Author's Note: I saw the movie today (December 26), or should I say yesterday because it's now early Saturday morning. On that note, because it's early in the morning, this may have some grammatical errors in which I apologize for now. Basically, it's late and I'm not thinking properly. Now, in regards to the movie. I know what's going to happen. There are going to be a million and one love stories between Peter and Wendy posted on ff.net now. Really, after watching the movie, it's so easy to make this into the loviest doviest thing possible. But that's just not my style. Plus, it's pretty fucking annoying. And I don't want my story to be just another cliché. So, as I've said before, there is romance involved but I'm going to attempt to have it not take over the story. Oh, and sorry I took forever to post. I'm on break now so I have way more time. Hope I'll be able to make at least two more posts before I go back to school. I feel like I'm forgetting something. Oh well. I'll put it in the next chapter. Happy reading. AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!

Nothing Gold Can Stay: chapter 2

A Day to Think

"Excuse me?" Wendy said, brow creased. She was certain that she had not heard correctly. It sounded as if Tootles had just said—

"Peter is dying and you're the only one who can save him," Tootles repeated for her. He looked at her, eyes silently pleading that the explanation that he had given was enough.

Wendy's brow just creased even further. She just couldn't understand. The concept of Peter dying was difficult to comprehend—but there was Tootles in front of her, just as grown up as she was. "Dying?" she managed to whisper.

"Yes, dying!" Tinkerbell seemed to bellow.

Her Peter was dying. She had to go to him. But wait. How on earth could Peter be dying? Did she really believe what she was hearing? How did she know that this was all real? An older Tootles was telling her all this, after all. He couldn't grow up in Neverland. And if all of this was really true, why did Peter need her all of a sudden? He hadn't seemed to care after he brought her and her brothers back to London.

"Why in the world does he want me to come?" asked Wendy. "He hasn't come to visit me like he promised he would."

"You selfish, selfish girl!" exclaimed Tinkerbell, outraged. "How dare you think of yourself when Peter needs…needs…" She trailed off, trembling. She knew the truth but refused to admit it. Peter needed Wendy, perhaps even more than he needed her. Tinkerbell, not wanting neither Tootles nor Wendy to see her cry, flew out the window as fast as she could, heading back to Neverland.

"Oh, no!" cried Tootles. "Tinkerbell, come back here—oh, now how will she get to Neverland?" he said to himself despairingly, referring to Wendy. "Wendy, you don't have to give me your answer now," said Tootles, rising into the air. "I'll be back tomorrow night. Give me your final answer then. And remember," his eyes looked very serious, "Peter needs you."

Wendy watched as he flew away, much in the quick fashion that Tinkerbell had. He'd be back tomorrow night, giving her a day to think. Well, she did not need a day to think. She had already made up her mind. She wasn't going. There was no way she could go back there. Neverland meant no growing up and she wanted so badly to grow up.

However, when the next day came, she felt differently. She couldn't make up her mind. She felt like she needed to go. She felt compelled, almost obligated to go. But…something was keeping her. And it did not help when Wendy received a letter from Tom. Thomas Jenkins—or Tom, as she affectionately called him—had been her schoolmate for the past few years.

It wasn't until recently when he started taking a more than friendly interest in her, and she in him. She remembered when he had kissed her for the first time. It was timid and shy, like their relationship. Now their relationship was mostly through letters. Tom had gone for the summer in hopes of working to save up for college in the fall. He promised he would write to her all the time, even from college.

College. Tom was a year older than her—in college. A practically grown man interested in her, a practically grown woman. Wendy needed to move on with her life. She couldn't go back to Neverland when Tom was in her life. He symbolized the maturity in her.

Wendy, having read the letter three times, was gazing at it. Her knitted brow showed that she was thinking hard. Her mother broke her out of her thoughts.

"Wendy."

She looked across the kitchen at her mother. "Yes, Mother?"

"Is everything alright?" Mrs. Darling asked, drying a dish that she had just washed.

Slowly, Wendy nodded, trying to avoid her mother's eyes. She sensed everything. Like she thought, her mother was not fooled. Mrs. Darling wiped her hands and beckoned her daughter to her.

"Dear," said Mrs. Darling, who now had to look up at her daughter to meet her eyes. "You've been staring at that letter for quite some time."

Wendy nodded in agreement, feeling uncomfortable.

"Are you sure that everything is alright?"

