Author's Note: In answer to JustDuck's question about Peter's age, I don't specify it in the story because he has no idea how old he is, and it's difficult to quantify within the context of the fic when none of the characters would know the answer. At this point in the story, though, I imagine him looking slightly older than Wendy -- so probably 16 years old -- which sort of straddles the line between boy and man, so people might refer to him as either one, depending on the situation and the person. Also, he doesn't behave as maturely as Wendy does, which would also contribute to a difference in how others treat, think of, and refer to each of them. Wendy has had her girlishness driven out of her (thanks to Aunt Millicent's influence), but Peter is still rather boyish in his attitude, regardless of his size.

Thanks: Thanks again to my husband and Mara Trinity Scully for their beta-reading, which contributed tremendously to this revision. I also want to thank those who have reviewed! I'm particularly surprised to get so many reviews from folks who have read the story in its previous version (and none, actually, from people reading the story for the first time -- odd) and are noticing even the small changes. I'm flattered that people remember the story so well!

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This fic, however, is mine. Please don't take it without my permission.

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Chapter 3
By the Light of the Lamp
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Aunt Millicent, as one might imagine, was most decidedly not pleased when her niece arrived on the doorstep in the company of a rag-tag beggar. Initially, she would not permit Peter to enter the house at all, but when Wendy too then insisted upon remaining outside and arguing where all neighbors might see and hear, Aunt Millicent ushered them both inside with an anxious glance to each side to see if anyone had been watching.

"Miss Wendy Darling, you shock and appall me!" Aunt Millicent scolded in her most prim voice as they stood in the entryway beside the ornate umbrella stand that looked like a swan with umbrellas all cruelly impaling its back. Glancing with great distaste at Peter, Aunt Millicent continued, "You know quite well that I cannot offer room and board to every beggar on the street! I should be quite ruined!"

Wendy had followed Aunt Millicent's instructions in all things for years, but she now found herself utterly determined to have her own way. Wendy knew that she was right, and Aunt Millicent was wrong, and she would not surrender in this.

"Aunt Millicent, I do not ask you to welcome every poor soul in London. I ask you only to welcome this one young man, who is my very dear friend, and who has fallen upon most wretched hard times."

Aunt Millicent's back straightened with her anxiety at Wendy's usage of the phrase "very dear friend," for this grimy fellow was simply not a good connection for a proper young lady of society. Aunt Millicent looked rather as if she had suddenly tasted a particularly tart lemon. "Absolutely not, young lady!"

"Would you have me abandon a friend so, Aunt? Does a proper English lady show so little loyalty and honor? Should not a true lady be gracious and generous to those less fortunate?"

Aunt Millicent refused to show it upon her face, but she did feel somewhat chastened by her charge. To be so rebuked by the very young lady she was instructing! It was quite irregular, more than a little impertinent, and not at all becoming. But Aunt Millicent had never been a particularly clever woman, relying instead upon convention and habit for her guidance, and so Wendy's determined arguments were confusing and confounding her. It was but a matter of time before Wendy Darling had her way.

"I will help him, Aunt. I must help him. It is the right and noble thing to do. Think of when Slightly arrived, when he too was dirty and without a home. You welcomed him and cared for him. Do you not remember?"

Aunt Millicent toyed with the locket at her throat, though she had repeatedly instructed Wendy that such fidgeting was unladylike. "If we are to have such a fellow under this roof," Aunt Millicent began, sending a rush of joy through Wendy's spirit, "then we must have a doctor in to ... to examine him for ... diseases. He is so very ... dirty." She eyed Peter as if he were some particularly disgusting insect that had found its impertinent way into her elegant home.

Wendy only nodded, smiling happily. "I shall tell Lottie to draw him a bath."

