A/N: God bless you WuffieLuver and Boogalaga, you're the best, thank you so much for reviewing again, and I promise I'll eventually bring them to Neverland.  Chapter 4 is up.  And I apologize for getting carried away on the last chapter with some. . .controversial and "ew" material that may have offended some people and discouraged them from further reading my story.  I did not mean to veer off into pervert land and gross everyone out.  So in the future, I'll try to tone down the wierdness in my story and maybe raise the rating due to content and language.

With all that said, I'd like to thank those that reviewed the latest chapter of my story: Tazmainian Devil, Angel285, Boogalaga, and steph.  Keep your comments coming. 

And I even like to thank Lolly_Chat and Yuki Asao.  Though not entirely heart-warming, or helpful reviews for that matter, I still appreciate them because they show that someone took the time to read and bash my story.  And I'm still open to receive comments and helpful criticisms from readers.

I apologize that this author's note is so long, but I felt the need to explain the direction of this story.  And it's not hardcore SLASH, if that's what you're all wondering (though there are suggestions here and there).  Sorry to disappoint or exhilarate you to sing the Hallelujah.  I, personally, have nothing against slash, but I have to be wary of my audience, be they rednecks or liberals or variations of the two.  And plus it's a Peter Pan story, so best not to um. . .change Peter's current image.  So without further delay, here is chapter 4.  And please review when you're done.  Thank you.  =)                 

Stephanie turned her head to Peter.  He sat in the air with his legs crossed and a hand under his chin as if contemplating something complex and difficult.

"Does he always act like that?" Peter wondered aloud.

"Who, Ian?"  Stephanie placed her own hand under her chin.  "Hmm, I guess so.  Why do you ask?"

"No reason.  He's just. . .unusual."  Peter's voice sounded hollow.  He seemed to be unaware of his words as though he were in some far off place away from reality.  A certain wisdom that only comes with age radiated from him.  He was nothing at all like the very childlike Peter Pan Stephanie had imagined. 

"He wasn't always like this," Peter said suddenly.  "He was very different when he was little."

Stephanie looked up at him curiously.  "How so?"  She leaned forward slightly in her chair.

"Much more quiet and unsure.  Nothing like he is now."

Stephanie smiled at that and nodded in agreement.  "Ian was very shy throughout grade school.  Then, one day— poof!— instant self-confidence and big ego."  Her brows furrowed as she turned her attention back to the floating boy.  "How did you know that?"

Peter gave her a shrug that could have meant anything and nothing.  "I just know."  He gazed down at her, green eyes twinkling, and smiled.  "You going to tell me what a thong is now?"

"Um. . .uh. . ."  She bit her lower lip, searching for euphemisms to describe the provocative strip of clothing.  "It's a. . .well,. . ." 

"Oh for crying out loud, just tell him Steph!"  Ian's voice boomed from the hallway the same time the toilet flushed with a familiar gurgle.  He emerged in the kitchen doorway with a steaming towel draped over one shoulder.  "If he's brave enough to wear tights in public, he's brave enough to know what a goddamn thong is."  Ian slowly lowered himself to a chair and shifted the warm towel onto his lap over the crotch of jeans.  He sighed like a contented cat basking in afterglow.

"Do you have to sound like you just came out of a masturbating session?" whined Stephanie.  Ian just looked at her.  "It's getting on my nerves."

"Well, who told you to drop a freezing bottle down my pants!"

Stephanie focused her steel gaze on Ian.  " I wouldn't have dropped it if you had kept your mouth shut.  Don't blame me for you going au natural.  Just hope nothing's shafting down there against the zipper.  It's one of the reasons why they created underwear, y'know." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  I just ran out of clean drawers this week."  He ran a hand through his ruffled blonde hair, then remembering something, directed his gaze to the bewildered floating boy and the uptight girl.  "Alright you two, payback time."  He reached for the warm bottle that had journeyed down his pants only to have Stephanie pull his arm to a dead stop. 

"Unh-uh.  There is no way I am drinking that bottle, especially after where it's been."  Ian grinned and looked from Stephanie's arm to her serious face.

