Author's Note: Yep. I'm posting a third chapter today, because this is where my revisions begin to be more noticeable. Chapter 8 is where the new scenes begin, but this chapter too has been significantly revised.
Thanks: Thanks again to my husband and Mara Trinity Scully for their beta-reading. And thanks again, also, to those who have taken the time to review!
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me. This fic, however, is mine. Please don't take it without my permission.
Chapter 6
At the Hospital
~
The doctors said it was a miracle the young man had not been killed.
Miss Millicent Tilney and Mrs. Lydia Crawford said it was a miracle that he had been there at all. "One moment," Aunt Millicent marveled, "he was not there, and the next moment he was, darting forward so bravely to save our lovely girls from certain death!"
Aunt Millicent and the Crawfords had become rather enamored of gallant Peter, now that he had so publicly and dramatically proven himself romantically heroic. Aunt Millicent, in particular, with her weakness for melodramatic novels, found the boy now perfectly wonderful. To be struck down by a motor car, in the act of saving two young ladies' lives! How thrilling!
Aunt Millicent was not, after all, a wicked woman, but only a trifle silly upon occasion, and perhaps sometimes misguided in her attempts to do what was best for her niece. In truth, she wished only to ensure that Wendy would not live the lonely spinster's life that she herself had lived. She wished above all things to see Wendy well married and happy. If she upon occasion treated Wendy too strictly or harshly, it was only toward this end, for she cared for her niece deeply, in her own way.
And though, if she had thought upon it in more depth, she might have worried that Wendy's attachment to young Peter might harm the girl's chances of marrying well, in truth Aunt Millicent was instead so carried away by the drama of the situation that she gave Wendy leave to visit Peter in the hospital as often as she liked ... particularly since Miss Elizabeth Crawford had taken to visiting him frequently, and there could certainly be no harm in anything that Miss Elizabeth Crawford chose to do.
In any case, concern for the boy had, through the Crawfords' attention, become quite fashionable.
Wendy's parents came as quickly as possible to the young man's bedside, for who could not offer whatever help possible to one who had saved their dear daughter's life? They knew not that he was the same young fellow who had tempted their children away some years before, but even if they had, they might have looked upon him with equal warmth and gratitude. They were, after all, rather kind-hearted folk who loved their children deeply, and who had been much more aware of the depth of that love since those children had gone missing for such a terrible time.
Wendy's mother gently but firmly insisted that Peter must be attended by the Darlings' trusted family physician, Dr. Woodhouse, who had long been treating the Darling boys for their frequent and numerous scrapes, bumps, and bruises, for they were a most energetic brood of scamps. Aunt Millicent would have preferred to have the boy seen by Dr. Carew, of course, but that gentleman had rather strangely refused, insisting that he would attend the boy at home but not at hospital.
When he did arrive, the white-bearded, most remarkably tall Dr. Woodhouse examined Peter thoroughly and met afterward with the Darlings and Aunt Millicent to discuss the boy's care, for all were concerned for him. It seemed he would be confined to the hospital for some time.
But if during this conversation Dr. Woodhouse perhaps gazed at Aunt Millicent with somewhat more attention than would be expected, it was little noticed by that elegant lady, for she had thoughts only for Dr. Carew, and the odd puzzle of why he would not come to the hospital.
Mary Darling, however, noticed Dr. Woodhouse's apparent interest with a willing matchmaker's eye. The Darlings had excellent reason, after all, to be so very fond of Dr. Woodhouse for so many years. He was a good and kind man, but also a very merry soul, and Mrs. Darling wished him well if such an old bachelor might find happiness in love.
Though Aunt Millicent seemed little disposed to return his feelings, Mrs. Darling planned to discreetly speak to each of them upon the subject in the future if such an opportunity arose.
