Changing Toward Love

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Notes of the Authoress Anthy: Annnd Chapter Two. I had nicer Authoress notes for this chapter, but I lost the file. *tear* So, yeah, these are the ... lamer Authoress notes. Hmm. Well, thank you for reading! I love you, reader whom I do not know! I really appreciate your reading this. ^^

Disclaimer: No, I don't own the movie or the book, but whoever does should be so proud! Please, don't sue me. ;_; I am just a poor romantic!

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Five Years Later


I had to find it. I had to find the window.

Nearly every window in London was dark and shut tight, and in the darkness it was difficult to see anything, let alone the random details I could recall of the monuments that lead to that certain street. The certain street that housed the certain building with the large window that was the entrance to the room where I had first found her, first pushed her red-brown hair away from her face and brushed my fingertips against her lips and cheek.

She had looked so curious then, so ... impossible not to touch. She was like Tink, like a fairy, only with no wings and no sparkle, and much, much bigger. She was pale and less pretty, without all the glitter, but pretty in a different way. She was like the mermaids, that stared into your eyes until you followed them into the water to your death. It was impossible to not touch her. It had been impossible not to take her home.

I couldn't remember exactly what she looked like now, though. I had thought about Wendy a lot for a very long time, especially just before I went to sleep, but over time her face had gotten all blurry, smeared. Remembering her face was like trying to paint in water now. I could remember little parts, though- like how her eyes were very blue, and how her lips were more curved than mine, and more pink. And every once in a while, I can remember her laugh, hear it in the wind that blows through the trees.

It doesn't matter anymore whether or not I can remember what she looks like, though, because I'll be seeing her again in a few minutes, and then I'll remember it all perfectly. I just have to find the street, and then the house, and then the window.

How long had it been since I had seen her? I knew that time went by much faster in Neverland, even though at the same time, it stopped it. I had no idea how long it had been since I'd taken her with me. Had it been a year, maybe?

At first, I came back often. I would go to the window (after finding it easily), and I would watch her tell stories. She would wildly swing a sword as she did so, or dance with one of the Lost Boys when Cinderella was dancing with the Prince. I would wish, then, that I was in there, dancing with Wendy, and I would reach my hand to the bottom of the window.

I never could open it, though.

I wouldn't admit it to anyone, but I was much too afraid. Wendy meant change, and feelings. When I looked at her laugh and dance and smile at happy endings, I felt as though something inside me was expanding, growing and just getting bigger and bigger, to the point that I feared it would burst. The growing feeling would always change to a feeling that knawed at me, made my chest ache like I'd been running for too long. It was worse, though, because it was inside of me, and the more I watched Wendy, the worse it got.

I was scared to open the window, and so I never did. I knew, though, that when the aching stopped, I could, and then I would greet everyone again.

That's why I kept coming to London and to the window to watch Wendy, to hear the stories that I'd heard many times in her voice, stories that never seemed to get old. I was waiting for the ache to go away, so that I could open the window. As I waited, though, the stories became shorter and shorter.

Wendy would want to sit in a chair near the window instead of standing and acting everything out with swordplay and dancing. She didn't act so much anymore, only used her hands, and after awhile, even that became rare. Her voice changed, too. She always sounded tired, and a little bit disappointed, like she didn't want to be telling stories at all.

Sometimes, she wouldn't even tell a story. She wouldn't play with the boys. She would just tuck them into bed and kiss their cheeks and tell them good-night; no stories or fun. When she did this, after the boys were all asleep, she would go to the rocking chair and just sit there, staring up at the sky until finally, she would go off to bed.

I realize then something that I had forgotten.

Even though I had no mother or father, I knew what they did from watching the Darlings. The mother tucked the children into bed, and she never played with them, just watched. When a mother told stories, she told them in the quiet, boring way that Wendy did now, sitting instead of pretending and laughing. Mothers, like all adults, always sound tired, and rarely sound eager and excited. And most of all, mothers sit in rocking chairs and stare, thinking on and on into the night instead of spending their time playing or having fun.

