Disclaimer: If your recognise it, it's not mine.
AN: Apparently I live in some kind of crazy alternate universe where "Chapter Nine is coming very soon" means "Chapter Nine refuses to come quietly, thereby embarrassing and frustrating me until I almost consider changing the genre to Romance only and ending the whole damn thing at Chapter Eight."
Anyway, this is a short chapter because I get the feeling that Chapter Ten is going to be pretty long. Although by this time you should probably just ignore everything I say.
I've only got time to upload this chapter tonight, but next time I'll reply to your lovely reviews. And I'll try not to gush so much.
Chapter Nine.
For one heart-stopping moment the sensible grown-up voice in Wendy screamed that she was about to plummet, that she'd fall irretrievably to a shattered-broken-twitching death, that there were names for girls like her who followed angels out of second-storey windows thinking they could fly –
But she was not falling.
Peter's eyes held hers, and that familiar roguish grin stole across his face, that old proud and possessive grin from before that said, Look what my Wendy's doing!
With a bubbling spring of sudden euphoria Wendy realised that she felt nothing but cold night air under the soles of her feet. Nothing but cold night air gently swirling her nightdress and hair about her. No obstruction to the cold, cold air filling her lungs.
She clapped both hands over her mouth and screamed, her whole body seeming to light up as her eyes sparkled and danced and the dull hurt of the lonely years fell away from them both. Peter looked, if possible, even more pleased with himself than before. Oh, the cleverness . . .!
She floated up a little, experimentally. Now down, just a tad . . . now back level with him. It was so easy, so light, so utterly perfect and simple and known – and if she'd had time to think on it she might have been amazed to learn that she'd ever forgotten this.
"Thank you, Tinkerbell!" she whispered jubilantly, and was immeasurably gratified to receive a non-committal chime in return.
Then Peter grabbed her hand and all of a sudden they were flying, really and truly flying swift and silently as shadows above the darkness of the city. She was free as a bird, leaving behind grieving parents and sorrowing brothers and the weight she'd thought to carry for the rest of her life. Lighter than air she flew, high and fast and unafraid, completely independent of anyone or anything.
Wendy Darling felt in that moment as though flying was its own happy thought.
Abruptly she laughed, a long, delighted laugh, and she pulled her hand from Peter's and raced on ahead. She heard him yelp somewhere behind her and sped along, fast as thought – but not too fast, of course, that he couldn't catch her up within seconds, rolling her behind a chimney-pot for a flurry of scorching little thimbles before letting her scramble free again.
In this way they entertained themselves right up to the second star on the right, at which point they began the serious business of flying straight on til morning.