For a moment, her mother's inviting eyes almost tempted her to tell her everything. But, she resisted. Instead, she said, "Let me finish those dishes for you, Mum." She moved with haste to the sink, rolling up her sleeves and picking up where her mother left off.

Mrs. Darling watched her daughter, concerned. "Wendy, you know you can tell me anything, don't you, Darling?"

"Yes, Mother," said Wendy, focusing on the soapy water.

She could tell her mother anything—except this. Telling her mother would create another problem within itself. If only she could tell someone…

Wendy, engrossed in her problem, had forgotten that her brothers were coming home that day. They had spent the first month of summer holiday at their aunt and uncle's house in Canterbury. They had three boys whom John and Michael got along with very well.

"Hello, Mum!" exclaimed John, upon seeing his mother. He wrapped her up in a big bear hug and lifted her, extracting a delighted but surprised cry from her.

Michael was next. "Michael!" she cried when John set her down. He embraced her and she showered him with kisses until he protested and swatted her away. Mrs. Darling, in turn, laughed heartily. "I'm so happy that the both of you are back," she sighed, hugging John once more.

Wendy watched as her father followed after the boys, shutting the front door behind him. "Well, Mary," he said to Mrs. Darling while planting a kiss on her cheek, "here they are."

And there they were. Wendy knew how difficult it had been for her mother to let the boys go; she still was not completely over their leaving her for Neverland. Even though Michael was nearly ten and John was fourteen, it had been the first time that the boys had ever been allowed to stay anywhere other than their home.

"We had such a time!" announced John passionately. He headed for the kitchen, hungry like always, which was normal for a boy his age. The rest of the family followed him.

"Now, boys, take your bags upstairs," requested Mr. Darling. But his request went unnoticed.

"We swam and hunted and—"

"Hunting!" exclaimed Mrs. Darling. "Why, that sounds like—"

"Such fun," said Mr. Darling, interrupting Mrs. Darling in an attempt to salvage the merriment without her ruining it with her worrying.

But the boys were quick to see the worry in her eyes. "Don't worry, Mother," said John in a comforting tone. "It was all perfectly safe. We only hunted dear."

"Yes, Mum!" chipped in Michael. "It was all in sport."

"It's those guns I'm worried about. And think of the poor dear. Why hunt it if you aren't going to eat it afterwards?"

Mr. Darling, John, and Michael looked at each other as if to say "It's something that women don't understand."

"What?" asked Mrs. Darling, catching their glances. "What?" She was replied with laughter from the three gentlemen. Her confused look made them laugh even harder until she could not help but join in their laughter.

 Wendy smiled, trying wholeheartedly to join in her family's high spirits but she couldn't do it. She felt like an outsider watching them through a window. Dejectedly, she slipped away to her room and remained there until she heard a rapping on her door.

"Come in," she called, looking at her door expectantly from atop her bed.

John.

"Wendy," he began, just sticking his head in, hand still on the doorknob. "You've been in your room ever since Michael and I got back. You even missed dinner. Why don't you come out?"

Wendy tried to force a smile. "I…well, I'm not feeling very well," she lied. "But I'll be quick to talk to you tomorrow about Aunt and Uncle's house." She tried to put on a bigger smile but it looked like she was cringing.

John gazed at her for a moment. "Well, alright," he finally said. It seemed as if he had been debating on whether to take her word or not. "Since you're not feeling well, you'll probably want to go to bed soon."

She felt bad about lying to her brother and she did want to talk to him and hear about his time in Canterbury…just not right then. She had something else to think about. Time was drawing near and Tootles would be back in a few hours; perhaps less. What would she do?

Then it struck her—she would ask John, he was the sensible one!

"Goodnight, Wendy." John said, swinging the door shut.

"Wait!" called Wendy before he had closed the door entirely.

He stuck his head back in, waiting.

Wendy stared at him, blinking. What was she doing? She could not ask John. He didn't even believe in Peter anymore. How could he help her? "Well…I…" she sighed. Beckoning him closer with her hand, she said, "John, come here. And…shut the door behind you."

John did as he was told and came to sit on her bed so that he was facing her.

"Now John," began Wendy in a serious tone. "I have a problem. I—" Looking at him this close, he seemed so menacing with his practical glasses and his practical expression and…Peter Pan was not practical—

"What is it?" John urged, concern forming in his eyes.

She sighed. "John, do you remember Peter Pan?" she asked him in almost a whisper.

He was quick to answer. "Why of course."

Wendy's eyes brightened. "You-you do?"

