The chance soon came: after several more nights had passed, Slightly was once again called out of bed. Anticipating adding a third notch to the wall beneath the head of his bed, Slightly made a quick exit, resolved to declare his vow to Peter as soon as he spoke to him.

Slightly wriggled through the window and stood stiff like a soldier. "Peter, sir, I have something to tell you."

Peter frowned. "What is it, Slight?"

"Sir, I have resolved that, although it goes against your nature, you are acting like a coward. You refuse to seek out Wendy, your lady-love, out of fear. Until you stop acting this way, sir, I have resolved not to speak with you even to tell you what we've been doing around here. I will not call you father until then, either," he finished with a stern frown, staring determinedly off ahead of him into space.

Peter was staring at him, shocked.

"What gives you the right to challenge me?" Peter demanded.

"My right, sir, lies in the fact that I am correct." To this, Peter had no reply.

He paused for a moment. The situation did not, as hoped for, go away on its own. Slightly did not pull one of his trademark disconnected- topic changes. He was left with no choice but to answer.

"I can't. She's going to be married, Slightly! She belongs with her husband, growing with him, having children with him."

"But sir…" Slightly insinuated, "Remember what she gave to you."

Peter shouted and hit the wall. "I know, Slightly! She belongs in Neverland with us! With me!"

"Sir," Slightly ventured. "I'm not sure all of that is true, sir. Don't get me wrong – she definitely belongs with you, sir. But maybe not… the other part."

Peter's head snapped back up. "What do you mean? You means she doesn't belong in Never-Neverland? Why would you say that? I don't understand why you're doing this!" By the end he was nearly shouting, and his voice was strange and strangled. He was breathing heavily, almost panting.

"Do it now, sir." Slightly's face was grave, intent, pleading and commanding. "You must."

Their eyes met for an instant.

Peter sprang off the balcony, but flew along the outside towards Wendy's room. Slightly threw open the window and went charging through the boys' room, shouting.

"Pan's back! Pan's back! To Wendy's room, boys!"

Then everyone was awake and scrambling, and they were all rushing over the Wendy's room, where a tapping on the window was heard and where the latch was being hastily fumbled with in response.

When the boys reached the room, Peter and Wendy were staring at each other, entranced – Wendy's feet on carpeted floor, Peter still out on the balcony, hovering slightly above the platform.

"You'd be a father someday." Wendy spoke, with bated breath.

He nodded gravely. "I know."

"You'd grow up. You'd grow old."

He bowed his head again in acknowledgement. "I understand."

"Is this all for me?" Peter hesitated a moment before responding.

"No."

She nodded approvingly. "Good." She held out her hand. "Come in, boy."

He stepped across the threshold into her arms, and suddenly he felt what love was, and it was strange and terrible and wonderful and new yet not at all different than before – and then he realized that perhaps it had been love, all along, love of everything that he had mistaken for love of nothing, loveof stories that Wendy has known as lovefor her.

"Wendy," he breathed, more confused than he had ever been, "I'm scared."

She beamed at him, and kissed him, and held him, and when she drew back and met his eyes with her leaking ones he knew exactly what she was going to say.

"Oh, Peter," she spoke, beaming the widest smile he'd ever seen right across them and straight onto his mouth. "Me, too."

A/N: Wow, I can't believe I concluded a story! That never happens!