Chapter One

Jealousy. She had mentioned that before too. What had been his response? Tinkerbell. It was not until that moment that he truly understood the feeling. He knew what the presence of other gentlemen in the Darling household meant and he did not like it. This strange and inviting pain seemed to press into his chest each time he saw one of them being received into the household. It gave him small satisfaction that these boys would never be as exciting as the times he and Wendy had shared. He only hoped that she had not forgotten him. His ever-waning patience began to dissolve all the more.

With a heavy heart, he made his way inside him home. It had been a month since he had, had a glimpse of Wendy. She was seldom allowed out of the house and when she was, she was always covered by a carriage, waiting just outside the door. It was at those times that he had to force himself to hide behind his hat and turn away. He had made it a point to attend social affairs but she was never there. Even her parents kept mostly to themselves even though her father did make the position of manager a couple years ago. He had seen a glimpse of her parents from afar but was much too afraid to approach them.

The house he entered was vast but not overdone to draw too much attention to himself. He liked his privacy. Though he cared little for things such as furniture, his house was finely furnished and elegant. If it had been up to him, he'd only have the essentials and not have bothered with all the trinkets he was told he needed to obtain to have a suitable home. Since money was something that he never cared about or was in lack of, he never complained about it being used for these things. He only needed to be told that it was what Wendy would prefer before he quickly relented. Wendy, she was their constant ace to play when dealing with him.

Without trying to gain the attention of his butler, he quickly made his way towards one of his favorite places, the library. The room with its many stories was a place of comfort to him. It made him feel closer to Wendy. Often times he sat there picturing the look on her face when he showed this room to her. He wanted her to see how vast his collection had gotten. He wanted to watch her as she brought these stories vividly to life in front of him. It was by far one of the biggest rooms in the house. It had one high ceiling containing two floors with shelves and shelves of books. With no illustrations in most of them, he always pictured how Wendy would tell them and could almost see her making the appropriate gestures.

The sigh that echoed softly within the great hall was followed by the sounds of him jumping onto one of the couches. He lay flat with his arm over his eyes, trying to wish away the unpleasant thoughts of Wendy with someone else.

"Still no sign of the young Miss eh?" asked a warm voice as it entered the library and made its way over to he lying form.

"No," he said bluntly as he remained unmoving.

"When was the last time you saw her?" the voice asked as they sat into the chair across from him.

"Four weeks, half a day," he answered as he finally lifted his arm and sat up to look at the owner of the voice. "If I had a watch I could tell you the time."

"Some people would consider that madness."

"Mr. Smee, I am going crazy," he emphasized putting his face in his hands.

"Patience Peter, my lad. We've discussed this hadn't we?" asked Smee gently. He looked so different from his pirating days. His hair was taken care of, his clothes were of fine quality and he no longer wore his hat. "We have to be patient."

"For what?" asked Peter as he lifted his head. Green eyes flashed to Smee's brown ones. "I have been patient. How much longer do I have to drive myself insane?"

"Until you're ready young master."

"I am ready enough," he pressed. "I have worked hard all these years..."

"Yes em," answered Smee thoughtfully before he could finish. "I know you've worked hard."

"She is that age you say that she should be getting married," stated Peter. "Suitors come to regularly to see her that I've lost count!" he exclaimed by throwing his arms out for emphasis.

"That many eh?"

"Yes," answered Peter with a nod. "I've half a mind to run them through."

"That wouldn't be proper now would it?"

"Maybe. But it would make me feel a whole lot better."

"Can't be that many," stated Smee.

"Ten!" shouted Peter before he could stop himself. His eye widened as he realized the trick. He gave Smee a half hearted glare. "Okay, so I did keep track of how many."

Smee sighed. "I know it seems like it has been forever."

"It has been forever," emphasized Peter again.

"Hadn't old Smee suggested you not go anymore?"

"It helps me remember why I chose to do this in the first place."

"Does it?"

"I just want to talk to her," sighed Peter in resignation. Once again he lay down and covered his face with his arm.

"Miss Wendy won't settle for those gentlemen," assured Smee.