"You want me bad, don't you?"

Stephanie scowled and released his arm.  "You're impossible to be around." 

He shrugged.  "Maybe.  But you still owe me half a Smirnoff Ice."  Ian scanned the kitchen table, and settling his gaze on the opened bottle of Smirnoff Ice that Peter hadn't even sipped yet, he reached over to the far end of the table, grabbed the cool bottle, and planted it in front of Stephanie.  He then pulled a black Sharpie marker from the soup can full of writing tools on the table and marked the bottle three-quarters of the way down. 

"There," Ian said proudly.  "You'll drink this half."  He ran a finger up and down the bigger portion of the bottle.  "And Peter will drink the other half."  He pointed to the little stub of liquor below the black line.

"That is so not half!" argued Stephanie.  "You're giving me at least 75% of the bottle."

"No, I'm giving you half.  The top part of the bottle is narrow and doesn't have much.  It'd be very unfair of me to mark the bottle so that it looks like half because then Peter over there would end up drinking more than you."  He handed the marked bottle to Stephanie.  "Trust me, it's more or less equal."

Stephanie smirked.  "Yeah, sure."  Sighing, she slowly clasped both hands around the offered bottle and sniffed the rim. 

Her lips curled in disgust.

"Oh, foul."  She waved a hand over the bottle.  "This stuff reeks."

Ian crossed broad arms over his chest.  "No, it doesn't.  Stop stalling and drink it." 

Throughout this time, Peter kept a watchful eye on both his new companions.  The girl looked distressed and defeated while she stared down the barrel of the bottle.  The peculiar blonde, on the other hand, had a motionless expression on his face, one most fathers gave their children when they were being difficult. 

Peter felt a twinge of pity for the girl.  In his own mind, he knew liquor was a vile drink.  Even the taste of rum from the pirate ship was not something he would like to experience again.  Though he did enjoy the drinking, the aftermath of a throbbing headache and discontent stomach was not pleasant at all.  Liquor was an acquired taste that took several servings to finally enjoy.  Still. . .a girl so small should not drink so much.  He doubted her poor stomach could even hold down the drink for the first hour, or worse yet, if she became horribly drunk. . .

He watched, solemn faced, as she tilted the bottle to her parted lips.  Her eyes squeezed shut and her throat worked convulsingly to swallow the burning liquid.  After two struggling brief swallows, Peter snatched the nearly full bottle out of her hands and vigorously poured the contents down his own throat.  His Adam's apple bobbed with each long pull, while he braced himself with one hand on the table. 

The last swirl of frosted liquor drained from the bottle into his mouth. 

Peter tossed the empty bottle into the blue bin with it's previous twin.  He gagged for the first few seconds as oxygen filled his aching lungs.  Eyes blinking, he quickly settled himself into a chair as the room blurred some then focused again. 

Stephanie and Ian stared jaw down and wide-eyed.

"Daamn!"  Ian shook his head in amazement as a wide grin swept across his face.  "You drank the whole fucking bottle."

Peter smiled shyly.  "Stephanie drank some too."  He placed a hand tentatively over his rumbling stomach.  "Don't give me all the credit," he said in strained voice as his stomach lurched.

"Like hell.  She drank— like what— one sip."  He got up and padded Peter on the back like a proud father.  "Even I couldn't finish off Ice like that.  Well done, my friend."

Stephanie kept staring at Peter.  He mouth still hung open, wide enough to catch incoming flies.  "Wha— how— why did you do that?"

Peter shrugged indifferently, but his smile brightened.  "I thought you use some help.  A lady shouldn't have to do anything she doesn't want to."  He belched while his stomach did another lurch.  "Sorry," he muttered, swallowing. 

"Thank you, Peter.  That was very. . ."  She waved her hand as if searching for an appropriate term.  ". . .gentlemanly of you, unlike some people."  She cast Ian an accusing glare.  He raised both his hands and mouthed the word 'what?'  Sighing, she turned her attention back to Peter, whose face was scrunched in discomfort.  "Are you all right, Peter?"