Throughout this conversation, Peter had remained quite still, his eyes and ears attentive to all that surrounded him. The older woman seemed decidedly unpleasant and clearly disliked him in the extreme, and her home was quite shockingly fine, filled with all manner of ornate and shining objects. Peter caught sight of himself in the looking glass that hung to one side of the entranceway, and his soiled face and clothes looked ridiculously incongruous surrounded by such finery. He felt a rather irrational urge to flee.

But at that moment the lovely Wendy took his arm once more to lead him up the stairs. As they passed a young woman dressed more plainly than Wendy and her aunt, Wendy said, "Lottie, would you draw a bath for Mr. Pan? And see if Harry might have some clothing he could borrow." The other woman curtsied and walked away.

Wendy led Peter to a room that looked decidedly feminine in its furnishings, with pink patterned wallpaper and a dressing table covered with decorative glass bottles. The windows were covered in dark pink velvet curtains with cream lace curtains within, matching the colors in the wallpaper. The large bed was covered in a pink and white coverlet, and hung with white curtains all 'round, though they were currently pulled aside and fastened to the bedposts with satin ribbons.

Peter found himself increasingly uncomfortable. He was expected to sleep here?

"I do apologize for all of the pink," Wendy said ruefully, "but Aunt Millicent decorated the guest room based purely upon her own tastes. My own room is much the same. Her own is only more ornate."

Peter stood awkwardly beside the young lady who had brought him to this strange land and clasped his hands together, afraid to touch anything. His eyes alone moved, examining the room in some dismay.

* * *

Peter had never been particularly bothered about bathing, but he found that he was surprisingly glad to rid himself of the dirt and smells of the street. He even scrubbed his fingernails, though they did not come entirely clean. Still, with his light brown hair now damply tousled and his skin scrubbed until it was nearly pink, Peter looked like quite a different young man.

After Peter had bathed and dressed in some spare clothes given him by Harry, Aunt Millicent's driver, it was time for dinner. Downstairs, out of his hearing, Wendy and her aunt were talking about their visitor.

"I shall send up a tray to the young man," Aunt Millicent decided, loathe to dine with a heathen at her own dining table. If she had seen him after his bath, she might have been slightly more charitable, but she had no interest in seeing him again. "I'm sure he will be much more comfortable dining in the guest room this evening."

Wendy was unhappy with this line of thinking, but after winning such a great victory as welcoming Peter into her aunt's home, Wendy was wise enough to hold her tongue on such a small matter.

* * *

And in truth Aunt Millicent was correct in her excuses, for Peter was quite pleased to have a tray of hot food delivered to him without his being forced into the company of such a disapproving and formidable lady. Unsure where he should eat this lavish meal, Peter at length sat cross-legged upon the floor beside the bed and ate as if he were at a picnic, or still out on the street. And if Aunt Millicent had seen him, she would have no doubt been appalled by his manners, for he wielding his knife and fork quite as if they were weapons and enthusiastically took bites considerably larger than would have been polite.

After he had finished eating, he opened his door cautiously and peered outside, uncertain what was now expected of him. The plainly dressed blonde woman was nearby, and asked him if she might take his tray. Peter nodded, feeling rather overwhelmed by the entire experience of this evening, and brought his tray to her. She smiled and left, and so Peter went back into his room. He was unsure whether the door was meant to be left open or closed, but the older woman had seemed so disgusted by him that he decided to close the door so he would not have to encounter her more than necessary.

Finding nothing else to amuse himself, Peter passed some amount of time by opening various drawers and cabinets within the room, but found little of interest within them. Some small cloth packets filled with something that smelled of flowers, some stationary, and various other such mysterious objects were stashed here and there, but nothing particularly exciting.

He wandered aimlessly around the room, scuffing his feet against the rug and hanging on to the bedposts, idly swinging back and forth suspended from one arm. After discovering the looking glass, he found quite a bit of entertainment in making faces at himself. He had not had much occasion to interact with mirrors before, and so he grinned, and stuck his tongue out, and opened his eyes very wide, and turned around in a twisting effort to look at the back of his body, and generally amused himself rather well.

