Title: Acorn and Thimble

Author: Aspiring Shieldmaiden

Rating: PG-13

Book/Film: Peter Pan

Spoilers: If you haven't seen the film, there will be spoilers ahead.

Pairings: Peter/Wendy

Summary: Peter and Wendy still wear their respective thimble and acorn. But Wendy doesn't want to grow up, the "no adults allowed" rule in Neverland is breaking out of Peter's control, and Peter wants her back…and Peter has a certain way of getting what he wants.

Chapter Updated: Tuesday 28th December 2004

Disclaimer: None of this is mine, except the plot.

…

Many thanks to:

Ryuu no Taiyo: Thanks so much for putting BOTH of my Peter Pan stories onto your Favourites list and I hope you enjoy this! pleads …Can I keep my head?

Stardrops: Aww, thanks! I loved the film too! You know, after the kiss, I thought Peter was going to grow up—seeing as how he went really red, obviously a child wouldn't react that way, but no. Still, what am I on Fanfiction for…?

J-R-S CRAZY: Thanks for putting this story on your Favourites! It really makes me happy when someone does that.:)

bLuEhEaVeN79: Thank you!

Saralisa: It should get more exciting soon…because Peter's coming back! Keep reading!

Sanqami: Thanks! Hope you like this!

Lizzie Presscott: He's bringing her back soon, read on!

Nethwen: Hi! Enjoy watching The Incredibles. It's hilarious.Thanks for reviewing!

KenshinRulz: Enjoy!

Zorrina: snicker He does. So does she. sigh But first I'll have to go through the painstaking business of making them realise it…oh well. Read on!

kasmira36: He'll be doing something soon. Thanks!

SinfulColours: Hope you like this chapter!

YAY!!! Thank you for those cool reviews!

And off we go…

Chapter Three

Wendy sat in the classroom, patiently finishing her work. She had abandoned drawing today, as yesterday had turned out to be one of those occasions when she left the school biting her lip to keep the tears in, massaging her flaming knuckles. It certainly wasn't her place to complain when Mother and Father were paying for her education, she knew that very well, but why, why, had she ended up with the strictest teacher?

The other girls were no help either. Perhaps it was just her being discreditable, but Wendy was fairly certain she knew where they were going to end up. In a large, well-furnished house, true, but shut away from the world with men they didn't love. Truly un-independent, because it was pretty much unheard of for women to go anywhere unescorted. The only couple she had met who had at least partly married for love were her own parents.

Her corner had been quiet today. It usually was, but she was sure she'd not been alone, sometimes in these past few weeks. Once, she had been pretty positive that she'd glimpsed the merest glimmer of a shadow. A few times strange thoughts chased each other through her brain, and the clear memory of the only person she had ever known to act like this cropped up.

But Peter couldn't be here now. No matter how many times she dreamed about him, they couldn't make the truth any less real. He was never coming back. He'd made that very clear at their last meeting. Neverland was all he'd ever wanted; Tinkerbell was there to look after him. And, knowing some of the troubles that went on in her world, Wendy felt he had a point. There, he was safe from all of those.

- - - - - -

It was harder then he'd anticipated to get rid of Tink. She came back sooner than expected, fluttering prettily around him in the hope he might forgive her.

"Peter! Talk to me, Peter. PLEASE!"

He ignored her. It was quite difficult at first, for she tried all sorts of tactics to get his attention – flying around his head, pulling his hair, tweaking his nose (though how she thought that last one was going to work, he wasn't quite sure) before screaming loudly. However, that one failed as well as he just threw her away. She sent him one last hurt look before zooming off. Peter watched her go, frowning slightly. He hadn't meant to be that harsh, and this feeling was new to him as well. It was deeply unsettling.

He shook it off, and leapt into the air. The afternoon sun was setting as he took to the skies, forgetting Tink in the familiar joy of flying. He was going…going…gone.

- - - - - -

"Mother, must we go to the party?" Wendy asked, pulling at a tendril of hair.

Mrs Darling looked around at her daughter. "Yes."

"But…" Wendy paused, not sure how to continue. Then she started again. "But why?"

"Your father has some people he wishes for you to meet. Your aunt agrees, and so do I." She paused. Then, gently, "We aren't forcing you to grow up, Wendy."

"Why do people grow up?" Wendy wondered aloud – not expecting an answer.

Mrs Darling thought about that. "I don't know," she said finally. "Nobody does. But it is a good thing."

"Do children know that?"

Mrs Darling frowned. "Not when they're young. But it becomes clearer when you grow older, if you let it."

She saw her daughter's eyes widen as she took in the last sentence, before Wendy turned away to examine the darkening sky.