"I'm fine.  My stomach just feels. . .funny—"  As though on cue, he stomach lurched violently, propelling him out of his seat and across the table.  He groaned in pain as he laid sprawled in mid-air, hands wrapped protectively over his aching abdomen.

"Yeow, that's gotta hurt," commented Ian.

"Peter?"  Stephanie barely touched his shoulder before his body fell to the floor with a loud thump.  "Oh my god."  She knelt on the linoleum floor and felt his forehead.  He writhed a bit with his eyes closed, but thankfully, was still conscious.  Over her shoulder, Stephanie threw Ian a loathing look. 

"This is all your fault," she spat.  "Why d'you have to make that stupid bet?"

Ian raised an eyebrow.  "Okay, first of all miss, you took me up on the bet and did the mature thing of dumping a cold bottle on my d— "  He stopped when Stephanie turned pale for fear of his next words.  "— down my pants," he amended.  "Second, no one forced Mr. Pan to drink the whole bottle.  If he wants to be this heroic knight and save the damsel in distress, not my problem.  However," Ian's voice carried over Stephanie's small protest.  "I am sorry for 'provoking' you into the bet and all the other trouble."  His expression was sincere when he held out a hand to her.  "I may be gay, Steph, but I still have my guy moments now and then."  He flashed her a disarming smile that use to make girls swoon once upon a time.  "What do you say?  Am I forgiven?"

Stephanie shook her head, smiling.  Ian could be an obnoxious jerk sometimes, she thought, but at least he knew when he'd crossed the line.  "You're forgiven."  She took the offered hand and pulled herself up. 

Ian pulled her into the circle of his body, and wrapped his arms around her waist, trapping her.  She gave him a funny look.

Ian grinned from ear to ear.  "You want me real bad, don't you?"  She looked at Ian like he'd sprouted five heads.   "Admit it, Steph.  No shame in it."  She squirmed, trying to get away from her friend gone loony tunes.  "Ooh, that felt nice.  Could you do that again?"  His eyes gleamed playfully.

Stephanie gave an exasperated sigh and just looked at him.  "You plan on letting me go any time soon?"

"No."  He tightened his hold.  "But I do plan on taking you upstairs."  His lips curved into a mischievous smile. 

She blinked.  "You're kidding, right?"

"What do you think?"  He moved his hand a fraction of an inch lower.

Peter groaned as he twisted and turned on the ground, still clutching his throbbing stomach.

Ian groaned at being disturbed.  

Stephanie tilted her head to the side, waiting to be set free.  The perfect picture of patience.  "We have to help him, Ian."  She patted him on the arm.  "He's just going to keep making those noises if he stays there."

"Fine, fine," Ian scowled, and unwound his arms.  He bent down to get a better look at the struggling boy.  "I'm guessing he drank on an empty stomach.  His body's trying to make him puke it all out."  He shrugged.  "Well, at least he won't get drunk right away." 

Stephanie stared at him in horror.  "Ian!"

"What?  It's the truth."

"But what are we going to do?  I don't want him to throw-up in the kitchen."

"No problem.  I'll prop him up in front of the toilet."

"That's not what I meant!"  Stephanie closed her eyes and counted to ten, waiting for tranquility to take over.  She opened her eyes when Peter fell to the floor again with another thump.  "I don't want him sick or drunk."

"Tough choices, babe."  Ian leaned his back against the refrigerator, brows furrowed. 

"Couldn't we just give him coffee and bread?" suggested Stephanie.

"That's for hangovers."  He took a quick inventory of the kitchen, his eyes settling on the olive oil and spice rack.  A smile that would have made Frankenstein proud slid across his face.   "You have any raw eggs in the fridge?"   

"What?  Oh, um, yeah, sure. . ."  She frowned confusedly.  "Why do you need raw eggs?"

"You'll see."  He turned and grabbed three good-sized eggs from the refrigerator.  Stalking towards the spice rack, he pulled out various containers at random: three faded red ones, two pasty-looking beige ones, some brown jars, and one container the color of puke-green.  He then lifted the olive oil off the counter along with a box of Lipton tea bags, Chinese herbal Pu-erh tea bags, an unopened jar of spaghetti sauce, a couple of McDonald sugar packets, and a big bag of potato chips.