I knew then that Wendy had become like her mother. She'd changed into her- she had grown up. I knew that if Wendy had grown up, she'd forgotten me- forgotten our adventure and our time together. That was why she no longer told our story. She'd grown up and forgotten me, because I was a thing of her childhood, and she had become a woman. She longer needed her memories of me. She had forgotten.

That's when I stopped coming to the window. I went back to Neverland and I stayed there, fighting the odd pirate, though nothing had been quite the same without Hook around, and conversing with the Indians and mermaids. Without the boys, though, everything had become much less fun, much less quiet. I thought for a long time about finding new Lost Boys, but some part of me told me that was wrong to do. What if they ended up leaving, too, as Wendy had?

Wendy. The aching that I mentioned before only got worse after I stopped going to the window. It filled me up inside with so much soreness that I couldn't sleep sometimes. I lay awake at night, thrashing and moaning, and when I did sleep, I dreamed.

I dreamed of Wendy in a nursery, only not the one in the Darling house. It was a different one, with only a crib instead of the five beds. And Wendy- she was all grown-up, a woman in a long blue dress, and she was holding a baby in her arms. Back and forth, back and forth, rocking the baby, singing a little song while she laughed and smiled. She looked the way she did when she was telling a story, though I knew she wasn't- she was just living out her own.

And there was always, always a man there, standing next to her. He was tall and ugly, like Captain Hook, and he smiled at the baby too. I knew as soon as I woke up who he was. He was the man that Hook had broken me inside with. He was a husband.

After those dreams, the ache got worse and worse. When I went out into Neverland, though, and did normal things, I would sometimes forget about it. In that way, I could have stayed in Neverland forever, until the ache went away. I honestly believed that it would. I did believe it would- that is, until it happened.

The changing happened.

It wasn't all at once. It happened over a long period of time, probably years. First, my voice started to change. It got lower, more like the waves than the wind. And then, I realized I was getting bigger, especially taller. After awhile, I had to curl up my legs just to fit in my bed. And then, my face ... changed. It looked the same, but different. It wasn't supposed to ever look different.

And when my head hit the top of the door of the tree hideout, I knew I couldn't pretend anymore. I knew I could no longer ignore it. Neverland had lost its magic. I, Peter Pan, was growing up. I was becoming a man, the thing that I wanted the least in the world to be. I was terrified.

It didn't take me long to figure out why. I knew what had made me grow and change. It was that strange, endless soreness inside me- that was to blame. And I knew the source, the cause of the ache. The ache was, and always had been, because of Wendy.

I knew that she was the only way I could make myself stop growing up. I had to go see her.

And so I left Neverland behind and once again flew here, to London, a place that I had avoided for a very long time. In the darkness, I searched out the clock, and then the street, and then the house, and finally, I found it. The window, still the same, and still unlocked.

I hovered outside it, and reaching my hands down, I opened it with a quiet straining sound. Wendy was inside this window, and Wendy ... quiet, grown-up Wendy ... would tell me how to make myself stay as Peter Pan.

As I lifted up the window, the thought of Wendy suddenly hit me. I felt panic all of a sudden, a strange panic that made me sweat. Perhaps Wendy ... had not grown up. There was a chance, wasn't there, that I'd seen the wrong thing? Maybe, maybe, she was still the girl I left behind.

Maybe, just maybe, she remembered me, and had been telling my story again after I had stopped coming to the window. Maybe she still played with swords and danced and told stories to the boys. Maybe, she was still my Wendy.

I opened the window all the way, and found myself hovering just in front of the old, familiar nursery.

Please, I found myself thinking. Please let Wendy be the girl I remember.

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-- End Chapter Two --

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Ending Notes: So much can change in five years time ... heh. The past can be a troubling thing. It haunts you always.

I love reviews, even though I don't have any for this story yet. (I'm going to post Chapters One, Two and Three at the same time. It's no fun to read a too-short fanfic. Frustrating, don't you think?) I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Please review, and if you don't, read Chapter Three anyway. ^^