Disclaimer: If you recognise it, I don't own it.
AN: Our first new POV. Reviews, reviews – when I get them I turn bright pink, hug myself, and grin like a fool – in other words, I act pretty much like post-thimble Peter. I am unused to praise! It's going straight to my head! Which is why I'm horribly sorry for posting a short chapter tonight, but this one's my personal favourite so far. Coming soon – an actual story, and happy!Wendy.
*showers acorns on reviewers*
Oh, also – the poem I'm using here is an old song, I think, but I don't really know what it is or where it's from. I read it in Julian May's excellent novel Intervention. The poem's meant to be entirely in italics, but ff.net is doing something strange and keeps resetting certain lines. I don't know why, but I'm sorry anyway.
Chapter Eight.
There is a lady, sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleased my mind.
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her til I die.
Her gestures, motions, and her smile,
Her wit, her voice my heart beguiled,
Beguiled my heart, I know not why –
And yet I love her til I die.
Peter was reciting the old gypsy's rhyme under his breath as he hovered outside Wendy's window.
From the distant look in his eyes, Tinkerbell didn't think he was aware that he was saying it aloud, and her tiny body thrummed with indignation. Peter Pan, hanging around outside a girl's window, spouting poetry?
The shock and disgust was almost too much for her small frame. She hoped – no, she damn well hoped he didn't think he'd be keeping this up once they got home, Wendy or no Wendy! And if that silly girl tried to change things around and mess things up again, well . . . this time Tinkerbell knew not to aim for the acorn, so to speak.
There is a lady, sweet and kind, he repeated absently, making her clench her small fists.
He broke off abruptly as the bedroom door opened, and observant little Tinkerbell didn't miss the way he held his breath when Wendy came in. Her eyes were red, and when she'd shut the door she leaned against it for a moment, her forehead against the cool wood.
He didn't have to make a sound – Tink knew he was thinking it.
. . . sweet and kind . . .
When she retreated behind the Japanese screen to change, Peter slid the window open and landed on the soft carpet without a sound. Tinkerbell, bobbing gently in the air behind him, scowled at the bright colours and cunning dragons she might otherwise have delighted in.
Was never face so pleased my mind -Tinkerbell couldn't read minds, but that stupid rhyme was there, plain as day, on his face.
I did but see her passing by . . .
After a long time, during which Tink impatiently - yet pointlessly - tapped her foot on thin air, Wendy emerged, and Peter's breath stopped again. The silly great girl was wearing a long white nightgown with the sleeves rolled up, banded with some preternaturally green form of never-ivy and bound with a thick brown belt. Stupid girl, and there he was, no better, goggling like a buffoon.
. . . And yet I love her til I die.
The dominant emotion in her small frame right now was exasperation, but Tinkerbell would not have been a real fairy had she not also felt a sweet kind of ache in her chest - first when Peter took Wendy's hands in his, and then again when Wendy blinked her tears away and shone up at him.
Her gestures, motions, and her –She obligingly flew a halo over Wendy's head, sprinkling fairy dust liberally down as the girl closed her eyes and smiled, her last tears running freely down her face.
- smile -
"Are you ready?" Peter asked huskily.
"Yes, Peter. I'm ready."
Her wit, her voice my heart beguiled,
Slowly he leaned forward, and pressed his lips very chastely against her cheek. He whispered something Tinkerbell could not hear – all she knew was, Wendy repeated it to him word for word, their eyes locking as they glowed at each other.
Beguiled my heart, I know not why,
Hand in hand they walked to the window ledge.
And yet –His feet left the cold wood. He turned. Looked at her.
I love her –Wendy stepped off the ledge.
Til I die.