Stephanie, shaking her head, watched Ian settle all the ingredients for his concoction on the kitchen table.  In all the years she'd known him, she was beginning to wonder if he had finally lost his mind.        

"What in the world are you doing?"

Ian relocated the blender from under the counter to the table, and cracked the three eggs with a fluid motion of one hand.  "Making something that'll counteract the effects of alcohol and soothe Peter's tummy like Malanta."  He poured in the olive oil.

"B–But with all this stuff?" she stuttered.  "You might give him diarrhea."

Ian snorted and scooped in the spaghetti sauce.  "Nah, won't happen.  This is design for quick revival.  Hardly any side-effects."  He dumped the dry ingredients into a separate bowl and mixed the powders together until they became a putrid color.  "Besides I got this recipe from Fred—you know Fred, don't you?"

"The perverted chem guy with a scholarship to Harvard?"

"Yeah, that's him.  Anyway, we were at this party where my ex got drunk as hell on an empty stomach.  I was going to carry him to the bathroom when Fred came around and offered to help me out.  But for a price."  He ripped open several tea bags and stirred in the grounded dry leaves.  "Fred said he knew how to sober him up so that—well, let's just say so that I wouldn't end up sleeping alone that night." 

Stephanie rolled her eyes.  "Go on."

"Anywho, in return for his 'antidote' I had to fix Fred up with Jennifer Wu."

"Jennifer Wu?!"  Stephanie nearly lost her balance.  "You gave Fred a date with quiet, innocent, sweet Jennifer Wu!  The minister's daughter!  The girl's parents wouldn't even let her watch the Miracle of Life videos the instructor showed in Health Ed.  She even thinks 'sex' is a swear word.  Are you crazy?"

"Maybe."  Ian shrugged.  "Then again, maybe it was a good learning experience for her.  I heard Fred has a tongue like a lizard."  He winked at Stephanie to convey his point.

Stephanie nearly gagged.  "That is so gross." 

"Yeah, poor Jennifer.  Fred had a tendency to bite too."  He said that casually as he pulled a handful of potato chips from the bag and loudly crunched them in his big mouth. 

Stephanie shivered from bad images that somehow seep into her mind.  Thanks a lot Ian.

He switched the blender on and generously poured in the dry contents from the bowl.  His voice rose above the roar of the motor.  "So yeah, Fred told me that it was possible to overpower a depressant drug, like alcohol, with a stimulant drug, like sweets or caffeine—that's the tea bags.  Chinese tea is loaded with it."  He paused to add in the sugar packets and continued blending.  "There's a whole bunch of other complicated chemical reaction shit that I don't get, but the rest of the stuff is suppose to act like a catalyst and speed up the whole process, and make the thing at least half-way drinkable." 

After another shuddering spin, the concoction was ready.

Ian lifted the lid and examined the thick, slimy brown excuse for a smoothie.  He dipped a finger in the disgusting solution and slipped it into his mouth.  He wrinkled his nose, and in a hoarse voice said.  "Oh yeah, it's ready."  Stephanie quickly handed him a water glass and backed away towards Peter.  "Thanks."  The kitchen suddenly had the strange sweet smell of yesterday's garbage.

"You sure it's safe for him to drink that?"  Stephanie knelt down and propped Peter up on her knees; slender arms protectively balanced him.

"Positive," Ian coughed, and the stench of garbage got worse.  "But I'm not so sure about his breath later."  He sniffed the air.  "Peew, God it stinks!  Is that me?"  Stephanie nodded.  "Shit."  He handed her the glass full of brown slime.  "Here, you do the honors.  I gotta gargle with Listerine."  And he slipped into the bathroom, once again leaving Stephanie to clean up the mess.  She sighed.  "Lazy-ass."                       

(A/N:  This chapter was bit long, and completely irrelevant to the plot, but for some unexplainable reason or other I felt the need for it to be here.  I must be going through writer's block season or something.  If the story is better without this chapter, let me know and I'll do a rewrite.  And anything else helpful would be great.  Thanks.)