"Of course, Wendy. I remember your stories and when we used to play pir—"

Shaking her head furiously, Wendy said, "No, no. Not stories, I mean him, I mean Peter."

John stared at her for a few moments. "I don't think that I follow you."

This was going to be harder than she thought. She decided to take another route. "John…why is it that this is the first time that you've gone to stay with Uncle Geoffrey and Aunt Emma?"

His eyebrow cocked, he said, "I don't know. I've never thought about it."

"You do know that they've asked many times for the two of you to go and spend time with Henry, Francis, and Kenneth," Wendy said, referring to her cousins.

John nodded.

"And why do you think that Mother and Father, Mother especially, have been so against you going? Going anywhere? Haven't you—all three of us, haven't we been invited to go away many times before?" Wendy pressed.

"Yes, but—"

"And have we ever been allowed to go?"

"I say, Wendy, what is this all about?"

John looked at her and Wendy could see that he honestly had no idea where her train of thought was leading to. "John, do you remember ever running away?"

His brow creased and Wendy knew that he was thinking. Hard. She could see the wheels turning in his head and any moment, smoke threatened to come out of his ears. But alas, he gave no inclination of remembrance.

I'm not giving up on you just yet, Wendy thought to herself, determined. She would make him remember. "You were nine and Michael was five and I was twelve. We used to share a room, the three of us. The nursery. Do you remember? And one day, Mother and Father went to a party and it was just us, Liza, and Nana." She stopped to see if there was any sign of him remembering. "And Peter came and took us to Neverland, John. He taught us to fly and fight—"

She was losing. Wendy saw the look on John's face and knew that he didn't remember. "And we had such fun and…" She tried to meet John's eyes but he would not look at her. "Don't you remember?" she asked, weakly.

After staring at her for quite some time, John put the back of his hand to Wendy's forehead. Wendy looked at him, puzzled. "No, you're not running a fever," he mumbled to himself.

Wendy's eyes flickered in annoyance. "John, I am not sick!"

"Well, you said you weren't feeling well."

"I was just saying that so that I could have time to think!" Wendy huffed.

"About what?"

She gazed at him, longingly wishing that she could share with him—but she couldn't. He had failed the test. He had failed miserably and now, she had no one but herself to rely on for the decision. Well, perhaps it was all for the better. An adult made decisions on their own. Why shouldn't she start doing so?

Pushing away the frustration that she had shown earlier, Wendy dismissed his question. No other words were exchanged between the two of them and it was a long time before Wendy, who had told her brother that she was tired and was going to bed, heard the door softly close.

John was so levelheaded and sure—Wendy had been certain that he would be able to help her. But he did not remember a thing. Not a bloody thing. What was worse, he thought that she was ill. How embarrassing. Her younger brother thought that she was out of her mind. She knew to never bring it up with him again.

And she knew her answer when Tootles arrived. She knew that it would have to be no. John saw the nonsense in Neverland and flying and Peter Pan. Why couldn't she? Why wouldn't she? It was time to forget him.

So she opened her window and she waited. She waited so long that she began to doze, head hanging as she sat in the chair that she had set up by the window. But it was only a short nap.

The next thing Wendy knew, she was diving into pools of hazel that were flecked with anxiety. Being that she had just woken up, this sight startled her. She gripped the chair's arms and tried to rise, producing a small and quickly muffled scream all the while.

"It's just me!" provided Tootles in a hoarse whisper. He backed away at once; that was the closest that he had ever dared to come to Wendy before. He'd always been in awe of her, but had never been face to face with her like that. It unnerved him.

Tootles was back, with Tinkerbell buzzing about his head. She looked forlorn, even in the way she was flying around, and did not even offer Wendy any sort of insult. Tootles stared at Wendy, waiting for her to make the first move. Wendy, in turn, straightened up and prepped herself for telling him her decision. It would be difficult, but it would be done. Why did she not feel as strong as she wanted to? Opening her mouth to speak, she was interrupted.

"Come, Wendy. The longer we stay here, the longer we delay helping Peter. You're his only chance, remember."

It all happened so fast, she would think when she looked back on it. Wendy lost herself. She found herself placing her hand in Tootles's hand and responding to when he said, "You know what to do," with a happy thought of her mother. She found herself delighted in the familiar feeling of fairy dust falling about her and rising into the air. She found herself gripping Tootles's hand tighter as he and Tinkerbell guided her out the window. She found herself closing her eyes, bracing herself for the ride.

End Note: If you're reading this story and it's right around the time when I posted it, go the fuck to sleep.