"Tell us a story, Peta," Wendy said.
Peta looked up at Wendy, as still as a doll in her old, white rocking chair. From Peta's place on the worn rug before Wendy, the large, open window and lazily fluttering drapes seemed to frame Wendy's silhouette like a painting. Wendy sighed dreamily, turning to hide a yawn in her hand.
The harsh, yellow glow from the street lamps below cast unflattering shadows across Wendy's old face. Peta blinked, casting her eyes aside reflexively. She couldn't bear to see her friend - her Wendy - all grown up. Though Wendy's alabaster skin was still free of wrinkles, it had been more than sixteen years since Peta first flown through the Darlings' window, and Wendy's tired face showed them all.
"Come now, P," Wendy smiled. "Let's you and I tell stories and play pretend again."
"All right," Peta said, gazing past Wendy at the star-spattered sky beyond.
Peta felt John's and Michael's presence, rather than seeing or hearing them, as they threw themselves comfortably across Wendy's bed. No matter how many years, how many moments or tears had passed, Peta would always see the boys as they were when she first met them. John's har would never thin and Michael's face would never be marred by that awful scar if Peta kept seeing them as the little boy in the thin nightshirt and ridiculous top hat, and the little baby in the pink siren suit.
Peta pushed such thoughts aside and drew in a breath.
"Once upon a time," Peta began dramatically, "in a time before time, there was just the Space Between, the home of stars. Now, stars may look like little pricks of light in a big, black ocean, but they are much, much more. Each one is a path, like a kind of tunnel or a road. They are made of light and hope, and each one takes you through the Space Between, to get to where you're going."
"What's the Space Between, P?" Michael yawned.
"Oh, the Space Between is… it's lovely, Michael" Peta sighed. "All you can see, for as far as your imagination can reach, are the backsides of stars. If you stay there for a long time and let your eyes adjust, you can even see all the paths, like silver rivers tumbling over and under and through, across the night sky… forever!"
"Forever?" Wendy smiled.
"Forever!" Peta exploded.
Peta floated slowly off the ground, still cross-legged, as the Pixie Dust about her reacted to her joy. Wendy giggled quietly and gently pulled Peta back down to her place at Wendy's feet.
"See," Peta continued, "it's never day in the Space Between, only night. But if you lose your course, there's always The Moon."
"But I thought the moon belonged to this world," John said, fighting to keep his eyes open, at least enough to squint suspiciously at Peta.
"Aw, John, don't you know? The Moon reflects more than just light," Peta smiled, shaking her head. Golden tufts of Pixie dust fell gracefully from her hair before coming to rest on the rings of the Darlings' fraying rug. "It reflects itself, as well. Sometimes once, sometimes two or three or seven times!"
"You sure love that moon, P," Wendy smiled again.
"'Course I do," P grinned. "The Moon is my… what did you call it, Mother?"
"The moon is your mother?" John yawned "But how?"
"How?" Peta smiled impishly. "My Shadow, of course!"
"Your… Shadow?" Wendy asked, swallowing a yawn of her own.
"Of course," Peta said, her gaze suddenly far, far away. "You call him The Man in the Moon, but he's really just a Big Shadow. He sees everything, through all the reflections of all of The Moons. He told me once that he sees all of the star paths in all times, back and forth and after and before, all at once, and that some star paths cross through time like they do through space."
"I think you're confusing John," Wendy said, giggling at her brother's furrowed brow and closed eyes.
"I guess," Peta said dismissively. "I never really thought of it before."
Wendy and Peta looked at one another for a moment.
"Well," Wendy said, "go on, P."
"Well," Peta said, imitating Wendy's tone, "The Man in the Moon, the Big Shadow, whenever he laughs or cries, a small piece of him bursts out and flies through the Space Between, becoming a brand new Shadow of its own."
"Really!" Wendy exclaimed, breathless.
"Yes," Peta said, "and since a Shadow can't exist without someone - or something, I guess - to be attached to, a… some-oneorthing bursts into bei-"
"A some-oneorthing?" Wendy laughed.
