Author's Note: Okay, here's a warning in advance. One of the genres listed for this story is "Angst" ... and this story is going to earn that label, if it hasn't already. There'll be some happy stuff, too, but you may as well go ahead and fasten your seatbelts, because it's going to be a very bumpy ride.
Many many thanks to those who have reviewed, as always. I'd like to particularly thank squeezynz and Mara Trinity Scully for their consistent encouragement and feedback. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Or maybe that's just my bathrobe. :)
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"The mermaids went first," Peter explained, once he had calmed enough to speak and had dashed the tears from his face. Wendy sat beside him, on the edge of the bed, for he seemed to find her nearness a comfort.
"One day I went to call them with my pipes, and they didn't come. I thought they were only teasing me, but ... then ... the waterfall stopped. One day it was just ... gone. I can't explain it. And then the Black Castle ... and then the volcano ... and then one day the Jolly Roger was gone. I didn't see it set sail ... it was just ... gone."
Wendy listened with confusion and horror to Peter's halting tale. How could Neverland have been destroyed? What could possibly have the power to kill Neverland?
"Then the fairies went," Peter continued, and tears were welling in his eyes once more. "One day, Tink was just gone. All of the rest of the fairies, too. They left no sign that they had ever been there. Tink didn't even say good-bye." Peter sniffed, embarrassed to let Wendy see him cry, but still hurt at the loss of his closest friend.
"The Indians were gone, too. I'm not sure when they disappeared. They just weren't there when I went looking for them. I was all alone. And then ... one day ... I fell asleep in my tree ... and I woke up ... in Kensington Gardens. I couldn't remember anything, and I didn't know what to do."
Wendy stroked a hand through Peter's hair, wanting to give him comfort somehow, now that he had remembered such distressing events, even while she herself was yet trying to catch her own racing thoughts.
"I didn't know what to do, Wendy. I didn't know how to get food, or where to live, or anything. I was so scared!" Peter shook his head with shame at the memory.
"Of course you didn't know, Peter!" Wendy reassured him. "You had no way to know. You had been in Neverland so very long that you had forgotten."
"I did not forget!" insisted Peter, though he knew that he had. Admitting such a thing hurt his pride, and so he found himself lying instinctively.
Hearing the defensiveness in his voice, Wendy soothed, "Of course not, Peter. But it wasn't your fault." She tried to think of something that might make him feel better, wondering how she might appeal to his arrogance, how appease his injured pride. "Most boys would not have survived the night!"
Peter lifted his chin slightly, his cheeks still marked by tears. "It was an awfully great adventure," he said tentatively. In truth, it had not felt great at all, but it sounded far better than admitting how cold and frightened and lonely he had been.
"I'm sure it was, Peter," Wendy stroked his hair once more, finally understanding in some small way how Peter had come to be in the state in which she had found him on Oxford Street. Poor Peter! Stranded in London with no understanding of how to live there!
"When did all this happen, Peter?" Wendy found herself quite determined to learn as much as possible, so that perhaps together they might comprehend how such a disaster might have been caused to occur.
Unfortunately, Peter's sense of time was not particularly accurate. In Neverland, time had been entirely irrelevant to his life, and so he found no use for the concept. Since his banishment to the streets of London, Peter had developed some vague understanding of time, but he still had not fully grasped its complexities.
"Very long ago," he replied, certain that this was accurate, for it seemed he had been in London nearly forever.
Frustrated, Wendy thought how to get more precise information out of the boy, and then she had an idea. "When did you start growing, Peter? Was it right away when you found yourself in London?"
Peter nodded. "It seemed to go on and on," he explained as if deeply offended. "And hairs grew in very wrong places. Look at my legs!" And, at this, Peter pulled back the blankets to show his legs beneath his nightshirt, though it must be admitted that one of the aforementioned legs was encased in plaster, and therefore illustrated Peter's point not at all. "Look!" Peter pointed, affronted, at his one bare shin. "Hairs!"
And then, pulling the blankets back up with uncharacteristic modesty and glancing away from Wendy in embarrassment, he muttered, "And they are elsewhere, too. Hairs nearly everywhere."
