Disclaimer: Nope, it's still Mr. Barrie's. All of it, except for a few of the characters and the plot idea. Although he probably wouldn't be happy with me, making Peter a grown-up and a pirate.

Even though I once again didn't manage to update last Friday, I got so many lovely and encouraging reviews…it's amazing. Now that I am on holiday I'll be able to dedicate more time to my stories. Finally. :) Thank you for your support, you really make my days!

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SHOW ME HEAVEN

Chapter 11

Doubts
Absentmindedly, he buttoned his shirt in front of the mirror after checking on his wound for what seemed to be the thousandth time. The injury had more then healed. In rapid speed, the flesh had closed and all that was there now was a thin white line, an innocent looking scar marring his skin. It looked as if it had always been there, for years and years. He couldn't even remember what his shoulder looked like before. Lost in his thoughts, his fingers trailed over the line of the scar. Faintly, he could recall that it had hurt, but every morning when he woke up, it was harder to remember how it had happened. Only if he concentrated on it really hard, the healed flesh would remind him that it had been pierced by an arrow and with the arrow, Wendy came back to his mind.

It had been three days since he had returned to the Jolly Roger with the girl in tow as his recaptured prisoner. At first, he had been furious, had wanted to torture and kill her, then, however, he had thought of something else… something far more dreadful than death. After all, she was useful. She had spent some time on the island, had befriended the Lost Boys and knew where they lived. A sly smile spread on his face. She was attached to him. She liked him and he could read it in her eyes that she probably did even more than just that. It would be too easy to manipulate Wendy.

Wendy.

He didn't speak the word out loud, but it echoed in his head every time he let his guard slip and the name intruded his thoughts. She had told him her name, but still, he preferred to only think of her as "the girl".

Somehow, she always managed to make him feel awkward, even if all he did was think of her. There was something wrong about her and he couldn't get rid of the distinct feeling that she shouldn't be here on the island at all. Her mere presence on the ship was wrong to him. Women shouldn't be on a ship. Hell, prisoners shouldn't be on board the Jolly Roger. He was a pirate; pirates didn't even take prisoners!

It was stifling hot in the tree-house. The mid-day heat and the Neverland sun had done there best to warm the island as usual and despite the huge leaves above the house, they had succeeded in turning the little home into a baking oven. The Lost Boys hung around lazily, sweating and complaining about the heat now and then. None of them felt up to playing or hunting, it was simply too hot and even if the weather had been cooler, they probably would have stayed high up in their tree, doing nothing. Jaz, too, was idly floating through the room on his back, playing his pipes, thinking. The heat didn't bother him much; he didn't mind whether it was snowing, raining or if the sun was shining. Yet, there was something nagging inside of him. Lately, he had a hard time motivating his boys to do anything. They did go out hunting in the morning, they would play and fight if he wanted them to, but they never did anything out of their own accord anymore. From time to time, he even thought that he caught one or the other giving him a strange, sad look, but he never knew why.

Jaz didn't understand what had happened to the loud and noisy group that usually inhabited the tree-house. Sure, he had been away a lot lately and he had been having many adventures out there on his own, nevertheless, he had always come back home and always found a merry round of boys, eager to listen to his stories. Now, however, things had changed, and Jaz didn't like it one bit.

He had visited her only two or three times since they had been back on board, because he had been unsure whether he would be able to keep his temper in check. Peter hadn't wanted to jeopardize the advantage with which this girl provided him. Now that his anger had cooled down a bit, it was time that he took matters into his own hands.

The key turned nearly noiselessly in the hole, unlocking the door. Casually, he then knocked on the cabin door and almost immediately after, he opened it and entered the room without having waited for Wendy's reply. She was sitting on a chair at the table, looking faintly astonished that it was he coming inside, but her surprise didn't last long. Carefully, she put the piece of cloth she had been sewing and mending on the table.

"Peter," Wendy said trying to keep her voice devoid of emotion.

He gave her a courteous nod and with only two or three strides, he crossed the small cabin and sat down on the chair opposite of her own.

"How are you?" she asked, wanting to talk to him, to listen to his voice that, even though now it was deeper and more masculine, for her still held so much of the old Peter. Wendy was absolutely sure that there was still something boyish and good in the man sitting across from her. It was not only in his eyes, his gestures, his behavior. Briefly, she smiled. Nonetheless, she knew that she had to be careful and she was well aware of the fact that his looks were deceiving her. Sitting in front of her was a pirate and it was hard for her to keep that in mind.

"Fine, thank you," he finally replied and returned her smile.

"How's your injury then?" Her soft eyes flickered to his shoulder, then back to his face.

"It healed pretty well, there's nothing left but a scar."

"Do you mind me having a look at it? Since I was the one who shot you, I'd rather make sure it really did heal well."

"Not at all, but don't be bothered about it. It's nothing."

Wendy followed his every move with her eyes as he swiftly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it aside to show her the wound.

"It's a scar," she whispered unbelievingly.

"I told you it was all right," he said, smiling at her charmingly.

"No, Peter. Don't you understand? Three days ago you lay out in the woods with what looked like a deadly injury. It can't have healed that quickly." Wendy spoke loudly and heatedly. How on earth was it possible for the wound to turn into a scar in a matter of three days?

"Look,-" Peter tried to interject, but was interrupted by Wendy himself.

"Peter, don't you see it? You're growing older every single day. That's why your shoulder is cured, because you're aging so fast that every morning you look as if a month's time has passed since the night before." Her voice was now desperate and frantic. How could he not see what was happening?

Peter looked at the girl, her face flushed and her eyes wide and he could feel anger well up inside him. Again, she was trying to tell him her stupid stories.

"Oh, stop it," he said angrily and buttoned his shirt again.

"Then you think this is normal?" she asked.

"Yes, it is normal for a wound to heal, whatever you might think!"

"But-"

"Save it," he growled standing up and before Wendy even had the chance to call him back, he was out the door, locking it behind him.

He had needed to get away from her or else he would have hit her. Back in his room, he slowly walked towards his mirror, once again checking his mirror image in it. Things had gone wrong. He hadn't wanted to fight with her, he had wanted to talk to her, to charm her, to manipulate her. Instead, he had let a mere sentence from her get to him. He should have listened to her, should have smiled and talked to her. How else would he gain her trust?

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair and gave his reflection one last inquisitive look in the mirror. He looked different. Older. Didn't his jaw just look a little bit more defined than the day before?

No.

The little vixen was getting to him with her stories. Ever since she had stepped foot on his ship she had been telling him her fairy tales about him being a Lost Boy and suddenly growing older. What nonsense. Everyone grows older. That was a fact. There was not one person on earth who wouldn't end up as a grown-up.