Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine.
AN: Short but sweet, and fluffy as a duckling. I apologise.
Chapter Four.
Quiet as mice they sneaked in and up the stairs, and John left her with a wink and a self-satisfied grin.
She stared at her door. Sounds of subdued merriment floated up the staircase. Her heart was fluttering madly. Doubting, insidious thoughts rose up – what if he wasn't there? What if he'd never been there? And dear God, what if he was there?
Don't faint, she thought. Don't faint, don't faint, don't faint, she thought, drowning out the other voices.
Don't faint, she thought, her hand on the doorknob.
The door opened, slowly.
She stared, thinking her heart had stopped, thinking she'd died of surprise, utterly unable to breathe. But Wendy did not faint, and looking straight into Peter Pan's eyes, she knew they were both thinking what a relief that was. The door clicked shut, and in the bare second that followed she had just enough presence of mind to lock it behind her.
He fairly flew towards her, though later he said he'd run just as she had, three steps she was sure was all it had taken to erase three years of untouched windows and empty skies and then yes, she was in his arms, and he was so very warm and holding her so very tightly and smelling so of rain and snow and leaves and Peter, and although she could hardly breathe just then she couldn't bring herself to care.
He whispered Wendy into her hair.
She murmured Peter against his shoulder.
And then just like that she was laughing, and crying, and he was laughing and crying to hear her laughing and crying at a moment like this, and then his lips were on hers and they tasted of tears.
They weren't on a pirate ship now, and so for the longest time they stood very still, moving only softly and gently, and very sweetly. The lamplight was golden; she was warm, safe, and being thoroughly thimbled by Peter Pan. Questions could wait, and did.