At length, however, even the looking glass lost its novelty, and Peter became rather bored, sitting at the window and looking out over the gray slate roofs and down at the carriages and people in the street. He heard various noises in the house, soft talking between ladies, footsteps, doors opening and closing, water running, etc. After some time of such noises, all fell quiet, and Peter no longer saw light shining from beneath his door. It would appear they had extinguished the lamps and retired for the evening. Peter extinguished the lamps in his room, as well, and was surrounded by darkness..

Climbing fully clothed into the pink and white bed, Peter lay upon his back and stared at the ceiling above him. He thought of closing the curtains around the bed, but then feared someone might catch him unawares if his vision was so obstructed. And so he lay and listened to his heartbeat in the silence. He was not certain whether he could sleep on so soft a surface, and in such quiet. It was all very unfamiliar.

Peter had been lying in thought for some time when he heard a gentle knock upon his door, so quiet that he almost did not hear it. Wondering if perhaps he was to be kicked out into the street in the middle of the night, Peter crept to the door and opened it, only to see Wendy in a high-necked lavender dressing gown, her hair streaming down about her shoulders. She carried a small lamp which illumined her face, making her look as if she were lit from within like an angel.

"I thought you might be lonely in a strange place," she whispered, "particularly because you were not with us at dinner." She knew this was most unseemly, for her to visit a young man's bedchamber in the night, with no chaperone, and in her dressing gown. But this was Peter! Normal rules did not apply.

"I thought you might like to talk, as we have always done. I thought perhaps it might help you be more comfortable, perhaps help you sleep."

His sea-blue eyes wide in surprise and curiosity, Peter opened the door and let Wendy enter, then closed it again behind her, lest the older woman hear them talking. "I was having trouble going to sleep," Peter admitted quietly.

Wendy sat upon the floor at the foot of the bed and patted the rug beside her, admiring his lovely brown hair with its blond streaks. He looked quite handsome in the golden lamplight, very like the boy she had known so long ago. He had changed little, really. Older, taller, but still the same.

She and Peter sat cross-legged together and leaned their backs upon the footboard of the bed. Sitting so near her, away from the street for the first time, Peter could smell her hair and skin. She smelled of soap and flowers. It was a very nice smell.

"Will you tell me more stories of when you knew me before?" Peter asked softly, the dim light of her lamp making his eyes seem to glow. When Wendy nodded, he asked softly, "You've never said ... how did we meet?"

Wendy grinned and whispered, "Well, you needed some sewing done, you see, for you had had a bit of an accident. And so I brought out my needle and thread and sewed you up, good as new. And then you, cheeky boy, you leapt up and cried, 'Oh, the cleverness of me!'"

"I said that?" whispered Peter in surprise.

"Yes, Peter."

"That was quite cheeky, after you had helped me."

"Yes, it was, Peter. And so I was upset with you. But then you came to me and you said that one girl is worth more than twenty boys..."

"I said that?"

"Yes, Peter. Why?"

"Well, I suppose it's true, anyway."

This made Wendy smile. "And so you asked me to come help you care for your brothers, and I went with you, and they built me a little house, with a chimney and windows and a door knocker. It was the most cunning little house I have ever seen!"

"You left with me?" asked Peter, somewhat shocked and suddenly wondering exactly what their previous relationship had been. Such a fine young lady? Run away with him?

Wendy whispered reassuringly, "We were but children, Peter. Eventually I did return to my parents, but first we had many adventures together."

"You and me and my brothers?"

"Yes, and my brothers, as well, Peter."

"Oh, well, if your brothers were there, too."

"They were. And you played at pretending to be the father, and when the boys accidentally hurt me, you chased them around, saying that we should kill them before they hurt me again."

"My brothers hurt you?"

"Yes, but they didn't know. It's very difficult to explain, Peter. I am sorry."

"Did they ever hurt you again?"

"No, Peter. They were perfectly lovely boys, though a bit wild."

"What happened next?"

