Title: Madly in Love

Summary: When Wendy came back from Neverland and started telling people about her experiences, they all thought she was crazy… literally. Can she convince anyone to believe her? And what if they don't?

Author's Note: Just a question to one of my reviewers, kasmira36. What exactly did you mean by my story being tardy? I really had no idea what you meant by that. Please explain if you can.

Please credit Eliza's poem to another writer, Jesanae Tekani, and her poem The Wise Rose. It's totally and completely hers but it's probably my favorite poem and I wanted to include it. But I take absolutely no credit for it.

REVIEW!

Wendy woke the next morning with a terrible headache. She had a very difficult time falling asleep because of the ruckus the night prior, and it was rather wearing.

"Stupid idiots," she mumbled to herself. She groggily sat up and saw Eliza already wide awake and moving about the room. She looked over at Wendy when she heard the older girl stir but said nothing. The modest little clock informed that it was nearly eight o'clock. She had already missed breakfast!

Getting up very maladroitly, she stumbled to the door.

"Don't even try, you've already missed our breakfast this morning," Eliza said, sounding almost bored. She picked up a one of the book that the staff had given to Wendy and flipped through it idly.

Wendy groaned in synchronization with her stomach and Eliza turned to give her a criticizing glance.

"If you want to eat in the morning, you'll have to learn to wake up the first time the nurse hammers on the damn door," she said and then went back to her book. "Journal writing is to start shortly. You might want to fix your hair and rub the sleep out of your eyes before we go."

Wendy did as she was told, despite how curtly and almost spitefully Eliza had said it. It was only her second day here so Eliza shouldn't demand perfection of her. She still didn't understand how things worked around here. Although there was one benefit that Wendy liked: She could roll out of bed and go through her day in just her nightgown.

The glass face from the clock served as the only mirror that the girls had and after Wendy checked her appearance in it, she said, "Let's be off then, shall we?."

"Welcome to our Journal class, Wendy Darling," the doctor said. She hated having to meet a new doctor for every activity. It made things very confusing. He gave her a pad of paper and an ink pen and instructed her. "Be careful that that pen, Ms. Darling. If you act foolishly with it then you'll lose the privilege. Anyway, this half-hour you're allowed to write anything to your liking. You can write a letter to home, or keep a diary, or write poetry. That seems to be a popular one with this group of patients. It's for expressing yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl. Now go and sit down. I think there's an empty seat over by the lamp," he answered, while directing her to a corner seat.

The journal room was held in library and it was nice to start the day in the most pleasant room in the institute. But this time there were a few less people attending that during reading time. Still, a good fifteen or sixteen other inmates cluttered the room. A hum of low voices was a constant reminder that she was surrounded. Eliza plopped down on the floor in front of Wendy like a dog would and leaned over her paper. She had already started feverishly writing like she was straining to keep it in until she was able to get it down on paper.

Looking at her own blank sheet, Wendy thought about what she would write about. She could very well write her parents a letter, but what good would that do? Would they really want to hear about the things she'd already had to endure?

Absolutely not.

She could use the other suggestion and write something of a diary entry, but why would she want her first day documented and kept to remember for all of time? No, she would do something else.

There was, of course, the option of just writing poetry or a story or something of the sort. However, poetry had never been Wendy's strong point. She loved to read it, but writing it was quite different.

She rested her chin in her hand and thought, "This shouldn't be so difficult."

While she was scrounging for any idea to pass the time through writing, she peeked over Eliza's shoulder to see what she had written so far. To her surprise, the girl only had half a page of messy scrawl. Wendy would have thought that she would have covered pages and pages with writing considering how fast and urgently she wrote. She looked closer and read what Eliza already had down:

Black on black, unseen, unknown,
Growing in a garden lone,
Seeking out a crypt of bone
And silent in its seeming.

A simple rose it saw below,
A beauty it had yet to know,
Reminding of a land of snow
With blood upon it gleaming.

And seized by jealous apathy,
The blackness lingered by the tree
To watch the rose so silently—
It dreamed forlorn and bitter.

The rose, it told of many things;
The symbol of what loving brings,
A flower to be given wings
Or borne upon a litter.

The blackness, held in wonder's thrall,
Implored the rose to tell it all,
But no more answered blackness' call
The rose, in wisdom blooming.

In vain the darkness pled and cried
Only to find the rose had died—
Nor may a rose forever bide,
But fade into the glooming.

And so the darkness goes it way,
Bereft of reason there to stay,
And nowhere to its burdens lay,
Nor ever solace finding.

The black-on-black forever flows,
A soul that only torment knows.
It seeks the wisdom of the rose
To loose it from its binding.

"Why does it seem like Eliza is never happy?"

Art was very much the same as the "journal writing" had been. The doctor gave her a brush, pencil, and a paper and told her to be careful or else, and then sent her on her way. And just like the previous class, she did nothing productive.

