Disclaimer: If you recognise anything, it's not mine.

AN: Sorry it took me so long to upload this chapter, but it's been really hard to find time to write lately. Blood and Cherries is already written, up to a certain point, but I'm writing this fic as I go. Real life continues to get in the way. Sigh.

And now to answer reviewer questions: Honestly, the Imp is in no way related to Peter. He's just a very good mimic, with an ability to find a person's weak spot and exploit it. Poor Wendy; she never stood a chance. Yes, lightening bug, everything is definitely soon to turn hellish. It wouldn't be Neverland without adventures, and adventures, as we all know, are uncomfortable things. And sorry if it wasn't clear, Yuki Asao, but Captain Hook is dead. Very much so.

The big question: what colour are Peter's eyes? In the movie (in my opinion), his eyes are sometimes green, sometimes blue. Hope that makes you happy, bammaslamma29! *hands you a chocolate acorn *

Thank you reviewers; you are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey.

Fic-wards, before I sing again.

Chapter Fourteen

Breakfast took place early that afternoon and consisted of cherries, apples, peaches, a cold lemony drink and bread Peter swore blind had been bartered for fairly.

Wendy didn't feel like contesting the issue. She'd slept well at the last – wonderfully dreamless sleep – and sitting here now, with the Imp on her lap and her fingers stained with cherries, she was almost ridiculously content.

"I'd better go get your brother," Peter began, rising from the table where he had eaten nothing. "We're to have a grand revel tonight; he should have time to rest before, if he needs it."

"A grand revel," Wendy asked curiously. "What – no Impy darling, Gert's peach still belongs to him – yes, even if he puts it down – Peter, what do you mean by a grand revel?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Do you remember when the Indians had that big party, the last time?"

She caught two sticky wee hands in her own, and jiggled the Imp on her lap to distract him from the wonders of other people's breakfast. "We weren't there for long," she said, feeling very soft and happy. She'd relived the first part of that evening so many times in the last three years.

Peter looked wary, then saw that she was remembering the good part, and relaxed. The boys fairly wriggled in their seats with anticipation. Plainly, tonight promised to be very exciting indeed.

"It's going to be like that," he continued, absently carving a flower out of an apple as he spoke. "Like that, but much bigger, with Indians and gypsies and all of us. They've been building the bonfires all day."

There was eager muttering among the boys at the prospect of bonfires.

"Gypsies? Oh you bad Imp, that was Gert's peach, you awful boy – are there gypsies in Neverland? I didn't see any gypsies last time."

The Imp grinned at Gert, safe in his perch on Wendy's lap. Gert responded by pointing at the Imp, then at the remnant of his peach. He mouthed You, then slammed his hand down on the luckless fruit. The Imp laughed aloud.

"There weren't any," Peter said casually, presenting the flower-apple to Wendy. "Gypsies come and go all the time. Imp, if you touch that apple you will be very sorry."

The Imp actually leaned away from the hand that held the flower. She laughed.

"Peter, do you know the Imp smiles just exactly like you?"

The Imp obligingly did so, to Wendy's delight and Peter's obvious detestation. "Well, he has your eyes," he returned, as if trying to avoid taking all the blame.

"So he does," she said contentedly. "Sweet little Imp that he is."

She wasn't supposed to see Peter's eyes soften, but she did, and felt ridiculously pleased.

"The Imp's a naughty mimic, Mother Wendy," Charlie piped up. "He wasn't here three days before he started copying Peter."

"He makes people think he's sweet," said Southey in disgust. "Then they just let him do whatever he pleases."

"Except Peter."

"Right, Peter doesn't think he's sweet."

"Neither do we," Twin claimed.

Southey looked very innocent. "Oh, so that wasn't you singing him to sleep the other night?"

Twin was, plainly, choking on his horror. He spluttered and stuttered, and then, in the ringing laughter, slid ungracefully under the table.

Southey yelled that someone was biting his leg, and Peter declared breakfast officially over.

Peter and Tinkerbell had left soon after the 'leg incident'. It had been awkward, parting again so soon. Neither of them had known quite what to do. They'd looked at each other, and then he'd said, "Bye," and turned to go.

Inspiration had hit Wendy, and she'd called him back. "Peter, catch!"

He'd caught the acorn, laughed, then came over to kiss her soundly, right there in front of Tinkerbell and all the boys.

She smiled now like the Mona Lisa, a mysterious little smile she couldn't quite wipe off her face, no matter how hard she tried.

She was well pleased, sitting here in the sun with the Imp in her arms, her boys playing about her and Peter and John even now flying home. It was a lazy, golden moment, which was why the first chill of fear, when it came, made her shudder so.

Contentment like this can't last, she thought suddenly. No one can be this happy and live.

She realised belatedly that she had dropped the other half of her apple, and that it lay now forlorn in the dust.

"I'm awfully soppy, aren't I Imp?" Wendy said, smoothing the Imp's fine white-blond hair. He continued to play with an oak-leaf he'd found, a new spring one just the colour of Peter's eyes. He was systematically tearing the leaf to pieces, working along the vein structure with rounded little hands.

"Awfully soppy," she repeated absently, looking off into the trees. It had been so confusing, the past few days, her emotions swinging wildly from giddy euphoria to chilling, wrenching fear. She had just never been so happy for so long, without having something terrible intervene.

Slowly she forced herself to relax, and the light began to seep back into the day.

The shouted laughter of the boys filled the drowsy air.

"After all," Wendy informed the Imp, accepting the leaf skeleton from his clever little hands, "only grown-up stories end unhappily."

That seemed good enough for him, and should have reassured her as well.