Author's Note: Yea, I am finally back! It took me a while to figure out how this chapter was going to play out. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.

There is a little reference in this chapter to one of my other Peter Pan fics, I Did Not Reach You, Wendy.

Wow! I am amazed by how many reviews I got for the last chapter! Thank you savetheducks, LilFlyergirl, snakefeather, WiseCrack, Angel285, SBGrl925, Yemerej's Love, xTiptoex, BendyStraw, and kiki!!!

redtiger: I'm not planning on having another confrontation between Wendy and Tiger Lily – though I could possibly change my mind. But, rest assured, Tiger Lily's "ghost" will still haunt this story for a bit.

Poztcardz205pean: Peter does not really end up with anyone in this story, though he has interacted with both Tiger Lily and Wendy. This is not a romance story, though parts of it can be called romantic. I do not write stories where Peter ends up with Tiger Lily. I am a hardcore Peter/Wendy shipper. So if it is Peter/Tiger Lily you want, I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere.


Chapter 7: Poor Wendy!

Everything is whistling past her, urging her on. Nothing attempts to stop her fall. She simply falls faster and faster. Behind her closed eyelids, bright colors mix and become a flowing river of rainbow shades and hues.

In her head Wendy is sure she hears the sweet, yet haunting voices of mermaids, singing of her coming doom. A certain ball of light zips about her mind, taunting her, rejoicing that Mother will be gone soon. Tinker Bell and an image of the mermaids appear in her mind's eye, jeering at her. The Indians come, mourning for her. Red-eyed, the Lost Boys' grief shines clearly in their faces. John and Michael do not cry – though sadness hovers over their features – trying to be brave and gentlemen. Her pet wolf howls in anguish and whimpers with sadness.

Then there is Peter, standing tall and straight. His face is solemn, with a trace of uncertainty and trouble in the depths of his hazel eyes. But he is not sad, nor does he cry. He is Captain, one who is not troubled for long by unpleasant things. Just as he has lost and gained Lost Boys over time, he has not been troubled by the deaths that have met some of the boys. And so shall he soon forget that she, Wendy, had ever been here. He will forget the only Mother he and the others had. He will forget about her kiss. Instead, he will not let this tragic event cause the boys to let down their guards if Hook tries to capture them. Peter and the others will continue to battle the pirates. He will spend more time with the Indians. He and the boys will listen to Tiger Lily's story-telling. Along with Tinker Bell, he will bring more boys to the island.

Time does not stop. The days go on. The feeling of sadness will quickly melt away. The pirates will forget. The mermaids will forget. The Indians will forget. Her pet wolf will forget. The Lost Boys will forget. John and Michael will forget. Hook will forget. Tinker Bell will forget. And Peter Pan will forget. The entire island, Neverland, will forever forget that once a young girl named Wendy Moira Angela Darling walked upon this magical place.

This thought causes tears to well up behind Wendy's eyelids and her heart to break in two.

"Oof!"

Her small body comes into contact with something hard. Her head snaps back. Pain courses through her. She moans. Floating stars explode in her head, which starts pounding. Her stomach ties in knots. Moaning again, she weakly grasps her tummy with her left hand. She slowly takes a breath and starts. She breathes in and out, listening to the quiet sound of air first rushing into her lungs and then escaping out of them. She is alive? Why? How? What has she landed in – or on?

Slowly, Wendy becomes aware of a sound in her ear. She forces her heavy-feeling eyes open and blinks several times to bring everything into focus. A darkening sky stares down at her. She shifts her body and discovers a pair of arms wrapped around her in a firm grip – one arm around her back and shoulders, the other under her legs. The right side of her body is crushed against a chest. Wendy blinks in surprise. Allowing the noise in her ear to gain her attention, she turns her head and finds herself gazing into the face of one Peter Pan, their noses nearly brushing. She cannot keep her mouth from dropping open in surprise. Peter stares at her, his face completely white. His eyes are wide and filled with an emotion she cannot name, but is certain she has never seen him show before. She is reminded slightly of how he was following "that evening," but hardly. The boy before her is not the one she imagined just a little bit ago. Once again she is looking at a new side of Peter Pan.

"Wendy!" Peter says her name – for seemingly the hundredth time since he caught her – in a strangled voice filled with nothing short of terror.

When he saw Wendy suddenly start falling to the ground, he had momentarily frozen. Like lightning, he recalled his nightmare, when he had lost Wendy because he was not awake. But then he quickly came back to reality and raced after Wendy's falling form. When he first took her and her brothers to Neverland, he had prevented Michael from falling into the sea several times, waiting until almost the last instant to grab the small boy from hitting the water. It had been a highly amusing game to him. But it was not a game to Peter when Wendy fell. He did not watch her for a while but sped after her, determined to save her, not to let his nightmare become real. He had managed to get ahead of her, and she fell into his arms, hard. But he had brought her close to him, not wanting to accidentally let her go. This was not a game this time. Pure fear had surged through him, and it has yet to leave him.