And so Wendy visited the hospital every day, sitting by Peter's bedside from 2 until 5 each afternoon. Peter had been quite badly injured, and so Dr. Woodhouse did not yet know how long he would need remain hospitalized. His left leg was encased in plaster, the top of his head was thoroughly wrapped in bandages, and Dr. Woodhouse also believed that there might be various additional injuries hidden within Peter's body, where they could not be seen without surgery.
The very worst, however, was the fact that Peter had not wakened since the accident. Dr. Woodhouse had prescribed injections of morphine to relieve the extreme pain he must surely be experiencing, even in his unnatural slumber, but Wendy worried desperately by his bedside each day, waiting for him to open those sea-blue eyes she had spent so much time seeking in Oxford Street and Whitechapel.
After his thorough scrubbing by the nurses -- which was quite necessary to determine the extent of his injuries, since bruises were in many places difficult to distinguish from dirt --Peter looked quite sweetly innocent, with white blankets pulled up to his chin and his face relaxed. He lay silently, eyes closed, eyelashes motionless, like a sleeping prince who had been struck down by some mysterious spell.
When Wendy was quite sure that the hospital room was empty and that no one stood at the doorway, she once even leaned over to softly press her lips to Peter's, but he did not wake with her kiss.
Peter slept on.
And while he slept, Wendy continued to tell him stories. She often held his hand, and talked until her throat was sore and she coughed most distressingly. She told him the same stories over and over again, knowing that he would not mind, since the stories were all about him.
"Once upon a time," she would say, leaning close to his ear, so that none of the hospital staff would hear her tales. "Once upon a time, there was a boy named Peter Pan who decided not to grow up..."
As has been mentioned, however, Wendy was not Peter's only regular visitor. The very elegant Miss Elizabeth Crawford -- dressed in the very latest of fashions, direct from Paris -- visited Peter nearly every day, as well, often moving her chair quite close to his bed and proprietarily holding his hand in hers, her white kid gloves bright against his golden skin.
It must be admitted that Peter now cut quite the handsome figure, even sleeping as he was upon his hospital bed. His blond-streaked brown hair was now clean and smooth, and his face now clearly visible after emerging from beneath his ragged cloth cap and several layers of the East End's infamous chimney soot. Peter, Miss Elizabeth Crawford had realized, was quite handsome indeed!
Miss Elizabeth Crawford herself, however, was not particularly handsome, especially to Wendy's jealous eye. Miss Crawford's pale red hair, freckles, and narrow hips were all excessively unfashionable. Luckily, Wendy's own faint youthful freckles had faded as she grew, but Miss Elizabeth Crawford had had no such luck, and her face somewhat resembled the Neverland's starry sky, save with orange freckles in the place of stars.
In her petulant hospital bedside ruminations on the unattractiveness of Miss Elizabeth Crawford, while that most unattractive of ladies held on to Peter's hand as if she had a right to do so, Wendy decided that most hideous of all Miss Elizabeth Crawford's flaws was that she was decidedly silly.
Wendy amused herself by imagining Miss Elizabeth Crawford facing various Neverland situations. Captured by the Indian warriors! Oh, she would certainly be dead. Most likely scalped and dead. Kidnapped by Captain Hook! Gutted and dead. A midnight encounter with the mermaids! Drowned and dead. A hapless fall from the Neverland sky, aimed straight into the mouth of the volcano! Oh so unfortunately smashed, melted, and dead!
And if Miss Elizabeth Crawford ever wondered at the sly smiles that sometimes flirted upon Miss Wendy Darling's lips while they both attended Peter's bedside, she certainly never inquired.
For his part, when Peter at long last woke from his unconscious state, he did not even notice Miss Elizabeth Crawford's freckled, silly, certainly-dead-in-Neverland existence, despite the fact that the young lady in question had a rather tenacious hold upon his right hand at the time.
"Wendy?" he murmured as his eyes opened groggily. Miss Elizabeth Crawford reluctantly released her hold upon his hand and moved further from the bed as Wendy eagerly approached to sit upon the chair close at his side.
