1Neverland

A/N I suddenly came upon an idea so here's another chapter for you. Enjoy

Ch. 6

Sylvia

She was just as he had remembered her. Her hair as golden and god-like as the imposing sunset that settled lazily behind her, mimicking the way it cascaded over her shoulders. Her eyes still the same crystal ocean blue that melted his heart and spread that warmth to the rest of his body, rendering him senseless with goose bumps inadvertently spreading onto the surface. Her lips still full and perfect for breathless kisses. Her luscious curves causing his throat to go uncomfortable dry. And finally her graceful smile that always made him wish that she was still alive to give it to him. She was a vision. A vision that could never be depicted on a single portrait for it would never be the same. And why would you want to, when a memory was so much more effective. So much more preservable. Although a picture may say a thousand words and be precious to the beholder, James knew that a memory lasted a lifetime. And he knew that the way she looked right now, would never fade from his memory.

"Hello James." she said in that sultry voice that he had been longing to hear for...he didn't even remember anymore.

"Hello Sylvia." he answered, his voice quivering excitedly as he reached for the hand that was unoccupied by the beauteous rose, and kissed the very center of her second and third knuckle. Her hand was comfortably warm and inviting. .

"I've missed you." she said, a hint of sadness edged her voice.

"I'd be a fool if I said otherwise." he replied in good humor and she smiled brightly again.

"So, I heard about the party."

"From who?"

"Peter's prayers." She said simply, and then James knew.

Ever since James had told him that his mother was in the stars and that he could talk to her, it seemed that every night, Peter was cemented to the windowsill. Some nights, more often than not, James would open the door a crack, long after the boys had been put to bed, and see Peter, kneeling at the sill, and whispering to the stars. His conversations varied according to the events of the day, but every night he would finish by saying, 'Love you mom. Everything's not the same with you gone.' And James would morosely and silently close the door and shuffle back to his room, thinking the exact same thing.

"Bravo." she said surprisingly, applauding him as well.

James starred too stunned to speak. Finally he managed to blurt out, "Wha'?"

"I commend you on your talents. Peter Pan would be proud."

He chuckled nervously, "I still don't know what you mean."

"I mean for finally showing those rich snobs what they had coming. I don't think I've seen my mother look more furious then she did when you insulted her. It looked more like you had throttled her and proceeded in suffocating her then jeering at her." she paused briefly, and with a gratified smirk she added, " It was quite satisfying, actually."

James smiled fully, and laughter graced his mouth, as they both chimed together. He hadn't laughed like that in the longest time. Well, no, not so long. He had laughed like that when they had chased Porthos for his shoes. How could he have forgotten? It seemed whenever he thought, heard, or, now, saw, Sylvia, he seemed to forget a lot of things.

They were both breathless when she asked inquisitively and it seemed, almost worried-like, "So how are the boys doing?" And then she began rambling off motherly things, that James only got bits and pieces of.

"How are they doing in school?-"

"Does remember to take his glasses off at night?-"

"Is Peter writing anymore?-"

"Does Jack still chase after that Gallagher girl?-"

"Did you remember that they all need their cough syrup before bedtime?-"

"Have you-?"

"Wait!" He said, holding up his hand as if trying to block the rest of the words out of her feverish mouth. "I can't answer your questions all at once. One at time, and perhaps even a wee bit slower, if it's not too much trouble."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have rambled like that. It's just...." she sighed heavily before continuing in a more melancholy tone, " I miss them so much, and I just wish I could see them again, hold them in my arms and pretend I'm not-" she stopped herself, her face portraying her evident pain as tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

"Hey, hey. It's all right," he soothed as she bowed her head in embarrassment, trying unsuccessfully in not letting him see her crying. "I know, I know. They miss you too."

"We all miss you." he said, as he lifted her chin so that she gaze back into his chocolate eyes.

Her eyes were so glorious. Even with the unwanted redness that came with the onslaught of tears. Her sea glass eyes gazed helplessly into his chocolate orbs and it finally it struck him as to what seemed different about her. That matchless glow that had puzzled him into frustration until this very moment.

It seemed as if all her worries, all the burdens she had carried in life, had been swept away, leaving behind a signature glow. A radiant force that enveloped him into a warm place, where there were no consequences that were to be payed for, no meddlesome people who twisted your lives into twisted gyves and then laughed at you mercilessly for the way your life had ended up like. No troubles. No faults. Just like her. Perfection. Paradise.

But not his. Never his paradise. Never his to treasure for himself. Because there would always

someone, in life and in death, that would be competing for her sole attention alone, and force him to back down into submission. In life it was her mother and the rest of his unwanted reality. In death...well, it was simply just that, death. Death had taken her from him. Death had ruined everything.

Sylvia's POV

His eyes...just like chocolate. Just like happiness. Just like love.

She admitted now to herself.

She loved him. She always did. And she knew now that she always would.

Of course she would always love her husband. He was her first love. He was the one who taught her how to love and how to know when you were loved back. She didn't know all the secrets they were to love. No one does. If she did, she would have had the courage to tell that James a long time ago, before she had gone. Before she had gone to Neverland.