"Let's do your hair," Mrs Darling continued, beckoning. Wendy wondered over almost absent-mindedly. Dreamy-looking, if the older woman didn't know better. Why was that? Ever since Wendy's return a year ago from that place called 'Neverland', the girl she had known as her daughter had slipped away. There was no more talk of writing novels about adventures. As we've already said, Wendy had become less sociable, withdrawn.

And now, for the first time ever, she was to accompany her mother to one of these dances that had caused her to be absent the night Wendy had met Peter.

She slipped on the high-heeled shoes while her mother fussed over stray strands, arranging them into exactly the right place. Finally, she bade her to look at herself properly.

When Wendy saw her reflection in the mirror, she let out a gasp.

She couldn't recognise herself at all.

It wasn't that she was displeased with the result. She was. Her brown hair had been pulled into a style now referred to as 'half-back', leaving the rest flowing down over her shoulders. Her mother had also placed a circlet of pearls around her head. Her dress was made pf fine deep blue silk, and a golden necklace, with a small ruby set into it. But under all this finery, Wendy could hardly breathe, due to the horribly tight corset Mrs Darling had insisted she start to wear.

"Every girl wears one," her mother had said firmly, when Wendy had started to protest. "It is part of growing up."

And now, when she saw herself in the glass, it was true; she couldn't see the little girl in her image at all.

She's still there, she told herself sternly. She's not…gone.

But the longer she stood there, the harder she found it to believe.

- - - - - -

Peter's mood could not have been more different. He soared in and out of the clouds, loving the way the cool night air brushed against his skin. This was quite possibly why he had decided not to follow Wendy last time. Why would he want to go back to that miserable-looking world that was constantly dripping wet with rain and strange cold white stuff? (He has forgotten about snow.)

But he had promised Wendy he would come back. And Peter Pan doesn't forget a promise, strangely enough. It's the one thing he actually remembers. Unless, that is, he forgets about the person who he made the promise to. And he had enough memories of Wendy—one, incidentally, is particularly strong, A nice one. Though he isn't quite sure why.

Somewhere below him bells sounded. Looking down he saw the clock was striking eight in the evening. Carriages were trundling though the streets and there seemed to be lots of people strolling along. Lots of ladies in fancy dresses—though they weren't nearly as nice as the ones the fairies wore, which were long, white and sparkling. These were somehow…uglier. As though the wearers had had to be squeezed into them. And they were all strangely wrinkled. What he didn't know, of course, was that the dresses were supposed to be like that—the so-called "new fashion" was for women to wear dresses with pleated skirts. And the women's waists looked as though they'd been forced inwards. Which they had.

Flying lower, he glided silently above the rooftops. Wendy's house wasn't far. In fact, he realised it must be just a few streets away, if his memory of this place was correct.

It was. Directly below him was the window that looked into the nursery. He'd looked in time and time again. But there wasn't only the three of them in there—Wendy and…well, her two brothers. But now the Lost Boys were all in there too. And Wendy had moved out after a while, so there wasn't anyone there for him to listen to.

Just then, the front door opened. Squinting, Peter could just make out the forms of a group of three people. The first to step out were clearly a married couple. He watched for a few seconds as the man took the lady's hand to help her down the steps. Why was he doing that? She could just have easily managed it herself, he thought, annoyed for some reason.

Behind them, a girl walked with her head slightly bent. She had long dark brown hair, which was spread across her shoulders, and another one of those strange tight dresses. No pleated skirt, however. This was an improvement. In fact, she looked like one of those dolls he'd seen strewn across beds. Only much, much prettier.

But he didn't recognise her.

One of the adults that had walked ahead looked back and called to her to come with them. For a split second she looked up. Peter caught a glimpse of deep blue eyes set in a pale face.

- - - - - -

"Wendy, come on!" her mother said encouragingly. She offered Wendy her other arm. Wendy blinked, and looked back down at the ground in front of her. Why didn't she want to go? Most girls would love to go to a dance like this. She heard them going on about it in school. The dresses they'd wear, the shoes they'd have made… But Wendy didn't want to go at all.

The others at school had found out, and they were all, for reasons unknown to her, extremely jealous. They'd cast envying looks over at her, saying to each other, "I wish my mother would let me go." Every time Wendy longed to shout Why won't you take my place? I don't even understand how I'm supposed to act at all!

But of course she couldn't. And that's how she came to be here on this cold night, trudging half-heartedly after her parents in her beautiful dress.

- - - - - -

Peter froze in midair, causing him to plummet several feet before managing to stay upright.

He recognised that face.

That was Wendy.