Biting her lip to keep in the laughter that begged to be released from her lips, Wendy nonetheless simultaneously blushed slightly at this mention of the effects of growing up. She had experienced similar effects, herself, after all.
"Well, Peter, based upon your height, your face, and your ... um ... hairs" -- at which, Wendy blushed dispite her best efforts not to do so -- "you look perhaps two years older than you were when I knew you in Neverland. Does that sound right?"
Having to some extent grasped the concept of years, Peter nodded and explained, "Old Hettie said I was there for two years, though I'm not sure how long that is."
"So this ... this problem with Neverland ... you think it happened perhaps two years ago, Peter?"
"I guess so."
"Was anything strange before the changes occurred?"
Peter shook his head. "Things were a little dull, maybe. Not so many fights with the pirates, though that was probably just because Hook was dead. Not very much to do, I suppose."
Wendy's head was growing quite achy from trying to solve this puzzle, and so she rubbed her forehead, and then suddenly found herself coughing again. This wretched cold was a nuisance.
"Wendy?" Peter's voice was quiet and tentative. "I don't want to talk about this any more today. Would you just tell me some stories instead? Not stories about Neverland, just stories about something else. Like the man who looked for the lady with the glass slippers."
"You remember Cinderella?" Wendy was surprised, for it seemed so very long ago that Peter had listened at the nursery window.
"I tried to remember," admitted Peter. "But now I can just have you tell it to me again, and I don't have to try."
Laughing a very welcome small laugh after so many tears and worries, Wendy proceeded to tell stories, sitting ever on the side of Peter's bed, with his hand sometimes in hers.
She told of Cinderella and her battle with the beautiful pirate queen, Red Maggie, who wore a patch over her left eye and had long flaming red hair that flew about her when she fought, so that she looked as if she were on fire. The battles between the two women were fierce and thrilling!
Wendy also told Peter of Sleeping Beauty, left slumbering in a dank cave, through which ran a dark and mysterious river, teeming thickly with pale blind fish which had never been touched by the rays of the sun, but which could devour a person's flesh entirely in three minutes, leaving nothing but a clean white skeleton, which would then sink to join many others at the bottom of the river.
She also told of Snow White, and of her pet wolf which had been forsaken by its parents, and which cleaved to her side and protected her always against any danger. For it may be noticed that Wendy's imagination, once stimulated again, had taken over, quite as it had done when she was a child. It flowed through her like a magical river. And, through her, into Peter.
That evening, Aunt Millicent did not emerge for dinner, which was most unlike her, for she believed strongly in the importance of keeping a strict routine. Wendy wondered after her aunt's well-being, but did not wish to intrude by knocking upon her door. Instead, Wendy quietly took dinner to the guest room upon a tray, and she and Peter dined sitting together upon the bed, as if it were a picnic. And as they picnicked, since she had little appetite, Wendy continued her stories, and Peter listened with eager ears.
* * *
Over the next several days, Wendy spent most of her time in Peter's room, except while she slept. Aunt Millicent was quiet and introspective, not interested in talking or sewing together as they had wont to do in the past. Instead, she urged Wendy to do as she liked with her time.
Occasionally, Wendy would come downstairs to find her aunt upon the divan with a novel in her hand, her eyes looking elsewhere as she sat motionless and quite clearly heartbroken. But whenever Wendy attempted to offer any sort of comfort, Aunt Millicent merely waved her away with vague thanks, and returned to her melancholy.
Wendy hated Dr. Carew even more for what he had done to poor Aunt Millicent, who now seemed quite broken by the experience of having known him. To have developed hopes, after such a very long time, only to see them dashed and -- even worse -- proven ridiculous was a terrible blow to the poor woman.
Unfortunately, the following week Thursday at length did arrive, and along with it arrived Dr. Carew, ostensibly to examine Wendy regarding her cough. Aunt Millicent stayed in her bedchamber with the door closed, and instructed Lottie to answer the door and accompany the doctor to Wendy's room.
"The lovely Miss Darling," smiled Dr. Carew charmingly as he entered her room. "How are you feeling?"
"I am quite well, doctor. I have no need of your attentions." Wendy was rather impolite in the curtness of her reply, if truth be known, but she felt quite justified in speaking so.