"Peter?" Wendy replied, her heart beating so loud she thought surely people must hear it for miles 'round. "Peter?" And now Wendy took Peter's hand within her own, and felt somehow that her own grasp was right, whereas Miss Elizabeth Crawford's had been so very very wrong.
"Wendy," Peter mumbled as if still dazed with his long slumber, "I saw you ... in front of ... the car ... I had to save you." And here he squeezed Wendy's hand weakly, his eyelashes still fluttering as he said quietly, almost in a whisper, "You'll think ... I'm crazy ... but ... Wendy ... I think ... I think ... I flew..."
At this, Wendy smiled an awed and joyous smile, which Peter misconstrued immediately, even with his gaze as sleepy as it was.
"Laughing at me," he fretted, closing his tired eyes entirely once more.
Wendy pressed his hand between the both of hers and smiled the happiest smile she had smiled in a very long time, whispering close to his ear, so that Miss Elizabeth Crawford would not hear, "I am not laughing at you, Peter. I ... I believe you. I think you were flying, and the thought makes me so very happy." She leaned to kiss him softly upon his cheek, and Peter turned to look at her, sleepy uncertainty in his eyes. A long moment later, he smiled a small, smug smile, as if they shared some particularly marvelous secret together.
When Wendy looked up once more, she saw that the elegant Miss Elizabeth Crawford had gone.
Wendy's visits to Peter's hospital room became no more brief after his awakening, but nor did they become longer in duration, either. For Aunt Millicent still required much of her niece, not only in the way of needlework and piano playing, but also in the practice of conversation, for which Aunt Millicent had decided that luncheons with Dr. Carew were an excellent solution. For though she seemed quite immune to the hopeful glances of the kindly Dr. Woodhouse, Aunt Millicent continued to find the more dashing Dr. Carew endlessly fascinating.
In fact, Dr. Carew was now invited to Miss Millicent Tilney's home for luncheon twice weekly and had become quite comfortable with the two ladies in residence.
Wendy, however, continued to loathe him, most particularly for the embarrassingly girlish behavior he inspired in her aunt. He must surely be a decade Aunt Millicent's junior, and yet he behaved as if she might expect him to court her. It was as if Aunt Millicent were being mocked, unknowingly, in her own home, twice weekly.
After luncheon one afternoon, Wendy saw the most horrifying sight yet: Aunt Millicent presenting Dr. Carew with a gift, in thanks for his -- entirely unnecessary and quite self-important -- heroics upon their first meeting.
"I had noticed that you carry no pocket watch, Dr. Carew. And knowing how important your appointments are to you, I thought this might prove useful as well as fashionable."
Dr. Carew's face was carefully expressionless as he eyed the brass-cased pocket watch with its attached polished brass chain. A close observer might have noticed a look of rage and fear glimmer briefly in his cold blue eyes, but any such reaction was almost immediately squelched and hidden beneath his usual deceptively courteous manner. "A most appropriate gift, Miss Tilney. And thoughtful, as well. You have my thanks."
Aunt Millicent nearly tittered once more, and so Wendy looked away lest her frustration and disgust show upon her countenance. To be giving gifts to such a man! And he would not even attend Peter in the hospital! He was simply the most horrid man imaginable, and watching her aunt fawn over him in this manner made Wendy very nearly sick to her stomach.
"Aunt," Wendy interrupted quite rudely, if truth be known, "I must leave for the hospital. Might I call for Harry and the carriage?"
Distracted by her own concerns, Aunt Millicent did not reprimand Wendy even by a stern look. She simply smiled graciously, as if in a performance for her male guest, and told Wendy that she might indeed go.
And so Wendy left for the hospital, which was, rather oddly, so much more pleasant than home.
Now that he was awake, Peter had been experiencing sharp pains from within his abdomen, but when he discovered that Dr. Woodhouse thought that the surgeon might perhaps need to investigate what injuries might be hidden from their view, he ceased complaining of the pain and simply ground his teeth when the doctor or nurses probed that painful area, insisting that the pain was gone. They did not all, perhaps, believe him, but when his stubborn insistence continued, Dr. Woodhouse was forced to reluctantly accept that perhaps the pain had indeed been only transitory. He would not recommend surgery unless he was certain that such was absolutely necessary.