"Peter?" Wendy says in a soft tone, looking at him with disbelief and concern.

He only nods, suddenly having trouble swallowing around the large lump in his throat.

"Peter!" This time Wendy brings her hand up to his face, caressing first one of his cheeks, then the other. Bewilderment and anxiety swim in the blue pools of her eyes. She withdraws her hand, lightly wet. Wet from Peter's tears slowly rolling down his face!

"Why are you crying, Peter?" she asks gently.

She is astonished when he does not look scandalized at realizing this is what he is doing. Instead, he puts his face in her hair, his body shaking softly.

Wendy sighs, not knowing what to do or say. She is silent, gently brushing her fingers over Peter's hair, and looks about curiously. She peers below, trying to make out in the gathering darkness how far below her and Peter the ground is. Straining her eyes, she makes out the ground. It is her turn to become deathly pale. A circle of pine trees is a couple of yards below them. Within their circle is a sea of large jagged rocks. Wendy draws in a ragged breath. If Peter had not saved her, she would be dead. A shudder passes through her, reminding her of what her body was experiencing before her plunge and pain from the hard impact she and Peter made when he caught her. A tiny sound of pain flees her lips. But it is not silent.

Peter raises his head, dried tearstains on both his cheeks. But the color is returning to his face. His terror is now replaced with worry. He looks over the girl in his arms carefully. His brows draw together when Wendy silently leans her head against his chest, her cheek brushed by leather.

"We're almost home," he says simply.

"I'm all right," Wendy tries to assure him. It is partly true. The pain of her hitting him is almost gone. But her head is still pounding; dizziness surrounds her. She feels very warm in the coolness of the evening. Her eyes are watering from how hot they are. And her nose is becoming stuffy.

Peter peers into her face. She gives him a small smile which, she is relived, appears to satisfy him. Without another word he slowly starts to fly, holding her tightly. Wendy closes her eyes and relaxes against Peter's chest. She frowns slightly as the feeling of leather against her skin reminds her of why she cannot fly tonight. She attempts to push thoughts of Tiger Lily away, for there are other matters she will have to concern herself with when she and Peter reach the house under the ground.

Some time later – it seemed like a short time yet also many hours to Wendy – Peter gently lands on the forest floor. Wendy wiggles out of his arms and stands, his arm around her wrist. For a moment Wendy closes her eyes and swallows hard, fighting down the lump rising in her throat. If not for Peter's arm about her, she would fall to the ground. Gradually, she reopens her eyes as the wave of dizziness passes.

Without a word Peter escorts her to her tree. Walking again is strange to Wendy. She keeps telling herself which foot to raise and put before her. Yet she keeps her head high and her eyes are not dazed, for she is a lady. At last she reaches her tree. Peter watches her carefully. She is about to step into her tree when Peter stops her.

"Are you feeling all right, Wendy?" he asks.

Wendy's cheeks flush slightly. Slowly she turns to him and gives him a bright fake smile. "I am fine, Peter," she lies. Why trouble him?

Peter stares intently at her, looking through her. Wendy's blush deepens. He nods slowly, but he does not look convinced. Wendy averts her gaze to the leather around his neck, then to her feet. She hopes he will not press the issue.

She watches from under lowered lids as he starts toward his own tree. Wendy readies to enter hers, but pauses. She looks up at the retreating boy.

"Peter?" she says quietly.

Peter immediately whips around and is beside her in a moment, his eyes searching her face.

"What is it?"

Before losing her courage, Wendy blurts, "I…thank you. For saving my life."

Peter blinks in surprise and gives her a halfhearted cocky grin. He nods and goes off.

Wendy slowly turns back to her tree. If she goes faster, the world will continue to spin. She enters the trunk, shoots down, and tumbles into the house under the ground.

A series of cries of "Mother!" greet her ears.

Wendy balls her hands into fists to stop herself from clutching her head as her headache worsens. She lifts her head and jumps to see Peter before her, his hand extended to her. Slowly Wendy uncurls her hands and takes his offered one. He holds her gaze as he helps her rise. She gulps nervously. He knows. She can see it in his eyes. He knows she has not been honest with him.

The boys' voices fill the house, excited that Father is here, but neither Peter nor Wendy pay heed, each one's eyes locked upon the other's, as are their hands. It is Slightly who manages to break the spell, coming up to them and telling Wendy that the food is still warm. He is followed by Tootles and John, happily assuring her that the boys have all behaved splendidly. Wendy turns from Peter, thanking them and requesting that they come to prepare to eat. After they scurry off, she looks uneasily at Peter. He slowly releases her hand but not her gaze, which he continues to examine with his piercing eyes. Wendy manages to tear herself away from the boy, going to make sure the table is set and all is ready.