"Why wouldn't she?" asked Peter. "What have I to offer her?"

"Many things master Peter," answered Smee warmly. "What lady would refuse you?"

"I don't want just any lady," stated Peter. "It seems the one lady I want, has many like me. But I will never have anything close to her." He pulled his arms away from his face to wipe the weariness from his eyes. "Tell me again why I have to keep waiting."

"Because patience always gets you what you want."

"Try again," said Peter flatly.

"If you pursued her now, you could simply blend into the herd of suitors," he laughed at Peter's frightened face. "I am only kidding my lad. We need to finish your schooling first."

"What more do I need to learn?" asked Peter calmly, but he made no move to sit up.

"That would be one thing," commented Smee dryly. "That temper of yours still has not improved."

Peter bit his lip in frustration.

"You simply can't learn everything at once."

"But I am a fast learner," Peter pushed.

"True, yer accent is almost unreadable now. But it slips at times."

"Is it really all that important?"

"Yes, here in London, yes," answered Smee. "I am new to this, just as ye are but I know a thing or two about being proper and the proper thing to do here is to sound like everyone else here."

"Not everyone sounds the same here," pointed out Peter. "The common folk and the rich folk talk differently and so do the others that you call, 'middle class'. Even the lost boys had different accents."

"Which do you prefer to sound like?" asked Smee.

"Whichever sounds best," shrugged Peter. "But I do not know which one that is."

"Well, since we're trying to give off the impression that we're of rich folks, we should talk like rich folks shouldn't we?"

"I suppose," grumbled Peter. Then his eyes moved to Smee's face again. "Have I gotten the rich people talk?"

"Very well lad," reassured Smee.

"Then?"

Smee tried to explain but knew that no explanation would help the young man before him. Things didn't make sense to those who were still youths. Peter would only understand fully when he was an older man like himself. "Just take ol' Smee's advice son. It's never let ye down before has it?"

Peter's eyes went to his feet as if he were suddenly discovering them. "No, Mr. Smee," he said as if defeated. He visibly changed the way he formed the words in his mouth to produce the accent he was practicing. "Your wisdom is the only thing that has gotten me through life here and I thank you for your efforts."

"That's a good lad," said Smee smacking Peter's leg. "I'll give ye a minute before tis time for dinner."

Peter smiled sincerely at the old man before he disappeared behind the door.  He waited until he heard the soft click of the door before he allowed his eyes to close and sighed again. If he waited much longer he felt as if he would lose whatever chance he had with Wendy. He knew that Smee was not lying to him without waiting, but he was in a rather difficult situation. Wendy. She was bound to fall in love with one of those boys that were swarming around her house. In their hands, they always had the same things: a small parcel, flowers and whatever things their imaginations came up with. All this to woo his Wendy. It irritated him but he understood how they felt. Wasn't he in the same situation?

His irritation went further as he realized that he had never taken the time to notice the little things that Wendy enjoyed. Yes, she was a great storyteller. Yes, she was a great mother. Yes, she loved fairies. What else did she like? She had liked the Acorn that he had given her that night, long ago, hadn't she? She had worn it around her neck and it had saved her life from Tinkerbell's attempted murder. As he learned more about society, he came to an even more thorough realization that Wendy was precious. He remembered how she wasn't overly critical about the flimsy condition of the treehouse. It was never cleaned but she had loved it there. The house that they had built for her wasn't much but she had appreciated it.

What he did remember was the subtle things. He remembered how she had loved the feather the Indians had woven into her hair. The sash of woven flowers across her chest had been an understatement to her. She deserved to have the fullest blooms, not the smallest daisies. The flowers of London did not have the vibrant, luster of the flowers of Neverland but he knew of a few that would bring out the blueness in her eyes. A self satisfying grin spread across his face just picturing about it.