She loved everything about him. His lips were what one could call poetic; the way it seemed to describe the perfect simile or a particularly enchanting metaphoric phrase. His smile that always seemed effortless, never strained, and seemed to magnetically pull a sense in the back in your mind to smile back, no matter if you had the worst day in your life. His face that was sharply chiseled, like his high cheekbones, and his jutting chin. His long neck and his accentuated collar bone, which still was distinguishable despite his collared shirt.

She loved his entire physique, which, she thought, no breathing women could deny, was a fine structure and example of an accomplished man. His arms and legs were long but were not to lanky, his hips were slightly curvaceous , and his hands, oh god his hands, were like God's masterpiece. They were like a poet's hands; long and limber, they seemed to be able to string a few words or chords out of a finely tuned instrument with the greatest of ease. And his eyes. Again, she couldn't look away. They were a endless void of happiness. A shimmer of enticement. A warmth that echoed violently and caused her to shudder even on the warmest of days. A freedom that she knew she could no longer share. It seemed to her, that Michelangelo was wrong in his interpretations. David was not the perfect form of a man. To her it seemed, Mister James Matthew Barrie was. Flawless. Paradise. She saw paradise in his eyes, every time he smile at her, every time he laughed.

But death had taken that away from her. Death had ruined everything.

Death had snatched her boys away. And now she had finally realized she would never see them again. It finally hit her. She had become so careless and overcome with happiness in Neverland, that she forgot that this place, although perfect, was the final barrier between her and true happiness. There would always be Neverland, but how could it be hers if she never heard her children's voices, never watched them as they slept, never reprimanded them for what they did wrong, never comforted them as they cried. And ultimately, never saw them grow up.

That was what struck at her the most. Never seeing them grow and live their life to the fullest. Never knowing what there fate will bring them. Never knowing if they lived.

If this was paradise, why was she longing for something she couldn't have?

Regular POV

Tears sprung back again to her native spring and poured freely down her cheeks as she felt James, unresistantly, pull her into his consoling arms, and rub her back in rhythmic strokes as she spent her long awaited tears.

No words were passed. No thoughts were discovered. It wasn't needed. The sole feeling of each other's embrace was enough.

James willed himself not to cry. To cry would be to admit that he was defeated. Defeated by his sole adversary, Death. He wouldn't surrender to its power. If Sylvia couldn't come back, he would accept it, but he wouldn't stop believing that there was something good in life after death. That a person never really left you, and was with you for always; for eternity.

Sated, she pulled back from James arms, and rested her hands on his shoulders. She started intently in his eyes and said, " Never forget me. Promise me that.."

"Sylvia I-"

"Promise me."

His eyes, never faltering and full of more truth than could be comprehended, he replied

"I promise."

And then he woke up.

His eyes searching for what he knew wasn't there. She was gone. His angel had disappeared. Spread her wings and flew. Flew off into the distance to some uncharted world, leaving him behind.

And he was back. Back in his own time. Back to his reality. Back to where time passed agonizingly and presently on every bone and sense in James' body.

And then James' remembered what the recent Ms. Snow , had said to him after she had witnessed his play.

"It's seems like time is chasing after us after all, doesn't it."

She couldn't more correct. Every time he wished he could crawl back into Neverland's protective arms, and hide amongst his own dreams and fantasies, there was time, rudely and figuratively knocking him on the head and reminding him, that you can't escape. It gets us all in the end.

Especially children. Time and fate attack children the worst. Children don't realize how precious time truly is. A year...A month....A week....A day....A hour....A moment. All these components stashed in the back of our brains, where spiders and cobwebs occupy space, and when forget about them. But a year and a day can be equally compared. Because one could say this day is going by slow, passing like a calm wind, and say it repeatedly over everyday, until they look back and realize a week had gone by. A month. And even a year. Time waits for no one. Time is death. And time cannot be stopped.

Time is the reason why mothers weep for the loss of their sons and daughters. Time is the reason why children regretfully sleep. Time is the reason why the ignorant grow wise and why the young grown old. Time is the reason why we start pretending. Time in it's circled orb, is the reason why Neverland exists. It is an escape...

Against time.

And that is why children must believe in Neverland as long as they can. For when they don't, they accept the inevitable. The end of childhood, the first hint of realization, is the beginning of the end.

Springing upon a new idea, James jumped out of bed and rushed over to his desk reaching for a pen and his leather binder.

He began to write. The words flowing out like silk. Thus this was to be the introduction of his story, "Peter and Wendy."

'All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, 'Oh, why can't you remain like this for ever!' This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.'

Placing his pen down he walked slowly over to his windowsill and stared at the stars.

So beautiful...like Sylvia.

" Never forget me. Promise me that.."

"Sylvia I-"

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Time had ended it all. Time had taken away what he wanted most in his life. Time had taken away love.

Time had taken away her.

But that didn't mean he had to forget her. He would always keep his promise. As long as he lived.

As long as he still believed.

A solitary tear slipped from the clutch in his eye, but James didn't notice, because he was talking to...

The stars.