The meal passes in mainly a blur for Wendy. She feels as though she is in a great sea being washed by wave after wave. The boys chat much among themselves, but there is, surprisingly, no bickering tonight. Perhaps it is because the boys are aware of the strange tension at the meal. Wendy hardly eats, not being able to put much except water down her tight, dry throat. And every time she brings up her gaze from her food, her blue eyes crash with Peter's hazel ones across the table. It is not lost on her that he studies her intently during the meal. Nor is lost on her the troubled expression which fleets across his face at how full her plate is despite her claim of being full.

Wendy cleans while the boys prepare for bed. Peter disappears. To get the time, or for another purpose, she does not know nor ponders. Instead, she is surprised that he made no mention of the eventful flight they had coming back here to the house under the ground. For, as usual, it was during the meal he told about the adventures of the day. But not tonight, which unsettles her.

She leaves the kitchen area of the house and has Curly help her put the bed down. She settles herself in her rocker to tell the boys their bedtime story. But they decline.

"You should get some sleep, Mother," Nibs says. "You seem awfully tired."

The other boys agree. Wendy is surprised.

"You were out late. And you were very quiet at supper," one of the Twins puts.

"My dear sweet boys," Wendy murmurs, very surprised but secretly thankful. "Very well," she nods in consent.

Quickly the boys get into bed and basket. Wendy kisses each good night and puts out all the candles, the only light now coming from the small fire. In the deepening darkness, Wendy feels her energy and strength drain away. She sways but manages to balance herself. She eases into her rocker, and her body goes limp. Everything rushes at her. She cannot think, the earsplitting headache causing her much discomfort. Her body aches. She has trouble breathing because of the stuffiness of her nose. Her eyes close, the heat of the fire increasing their burning. Her ears pound in a wild gallop. Her hair is damp and very tangled. Rolling her head so it rests on her shoulder, she falls asleep, too weak to move from the hard wooden chair and put down her bedding. She trembles with coldness.

As silence descends on the house, Tinker Bell peers out of her house. She darts about, looking on the sleeping boys. Their playing while Wendy was gone vexed her greatly. But her anger mounted as she watched the silent interaction between Peter and Wendy when they returned. He had not asked if she was here or come and see if she was up. No, he simply watched that Wendy. It was not lost on the tiny fairy either that Wendy did not look well, but that did nothing to lighten her mood. Right then, Tink knew she looked better compared to the girl, but Peter was staring at her in a way Tink did not understand.

Now she hovers above the sleeping girl's face. The firelight makes her golden orange hair appear red. Her skin seems to have blush. And her breath comes out short and haggled. Tink looks on her with scorn. She lands on Wendy's nose but a second later flies off as the girl sneezes violently, causing her body to start sliding out of the rocker. But she does not awaken.

In a fouler mood, Tink is about to whisper in the sleeping girl's ear and cause some sort of mischief but, instead, at hearing a sound, speeds into her house.

Quietly Peter enters the house and sees that all have already retired. Floating across the room, he looks into the basket at the small form of Michael hugging his teddy. He then moves over the bed, gazing at each sleeping boy. He moves toward the fire and, his back to it, looks at the sleeping girl in the rocker. He frowns at seeing her actually partly in and partly out of the chair in an uncomfortable looking position. Slowly Peter lands on the floor and steps toward Wendy. He watches her and gently brushes some hair out of her face. He touches her forehead again. His frown grows darker at the how hot she feels. Yet he is puzzled, for she shakes as though she is cold.

Peter puts down Wendy's bedding and carefully transports her from the rocker to the blankets. Her whole body is burning like the fire! Yet she still shakes. At a loss of what to do, he goes and lies down on his bed and closes his eyes. Sleep refuses to come. Instead he worries about why Wendy is not well. Oh, he thought, she did not seem herself. What had caused her such trouble during their flight he did not know. But she was not all right as she had claimed. His eyes fly open as he hears her cough. Quickly he is at her side, peering at her, hoping to see what is wrong. But she is still full of coldness and heat. Sweat drips off her face. He goes and fetches a cloth and, wetting it, wipes her face before returning to bed. But he does not go to sleep. So, letting the worry in him win out, he puts himself in Wendy's rocker and draws it close to her. Much of the night he watches her troubled sleep, filled with coughs, sneezes, and whimpers, and shivers and sweating.

"Poor Wendy, what's the matter with you?" he whispers in her ear, trying to soothe her as she tosses about.

Thus the night passes. The Boy Who Won't Grow Up watches over his mother.