Almost unconsciously, his hand went to the chain around his neck and pulled the well polished thimble from underneath his shirt. His eyes focused on the small beloved object before he pulled it closer to his face to kiss it. It had been her first kiss to him. He hadn't thought much of it when she had originally gave it to him but now, everything that came from Wendy was the most precious of his possessions. If only he had not been so ignorant as to what a real kiss was. She had offered it to him, twice in different terms and his childishness caused him to miss out on both opportunities. He knew the power of a kiss now. He wished he could prevent any other man the honor of being granted one of Wendy's kisses. Her hidden kiss was promised to him but he knew that, that would not stop other men to try and take it. Once they had experienced the power that Wendy's kiss contained, what would make them stop?

The frown that appeared on his young face was of sadness rather than madness. He had no control over Wendy. He had no right to her. He had left her when she had asked him to stay. As appealing as it was to think that he could run each and every one of those suitors through with a sword, he could not do it. He did not need Smee to tell him that it was wrong. It was something that he knew by instinct though his boyishness urged him to do so. This was not Neverland. The world did not bend to the will of Pan. He was a slave to it now and he could only do so much. These frustrations were what he had forgotten. These were the frustrations that had urged him to leave and fly away from his parents and the life that could have been. So easily he had forgotten all of it. The only thing he could never forget was Wendy.

His greatest fear was her reaction to him being older. To see that the boy who refused to grow up, had, for her. Had he not said it before? That to live would be an awfully big adventure? There was no way to describe the feelings that had run through him as he watched Wendy and the Lost Boys return to a family. It had been the only time that he had wished that he had chosen another path for himself. It was the moment that he realized that he could not leave her behind, to grow up, while he would stay forever young. Their adventure together had hit too close to his heart. He did not want to forget about the things that they had shared and discovered. There was little he could do but to come back to the world he had left behind to try and win the girl he would lay his entire future on.

The library suddenly seemed too confined for him. He needed to be outside when the night was falling across the sky. To be outside and in the open gave him peace. He ignored the bustling of the city and the worries that came with growing up. He opened the outer doors of the library and stepped out onto his patio overlooking the vast gardens. Besides the library, he had invested much of time to making the perfect garden. It had taken several trips from Neverland to bring Wendy's house, the trees and plants that would be needed to complete the jungle look. To his dismay, most of the plants they brought with them did not fair well in this colder climate. However, it did not deter him. He had worked vigorously to make the majority of it work. He had succeeded a bit too. Though it was not perfect, he had a small replica of the jungles of Neverland outside his home.

An unfinished treehouse lie beneath the biggest tree. If not looked for, anyone could have easily missed the small indentation on the bark. He had, had to make significant changes to the size of the treehouse. The older one would no longer be able to keep him. His London self had told him that this was a bad idea. His Neverland side had told him that it would make things more comfortable for him. It was the only time that thoughts of Wendy did not seem so bad. Wendy at Neverland held more happy thoughts than sad. They had fought about feelings, yes, but overall, there was great joy. He wished that he could have brought the fairies with them so that he could reenact their dance together, but he knew that was unrealistic. The fairies belonged to the magic of Neverland, not to this unbelieving world.

Not very far away from the treehouse was Wendy's house. The small hut kept clean for her. It was one of the few things that Peter had brought from Neverland. He knew that Wendy would have loved to have seen it again. She was too big to step within its walls but she would appreciate that he had not carelessly discarded it once she had left. Just like the thimble against his chest, he would rather have stabbed himself than to have anything of Wendy's destroyed. Maintenance was very minimum since all the leaves and flowers surrounding it were still rooted. From time to time he would lay a single lily just outside the door as if Wendy would come out and take it.

Green eyes went back to the treehouse that was still unfinished. His training told him that right now would not be a good time to go inside his treehouse. So he remained standing by the tree and looking up at the sky. He found himself missing the gentle singing of the birds of Neverland but the sounds of crickets comforted him. The twinkle of the, oh so familiar, star seemed to call out for him. The island seemed to call for his return. A call he would not ever answer. He had begun this adventure and he could not look back now. He gave the light a wink before he sensed someone walking up behind him.

"Yes, Mr. Colins?" he asked without turning around.

"Young master," answered the small, quiet butler. "Do come in to dinner."

Peter sighed again as he turned to look at the star again. "Very well."