"Well, a bad man had taken my brothers prisoner..."

"The bad man I remembered? The one with the dark hair and the blue eyes and the red hat ... and the ... he had something wrong with his hand."

"Yes, Peter, it was Hook who had my brothers. Do you remember anything more about him?"

"No. I can't even remember his face, it's all very vague still."

"Don't worry. I am sure you will remember eventually."

"I hope so. So what happened when Hook had your brothers?"

"We went after them, and you showed me how to fight, and then you said, 'Promise me one thing,' and I asked you what, and you said, 'Leave Hook to me!'"

"I imagine I did not want you to be injured or captured, if the fellow was so very fierce."

"Perhaps so, Peter, but I thought you were treating me like a helpless girl. I was quite frustrated with you."

"And so what did you do?"

"Oh, I was very foolish, and I called after you, and Hook heard me. He came to look for me, but I hid and he did not see me."

"Well, that's a relief!"

"I agree! And then you fooled Hook by mimicking his voice oh so very cleverly, Peter! It was quite something to hear!"

"I mimicked his voice? What did I say?"

Wendy giggled quietly, and then whispered, "You said that you were Captain Hook, and then Hook said..." -- and here Wendy tried to lower her voice into a Hook-like growl, still trying to keep as quiet as possible -- "'If you are Hook, then who am I?' and you said, 'You are a codfish!'"

Peter laughed quietly. "He must have been very angry."

Wendy nodded. "He was. You always made him very angry. And so we saved my brothers, and you were a hero, Peter."

"A hero," Peter sighed softly. "I was a hero?"

Wendy smiled gently. "So very many times, Peter."

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes shining with wonder. "Tell me more!" he whispered eagerly.

"I'm afraid it's growing very late, Peter. I must go to bed, and allow you to sleep."

"Just tell me one more thing, Wendy! Please?"

"All right, Peter." She tried to think of something else she could tell him that was not too strange, and then she thought of something. "We danced together in the forest. And it was so beautiful!"

"You and I danced?"

Wendy nodded. "Shall I show you?"

Peter looked very uncertain when he said, "You want me to dance with you?"

Wendy nodded again and stood, holding out her arms.

Peter climbed to his feet, his limbs made awkward by nervousness, but he made a small bow before he placed his right hand shyly upon Wendy's waist. Wendy took his left hand in her right one -- her hand was so soft! -- and placed her left hand upon his shoulder. And then they began to dance in the lamp-lit bedroom, dancing to music that played only in their heads. Peter looked tentatively into Wendy's eyes, and he felt suddenly warmed by what he saw when she looked at him.

Pulling his hands away from her in a sudden burst of anxiety but still standing very close, Peter asked softly, "What happened after we danced?"

Looking up into Peter's face, though he would not meet her eyes, Wendy whispered, "We spoke of love, Peter."

Peter's eyes met Wendy's once more and he whispered hoarsely, "What did I say about love?"

Wendy's eyes clouded oh so subtly, but Peter saw it. "You said you had never felt it. You said that the very sound of it offended you."

Peter tilted his head, took a deep breath, and said softly, "Wendy, I think I must have been lying."

Wendy smiled weakly and stepped away from Peter, smoothing her hair with her hands and tightening the already snug belt of her dressing gown. "I should go, Peter. I hope you sleep well."

"I'm sure I will, now."

Wendy touched his arm lightly in farewell, offering him one last gentle smile, and then she was gone in a soft rustling of fabric and the smell of soap and flowers, and Peter found himself once more alone in his darkened pink bedroom.

Climbing up to lie flat on his back again on the bed, Peter drifted off to sleep quite easily this time, and dreamed wonderful dreams he had never imagined before. He dreamt of dancing with Wendy in a forest, and she was so beautiful she looked as if she were lit from within, like an angel.

But in his dream, they were both younger, and they rose into the air as they danced, and small lights flew 'round them like nothing he had ever seen, and it was like magic.