CHAPTER II - A Long Forgotten Memory

DISCLAIMER: Elsa, Celestria, Maelstrom and Captain (not THAT Captain) are my creations, but Peter Pan and Tinkerbell are © J. M. Barrie.

So - Chapter II is ready to be R&R'd, and I would particularly love some of your views on "The Trio" (Elsa's cats), just to see what you think of the whole "cats-in-a-Peter-Pan-story-are-you-crazy?" concept (I have a habit of placing cats into most of my stories). I also hope you like meeting our heroine.

Also note: The Peter I use here is based on the Peter in the Universal/2003 version.

Enjoy!

Elsa had no reason to like or believe in fairy tales. Having lived in foster care since before she could remember, her thoughts were solemn and her actions were practical. Each set of foster parents she had ever had remarked on this in various ways: some comically, some affectionately, and some with mild interest that soon fizzled out, because anyway she wouldn't be staying with them for long and it didn't matter that she was always moping around with a face longer than a bloodhound's.

Elsa wasn't particularly pretty - she was short, neither here nor there in the weight stakes, and had a small mouth that seemed to permanently cemented in an expressionless line. She considered her best feature to be her long, curly, almost-black-but-not-quite hair, that fell almost to her shoulders and was the envy of many girls at school.

Another gift that she had was an affinity with cats. Her current foster parents had a large tortoiseshell, which had been seduced a while back by an unknown tom, and this liaison had produced three rangy kittens - one tortoiseshell, one grey, and one midnight black, one female and two males. Elsa's foster mother had declared that all three belonged to Elsa, and she was given the option to name them.

Many names had flashed through her mind. Midnight for the black? No, too clichéd. How about Storm for the grey? Patchy for the tort? No, no, no, Elsa had told herself. They needed good, unusual names. They were cats, after all, not stupid little lapdogs.

In the end, she named the tort Celestria, the grey Maelstrom, and the black Captain, because of the way he bossed the others around. The three had taken an instant shine to Elsa - which, of course, was high unusual, even in one cat - and followed her about, pretending to be disinterested but really showing unending loyalty and affection.

All three had grown into beautiful young adults; what amused Elsa most was that each of the cats had developed their own personalities. Celestria was docile and motherly, willing to be picked up and stroked in exchange for a comfortable lap; Maelstrom was the proud one, quiet and sly, preferring to follow the others for most of the time, certainly not desiring any smothering; and Captain was the loudest of them all, a typical raucous tom, wily and fierce, but not averse to a sneaky cuddle.

The cats were curled on Elsa's bed at this moment, something that, strictly, wasn't authorized in the Cooper household, but Elsa allowed anyway because they were her cats. The trio were licking themselves, washing each other's ears roughly. Elsa let them carry on with their nightly routine, and set about hers.

The moon shone in through the open window; the July breeze was warm and enticing as Elsa sighed and made her way over to her dressing table. As Elsa sat and studied herself in the mirror, she started to think about her parents - as she usually did when night set in and she was left alone to think about her hidden lineage.

Her mother…short, with the same enviable hair that Elsa had been fortunate to inherit…Elsa twirled a ringlet in her fingers. Long dark eyelashes…she blinked once…olive skin…she touched her face…brown eyes? Or was that her father? Was he tall? With the same, small mouth? Was he pale? Dark?

What did their laughs sound like? How did they smile? Were they friendly people? Elsa liked to think so.

Then something which, for unexplained reasons, had troubled Elsa for many years. Celestria, as if sensing the importance of this moment, slipped off the quilt and sprung into Elsa's lap, her warm tortoiseshell presence comforting. Elsa stroked the cat's head once, took a deep breath, and spoke to her reflection.

"Did they believe in magic?"

"I hope they did!" came an indignant voice from outside.

Elsa spun round on her chair, sending Celestria leaping with a soft hiss.

The sight that greeted Elsa's fear-spiked eyes almost made her scream. There was a boy! A boy, watching her - from the window! The cats yowled and hissed angrily, and Captain bounded to the front of the group to protect them.

"You're floating?" screeched Elsa, forgetting that she was supposed to be alone in her room with three cats that couldn't speak. The boy cocked his head. I know that face, he thought. Not just because…

"Aren't you?" questioned Elsa, all traces of embarrassment that stemmed from wearing purple pyjamas disappearing to be replaced by utter amazement. The boy squinted at her.

"Well - not floating," considered the boy, looking thoughtful for a second. "But I can fly," he ended with a grin.

Elsa stared at the imp-like face of the boy. He had haphazard blonde hair, sparkling green eyes and a lithe figure. He was clad - Elsa looked closer, not daring to believe - in a warrior-like outfit of young, fresh green leaves. His smile was bright, vibrant, and his radiant face was smudged with dirt.

"Who are you?" asked Elsa in a low voice, stepping forward with a massive effort.

"I'm The Boy Who Never Grows Up!" exclaimed the boy happily, zooming into the room and coming to a halt in front on Elsa's face. "You're big," he said simply.

"Excuse me?" snapped Elsa sharply, offended.

"You're almost a grown-up," continued the boy, reaching out to poke Elsa's shoulder. She batted his hand away impatiently.

"Whatever," she snorted, "but you still haven't answered my - oh my God, what is that?" she screamed.

A tiny yellow light had come whizzing into view, make odd tinkling sounds like a diminutive bell. It stopped on the boy's shoulder, and, to Elsa's even greater surprise, it was revealed as a tiny young woman with wings.

"A fairy?" gasped Elsa, feeling faint. This was too much.

The winged woman tinkled agitatedly. The boy listened closely. "She says of course she's a fairy…and could you please stop gawping like an idiot, " he translated cheerfully.

Elsa bared her teeth. "What - you- argh! Just tell me who you are or get out!" she said shrilly.

"All right, all right," the boy replied, sounding sulky. "That's Tinkerbell - " he pointed at the pixie on his shoulder - "and I'm Peter Pan."

Pan. Pan. Peter Pan.

"He's 'The Boy Who Never Grew Up'."

"Neverland."

"Tinkerbell."

"Magic!"

Magic. Magic. MAGIC.

"Magic," whispered Elsa, tears clouding her eyes. She knelt on the floor and stared straight ahead. Although she didn't know it, she had recalled what her mind had been urging her to remember for years. Peter Pan.

"Magic," she mouthed.

Spooky...