Wendy seemed particularly lethargic that morning, with no busy thoughts coursing through her head and no stimulating events coursing through her day.

"This place is so… tiring. I'm just so bored," came Wendy's sluggish drawl.

"It's one of those places that move so slowly. It's as if it's in a constant state of gloominess, like a rainy day where all you want to do is sleep," said Eliza. Wendy marveled at her. She was coarse and brusque, but she was brilliant too.

Wendy found her mind wandering while she held the brush in hand and looked blankly at her canvas. Her eyes went out of tune while the fuzzy pictures in her mind took over. She vaguely remembered a night from years ago when things started to change.

She was fourteen years old, and it was the ending to a very long day of rigorous teaching with Aunt Millicent. She was sitting at her vanity, looking absentmindedly into the mirror and feeling completely bored when she heard a soft knock on her door.

"Wendy?" came John's voice. "Are you awake?"

"Yes. You may come in," she said. Their parents had made it a new rule that anyone wanting to see Wendy had to knock and wait for her consent to open it. John tentatively opened the door and peered in. Wendy smiled and invited him to stop lingering in the doorway and he then smiled and obeyed at once. He plopped on her bed, making himself very at home in her room and she asked him what it was that he wanted.

"I was just… wondering something," he answered. Wendy tipped her head to one side, inviting him to continue. He went on. "Do you remember... from a few years ago… Wendy, tell me about Peter Pan."

Wendy smiled warmly. "Of course I remember. Don't you?"

John face looked confused and strained, like he had tried to remember something that he couldn't. "I remember the name."

John had always been the more reasonable and"refined" of the two siblings. He seemed like a boy craving wisdom and status while being too young to truly aquire it. However, in that moment, he looked more like a child than he ever had before. His eyes pleaded for a reminder of the fairytale that he had treasured but seemed unable to reach.

"But you don't remember Neverland? Don't you remember the adventure? Don't you remember Tiger Lilly? Anything at all?" she said and John stared at her with no recognition in his eyes and Wendy's face fell.

"Remind me, Wendy. I can't recall what happened," he begged her as he stood up on his knees on the bed. Wendy smiled sadly at her brother and shifted through her memories for the story that was ever-present in her mind.

"I'll always keep reminding you, John."

She set down cross-legged in front of him on the bed a started the story she knew so well, that John should have known too. When she finished, she asked him if anything was sparking recognition. He looked embarrassedly at her and shook his head.

Michael had forgotten too. The past few months, the boys had started rapidly forgetting everything about their exciting time in Neverland. Soon, the only recognition they had of even Peter's name was that he was a popular character in the stories Wendy would tell. Wendy was the only one who could remember what happened that fateful night when Peter Pan threw them into a high-flying adventure.

Time seemed to move so slowly it felt unreal, but when art suddenly ended (despite it being and hour and a half long) she was shaken from her day-dreaming into this unpleasant reality.

"Youappear to space out a lot," Eliza said suddenly while she was getting up from her chair next to Wendy.

"Hm?"

"I said you seem to day dream an awful lot. What are you thinking about?" Eliza asked in a voice of genuine interest.

"Oh, it's nothing. We'd better go, though. I don't think Dr. Powell will be very pleased with me if I've late to our first meeting," replied Wendy evasively.

"Dr. Powell has a stick up his ass about something. He thinks he's so high and mighty even though he's just a therapist. He's been here less time than me and he thinks he's the master of the institution. Don't let him intimidate you. He'll twist every word you say around until he thinks he's trapped you into some kind of terrible confession."

"…Thanks… for the advice…," Wendy said, a little taken back. Obviously, there was some kind of conflict between the two of them. From witnessing their interaction after the skittles incident, she could tell that Dr. Powell wanted to control and stereotype Eliza, and Eliza wanted to make everything more difficult for him.

With a few parting words, Wendy departed and headed towards the therapy hall. She had learned the previous day that all the offices for their sessions were in one convenient zone and it helped her find her way when she knew which areas were for her and which ones were not. On her way there, she spotted Noodle sitting on the floor just staring up at the ceiling. When she passed, he just glanced over at her and she smiled warmly. He made no returning gesture and ignored her presence.

"…Alright then," Wendy thought. "That was strange. Noodle always seemed more friendly and social than that. No matter, I can't dawdle or I'll be late."

She rounded a corner and continued on. Noodle waited until she left his hallway then got up and started walking. He strolled down the halls like he knew them by heart and then plopped down in front of a specific door. From outside the room, muffled shouting could be heard as Eliza went flying off the handle about something or other. She always seemed to be in a rage when she talked to any of the doctors.

He leaned the back of his head against the door and started humming a made-up tune while he waited… waited for Eliza.

He was always waiting for her.