"No cough?" inquired Dr. Carew with an arching of one eyebrow.
Unfortunately, Wendy's cough chose that exact moment to emerge, making it impossible for her to lie.
"Sit upon the bed, my dear, and let us have a listen." Dr. Carew drew out a strange instrument, placing cords into his ears and then pressing a cold disk to Wendy's back. "Breath deeply, my dear. That's it."
After looking down Wendy's throat, making her stick out her tongue, and pressing the cold thing against her back more than once, the doctor at length stood before her with a very serious expression. "You, young lady," he began somberly, pausing for dramatic emphasis before concluding, "have nothing but a simple cold." And then he smiled, as if this were some great joke.
Wendy did not laugh. "I know," she replied coldly. "I have been saying so from the first."
"But," interrupted Dr. Carew, "your cough is quite bothersome and has been irritating your throat. We would not want to allow that beautiful singing voice to be damaged." Wendy scowled. Without Aunt Millicent to rebuke her by word or look, Wendy remained only barely civil to the odious Dr. Carew.
"I am prescribing for you a dose of morphine each evening before bed," the doctor explained. "It will quiet the cough. Continue the treatment until the cough has bettered. And I shall visit again in two weeks' time to check on your progress."
"I am certain that will not be necessary, Dr. Carew."
"No, no, I insist, my dear. It would not do to allow yourself to become seriously ill!"
And so when Dr. Carew departed with his small discreet bundle of payment which had been left politely upon the table in the entryway, he promised to return in two weeks, little though any member of the household wished his presence among them.
Politeness, unfortunately, did not permit Aunt Millicent to enlist the help of a different doctor and dismiss the services of Dr. Carew. For to do so would only draw attention to her own previous foolish behavior and hopes. And so she simply drew courage to face him upon future occasions if Wendy's health so required, for she would not hide within her room to avoid his company again. This was her own house, and she would not be driven into hiding.
* * *
As the days went by, and many stories were told, Peter's health improved such that, in time, his injuries seemed entirely healed. He was excessively frustrated with the plaster upon his left leg. It was no longer necessary, but it inhibited his movement and itched abominably. He loathed the thing most passionately, and knocked upon it often with his fist, as if to break it open.
Along with his health, Peter also seemed to have gradually recovered nearly all of his memories, and any remaining gaps might be blamed just as easily on Peter's own careless disregard for such things. He now remembered what Hook had said to bring him crashing to the deck of the Jolly Roger, and so that mystery was now solved for him, though he still did not tell Wendy. He did not want for her to know how much it had bothered him to think of her leaving and forgetting him.
Now that he remembered everything, he was even more pleased than he had been previously that Wendy had searched for him so persistently on Oxford Street and in Whitechapel. She had not forgotten him! He felt quite smug about the whole thing.
And, as more days passed, and Wendy told even more stories, Peter noticed that the plaster upon his leg gradually become loose enough that he could squeeze his leg out of it, and he was once again free of the horrid encumbrance, much to his ensuing delight. In celebration, he proceeded to joyfully race up and down the stairs repeatedly, until Aunt Millicent shouted rather desperately for quiet.
For, as you may have guessed, Peter had again begun to grow younger and younger, fed by Wendy's stories, until he at last arrived once more at the age at which he had first met her. He was once again a joyful and carefree boy, who showed very little concern for this unusual transformation, since being himself felt perfectly natural, and he felt nothing but glee at being once more himself.
There was no one else to witness this transformation except Wendy, for Aunt Millicent kept largely to herself, and Lottie felt it impolite to notice. And so Wendy had known for some time that Peter was growing younger, and in truth it had saddened her, for Peter had gone from a handsome young man of her own age ... to being a boy significantly younger than she. How did not matter, for it was incomprehensible to her. What mattered most to Wendy was that Peter Pan was once more a child, while she was not. Was she to treat him as a younger brother, as with the boys? She could never feel about him as she should toward a brother, and so this was all quite quite hopeless.
* * *
And then came the evening when it all changed most unexpectedly. As Peter lay asleep in his abhorrently pink and white bed, the window latch began suddenly to turn, seemingly all on its own. Slowly, slowly, the latched wiggled and woggled and at last the window flew upon with a clatter, sending the curtains billowing into the room.