But she didn't look like he remembered her at all. She'd done something to her hair. And the excited look in her eyes had vanished. There was…sadness there instead. And (if he'd been able to recognise it and know what the word meant) boredom. Wendy was dragging her feet. Dragging her feet towards a destination, which he thought—at least, from what he'd heard from those times he'd stayed on through daylight—most girls actually liked. He'd picked up on what was happening in the schoolroom. But he hadn't really understood about the thing called a "dance", the ones he'd looked in on didn't look anything like it did when the fairies held one. Then, the air was full of excitement, and little bursts of golden light filled the woods. But when one was held here, all that took place was pairs of people standing in two long lines facing each other, performing complicated steps.

- - - - - -

It was warm and overcrowded once they entered the ballroom. Men and women were swarming across the floor like flies, greeting each other, exchanging gossip: "Supposedly the girl's father is very ill." – "That dress the woman is wearing is absolutely—" Suddenly the woman in question walked up to greet the speakers, and their tone shifted entirely. "Why, Mrs McIntyre, that dress is absolutely wonderful." Wendy had a look at her clothing as she watched this particular discussion. Mrs McIntyre had very pale skin, yet had obviously seen fit to wear a dress in a hideous shade of pale yellow.

Then her mother gave her a discreet poke in the back. "Don't stare. It's not considered polite." Mrs McIntyre suddenly turned and headed towards them. Wendy saw Mrs Darling's smile become oddly fixed for a second before she regained her composure just as the other woman reached them.

"Why, good evening, Mr and Mrs Darling." Mrs McIntyre was one of those unlucky individuals that have an extremely loud, penetrating voice. She was also one of those who is never disobeyed or questioned. For a few moments polite conversation about topics such as the weather ensued. Then McIntyre turned her attention to Wendy.

"And who is this little one?"

Mrs Darling looked slightly flustered. "T – this is our daughter, Wendy." She raised her eyebrows at her and Wendy hastily attempted something resembling such a thing.

Mrs McIntyre raised her eyebrows. "And how old are you, Miss Wendy?" Her tone was condescending. Wendy stared right back at her.

"Fourteen, ma'am."

"Fourteen?" Now the eyebrows were raised. "I always thought it unwise to let girls as young as yourself out in society. But I see that some do not share my opinion." She took a sip of her glass of wine.

Mrs Darling hastily tried to rectify the awkward situation. "Oh no, Wendy is not 'out', you are mistaken. My husband and I merely brought her along so that she might—"

"Yes, yes, Mrs Darling. I see you did not take my advice where that one—" she jerked her head in Wendy's general direction "—was concerned." She let out a sniff, somehow to make that reek of disapproval as well. "I'm quite put out."

She swept off. Wendy looked up at her mother, whose facial expression was unreadable. Twisting her head, she saw her father returning carrying drinks for them both.

"Who was that?" he asked. Wendy took her glass with some misgivings; she'd never actually tried wine before. But hers had been watered down, and when she took a sip, the stuff wasn't as vile as she'd expected. Still, she didn't like it. There was a burning sensation in her throat. Mrs Darling peered anxiously at her.

"Wendy? Are you feeling unwell?" Her mother took her hand. "Perhaps a spell outside will do you some good. Come with me."

They were quite unnoticed as they slipped out, apart from informing her father about were they were going.

It was pleasantly cool outside. Mrs Darling's cheeks were pink as she fanned herself quickly.

All too soon they heard voices calling. A second later, George appeared, panting.

"Mrs McIntyre wishes to speak to you," he said regretfully. "She requests you come immediately."

Mary sighed. "Stay here," she told her daughter. "I'll come and fetch you."

Within seconds they had disappeared, leaving Wendy alone with nothing for company except the rustling bushes.

- - - - - -

Peter had followed them all, of course, keeping out of sight in the shadows, as per usual. He'd seen Wendy and her parents enter the building, but from then on, he'd lost track of them. Where, exactly, was he supposed to start? There were at least a hundred windows in the building. He'd wasted at least half an hour looking through at all the rooms on the lower floors.

And then, by complete coincidence, he saw Wendy and her mother come out. As quietly as possible, he'd flown over to follow…at a safe distance. The whole time they'd been talking, he'd been concealed behind bushes. Skill learned in scheming against Hook came in useful. But it was not exactly what you'd call comfortable, surrounded by thorn-covered branches.

There was the sound of the adults leaving; then the sound of Wendy's dress rustling in the wind. She was completely alone.

He's entirely too ashamed to admit it, but for a few seconds Peter wondered if it might have been better if he'd never come at all. The truth of the matter is that he's nervous. You know why.

He was just tilting his head to get a better view of her when, well, a thorn got in the way. He nearly got poked in the eye with it, in actual fact. This caused him to stumble…causing the bushes to creak.

Wendy's eyes snapped towards him, slightly fearful. It was too late.

He'd have to come out now.

- - - - - -

A/N: What did you think? R&R!