, wanting more but backed away when he leaned down, their attraction seemingly acting as a repelling force. Frustrated he removed his fingers from under the sash and quickly reached down and tugged on her dress. The bottle was now against her thigh and she could feel it slipping lower, guided by his hand. Legs now free of her skirts she gasped when he pushed a hand under them, fingers skimming her skin, and quick as lighting grabbed the bottle by her knee. Wendy, more aroused then she had ever been in her life, pushed against him as he withdrew his hand. She did not know what she wanted to do, kiss or hit him or both and she would never know as a noise made both of them freeze.

" - kicked out of my own party, I'm not - not drunk. It was just a little tipple," Mr Darling slurred and Wendy's heart stopped. She craned her neck and saw that the door was ajar but the room was dark. Maybe he would not notice. They both kept perfectly still as Mr Darling passed and Wendy watched with horror as he glanced at them, froze and then looked back. He blinked and squeezed his eyes shut, as if he was seeing things and then stumbled. "Lie down, yes, that's the ticket..." shaking his head but looking troubled George walked on and Wendy let out a great sigh of relief and but then became acutely aware that Peter was still on top of her.

"Off, get off," she said but he was already jumping to his feet and Wendy leaned up on her elbows, not wanting to admit that she was feeling completely dissatisfied. She did not know what she wanted, not exactly, but she knew that it could not happen. Peter gazed down at her strangely, chest rising and falling fast and the bottle was tightly held in his fist. He opened his mouth, as if to make some witty, cruel comment but then closed it, looking flustered and needy and suddenly Wendy was left alone on the floor as he escaped from the room.

"Wendy..?" a voice said a few seconds later and Wendy looked up to see Mai and Heather staring down at her from the doorway. "We wanted to check..." she trailed off, eyebrows rising into her curly hair line at the state of Wendy. She was a flushed mess, her dress now around her knees and Heather looked back to where they must have passed Peter.

"Well, I suppose we should leave you to your rest. You seem to need it. Happy Birthday Wendy," Heather said with relish and left, leaving Mai who came in and helped Wendy to her feet. She looked confused and concerned.

"Are you all right?"

"Where's Peter?" Wendy asked, suddenly remembering why they had ended up on the floor in the first place.

"He – he ran passed us on the stairs, nearly knocked Heather down," she reported happily and then jumped back when Wendy slipped her shoes back on and ran out of the bedroom. Right now her respectable life in London was over. In the morning her father would share with Mrs Darling the funny thing he saw in Wendy's bedroom, mistaking it for a dream only for it to be confirmed by Mrs Darling. There was no way Wendy could avoid marrying then, it was either that or leave and she knew that only one option was open to her because her betrothal was a complete fallacy.

Running out of the open front door Wendy ignored the cries from those within and dashed along the street and saw with a mixture of relief and worry that Peter was waiting for her. He smiled, as if she had proved something to him and she hated it.

"You could have stayed there, your parents would have understood eventually. But you came to me."

"Don't be so arrogant and don't pretend that isn't what you've wanted all along. I'm only here to stop whatever you're doing with those," she said, pointing at the bottle in his hand. "What use are they here?"

"Let me show you," he said and surprised Wendy by offering the dust back. "I'm not doing anything dastardly with them. I need to trade them for information but the way I got them was...underhanded. I'm sorry," he admitted, gazing at her now loose sash and Wendy grew red again. It had been underhanded and yet a part of her yearned for more. Wondering how he had corrupted her in such an undignified and unexpected way she took the offered bottle and slipped it under the sash, after tying it tight again.

"If you are lying I will scatter them to the wind," she said firmly and he nodded, offering her a hand with a gentlemanly air, as if they hadn't been rolling around shamelessly a few minutes ago. Wendy brushed passed him and he chuckled behind her but she inhaled sharply when he reached for her hand and took it anyway.

"You've shown me your city, let me show you the London I know," he said and, smiling slyly, lead her away from Bloomsbury Square. She was never to return and if she knew she would have taken one last look but she did not.

a.n:

*phew* that was a long chapter but I hope you enjoyed it! I'm heading toward the last stretch now...

Again thanks for the reviews!