For the pain of Peter's leg and head, and any other aches that continued, the doctor prescribed injections of morphine, such as had been administered when the boy was not yet conscious. A wakeful Peter, however, was a much more difficult patient than a sleeping one. Peter did not trust the doctor's needles or their contents, and so insisted that he preferred pain to their "medicine." Again, his insistences were stubborn enough to defeat Dr. Woodhouse's prescriptions and advisements, in response to which that good doctor could only shake his head and smile in bemusement. The boy was certainly strong-willed, and perhaps that alone might serve him better than any outside treatment.
And though Dr. Woodhouse might find the difficult boy amusing, it must be admitted that the nurses began to anticipate with pleasure the day when Peter Pan would no longer be patient of theirs.
In truth, though perhaps Dr. Woodhouse would not have believed it, Peter was beginning to feel slightly better. He knew that it was not the "medicine" or anything else the hospital had offered. It was Wendy. Every story she told him lessened the sharp pain in his abdomen just the slightest bit more. Even the stories he had heard before ... it did not matter. It seemed to be Wendy's telling that mattered.
Wendy told him stories, and Peter's body ... healed. It was happening slowly, but it was happening. He felt it, inside. He knew it. He didn't know how or why, but he knew.
Wendy told him stories, and Peter's body healed ... and his memories continued to return.
When they learned that Peter had wakened from his long unnatural slumber, Wendy's parents eagerly came to his bedside, wishing to offer their thanks for his bravery in rescuing their only daughter. And so Peter somewhat dubiously submitted to having his cheek kissed by Mrs. Mary Darling, and shook hands rather awkwardly with Mr. George Darling, and told them he was quite glad to have saved their daughter, which was of course the truth.
Mr. Darling insisted, "If there is any way we might help you ... there is no way to repay, of course ... but ... if there is anything we can do to help you ... anything ... you need only say."
"Father?" interjected Wendy hopefully. "Peter might find use for some more appropriate clothing, when he leaves the hospital."
Mr. Darling nodded his head sharply, "Of course! Of course." As a bank manager, he loved a quantifiable answer to any question, and having a concrete way to in some small measure repay this young man's courageous help was most welcome.
Mrs. Darling asked gently, "Where will Peter be nursed when he leaves the hospital? He might stay with us if he likes." She smiled generously and kindly, wishing only the best for this young man who had kept her daughter safe.
"Mrs. Lydia Crawford and her daughter have offered their home, as Aunt Millicent has offered hers," Wendy said. She would not give details, but she knew that her aunt had been spurred to action by the fact that the Crawford family had paid Peter's hospital bills. She would not be outdone, and so she too had offered a place for Peter's recuperation.
"Well, young man," Mr. Darling rocked forward and back slightly on his feet, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "You have three homes to choose from, so which will it be?" Another simple answer. Always a good thing in George Darling's opinion.
Peter was rather dismayed at being so abruptly quizzed, but in actuality the answer was simple, for it had never truly been in question. There was only one person he trusted, for she had proven herself a true friend, searching for him, trying to help him, telling him stories, even helping him remember his past. No, the answer had never been in question.
"I wish to be with Wendy," he answered. Though he remained suspicious of Wendy's aunt and the doctor who had suggested sending him to the workhouse, he felt that his current status as wounded hero would most likely grant him a period of safety, until he could make his own way again.
Wendy knew that her aunt would be pleased, for she would view this as a social boon, having been chosen above the Crawfords.
And Wendy's parents too were pleased with this answer, for if truth be told their house was rather too crowded with boys already.
The only person, it would seem, who would be displeased with Peter's choice would be the elegant Miss Elizabeth Crawford. But she, Wendy thought to herself with the last faint twinges of foundless jealousy, can simply jump into a volcano.