Peter woke from his sleep to drowsily gaze about him in confusion, only to suddenly leap fully awake from the bed when he saw a golden light fly haphazardly into the room. "Tink?" he cried with great hope in his heart. "Tinker Bell, is that you?"
And, indeed, the light flew toward him to tweak his ear and giggle to him, and it was Tinker Bell, just as she had always been, as if she had never ever vanished into nothing and left him confused and alone.
"Tink! What happened? Where did you go?" Peter had so many questions he was not even sure which to ask first, but these seemed the most important.
But Tinker Bell simply scolded him for being silly, and said that she had not gone anywhere, and what was he talking about? And why was he away from Neverland so long? He must come back, right away!
Peter was shocked by these developments, but he believed Tinker Bell with the easy trust that children bestow so freely, and so he immediately resolved to return with her immediately.
There was only one problem. Wendy.
Peter padded silently to Wendy's bedroom, Tinker Bell hovering just over his right shoulder. He knocked quietly, but Wendy did not seem to have been sleeping, for she opened the door rather quickly. "What is it, Peter?" she whispered ... only then noticing Tinker Bell. Gasping with surprise and wonder, Wendy nearly shouted aloud with happiness, but quickly quieted her own voice to say quietly, "Tinker Bell! You are alive!"
Tink, of course, thought this a perfectly ridiculous thing to say, because of course she was alive, and why were Peter and Wendy behaving so strangely, and Peter must return to Neverland immediately, so good-bye!
Peter explained only the final part of what Tink had said. "I must return to Neverland, Wendy," he told her. "Tink says that it is just as always, and I don't know what has happened, but I must return."
Wendy gave a weak smile and said softly, "I am glad for you, Peter. I am glad that Neverland is safe once more, however it happened."
"But you must come with me!" Peter insisted.
"No, Peter, I cannot. I have grown too old. I made my choice more than three years ago, Peter, a long time ago. I must stay here." It broke her heart to say so, but looking at Peter, so young and merry, Wendy knew that she could not possibly stay with him as she now was. She would have given much to return to those days in the nursery, and make a different choice, but that time had long passed.
"No!" Peter stamped his foot. "You must come with me to Neverland. Why would you want to stay in this horrible place?"
Wendy smiled sadly and said, "My Aunt Millicent needs me, Peter. She has given me so much ... I cannot leave her alone like this. My life has changed, Peter. I'm sorry. I cannot go. I will not go."
"Fine!" hissed Peter. "I hope you die!" He did not mean to be cruel, of course, but he was very angry at not getting what he wanted, and so lashed out as any selfish child might. He did not, of course, want for Wendy to die. He only wanted for her to come with him. But she was refusing him, and he was in a terrible pout over it.
"I'm leaving!" he announced, waiting for Wendy to attempt to stop him. When she did not, he turned sulkily to walk back toward his room, where the open window waited for him.
"Peter," Wendy called very softly, and Peter turned with a smug smile, certain that she must have changed her mind and was coming with him. "Peter, I will miss you."
That was all? She truly was not coming with him? Peter turned his back on Wendy and walked back to the horrid pink guest room, bidding it good-bye with a last burst of loathing. "Who wants her, anyway!" he muttered angrily, betraying in his tone perhaps more than a small amount of grief and hurt, however much he might have denied it.
And with that, Peter Pan stepped up to the window, accompanied by Tinker Bell, and flew out into the night.
At the window beside the one from which he had flown, a young woman's face was illumined by the moonlight as she pressed her palm to the glass, as if she were bidding a sad and silent farewell.
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Author's Note: So there you have it. Some happy stuff happened (Peter's injuries mysteriously finished healing, he got his memory back, Neverland seems to be mysteriously okay, Tinker Bell is mysteriously okay), but also some angsty stuff (Peter left all ticked off, not knowing that Wendy may be in danger from "Dr. Carew"). Next time, more happy stuff and more angsty stuff ... the drama continues! I know it's terribly soap opera-ish, but I'm having loads of fun writing it. :)