"Yes, Wendy, a some-oneorthing," Peta said, her eyes glinting. "And my Shadow's some-oneorthing was a someone."
"It was a you," Wendy said.
"It was a me," Peta agreed.
Peta's shadow thrummed with pride. The Darlings' rounded ears would never catch such a sound, but Peta's ears were markedly sharper.
"So you and your Shadow were flung through the Space Between together," Wendy guessed, "and you landed in Neverland."
"Yes," Peta said, rather flatly.
"What's wrong, P?" Wendy asked. "Wasn't it lovely?"
Peta hesitated. Michael's fretful murmurs punctuated the silence. The corners of Peta's mouth twitched upward. No matter how much time passed, Michael would always talk in his sleep. And John would always snore. And they would never stop. Not for Peta, anyway.
And Wendy would always look at her with those wide, blue eyes.
"It was," Peta said. "It was lovely, for a while."
Wendy looked at Peta's delicately pointed ear, sighing at Peta's turned face. Wendy gave up after a moment, and followed Peta's gaze to watch the still blankets atop her bed. Wendy could tell that Peta was avoiding her again, hiding between soft folds of silence and crevices of distraction.
"Please, P," Wendy said gently, "won't you tell me?"
Peta stood suddenly, leaving Wendy alone in her creaky chair, and climbed up onto the windowsill. The smell of springtime wafted lazily into the old room on the wings of warm night air.
Peta turned, catching sight of Michael and John lying sideways across Wendy's big bed.
"I miss the nursery," Peta said softly.
Peta pouted at the well-worn floor between her heavily mended, leaf-green boots. Had she been human, she might not have heard Wendy's soft foot falls, or the light brush of the hem of her nightgown as it whispered across the floor behind Wendy.
Wendy's soft hand caressed Peta's cheek like the brush of a feather.
"This is the nursery, Peta," she said.
"No," Peta said heavily. "It's your room now. The three little beds are gone. Michael and John are 'just visiting,' though you won't tell me why."
Wendy swallowed hard, then stepped suddenly to her closet. She fidgeted with the ends of a rustling bag as Peta went on.
"You… you're big now, Wendy," she said. "You've done it. You've gone and grown up. Michael and John, too, but most of all… you."
Peta looked at the edge of the threadbare, circular rug across the room as the corners of her vision blurred.
"What do you think, P?" Wendy asked, too brightly.
Peta looked up. Wendy had carefully arranged a pink sash over her nightgown.
Wendy's long, thick curls were pulled back, as always, and barely tamed chestnut wisps carefully framed her porcelain face. Her feet were childishly bare, but the rest of her body, from her long, slender fingers to the gentle curves of her waist, were…
"Like I said," Peta said dully, turning her back on Wendy, "you're all grown up."
Peta gathered her knees to her chest as she perched herself on the worn windowsill, watery eyes already fixed on her star path home.
"Peta, wait," came Wendy's broken voice behind her.
The gentle pressure of Wendy's soft fingers pulled one of Peta's hands from the polished wood. Wendy delicately took one of Peta's hands in both of hers.
"At least finish your story, P," Wendy pleaded, her words heavy.
Dawn had not yet broken, but Peta could feel the world shifting just beyond the horizon; an unyielding change was rapidly approaching.
"My Shadow and I found Neverland," Peta said, "but it was empty."
"You were all alone?"
"For a time."
"What did you do?"
"I explored Neverland for a while, and it was beautiful. But it was quiet. At night, even my Shadow would fade into the darkness, and I was completely alone. I would talk to The Moon, and to the Big Shadow. They were my parents, but even they stopped answering me eventually."
"And then?" Wendy prompted, a bit too eagerly.
"And then one day, I tripped on a rock, of all things. And my shadow's foot started to rip from mine."
Wendy gasped.
"Oh, it hurt, but it finally gave me a way out," Peta said. "I cut and tore the rest of my Shadow from me. It was painful, for both of us."
Peta felt her Shadow shudder, but pressed on.
"I waited for dusk, when shadows grow long and stretch themselves out across the empty land. And I took up my Shadow in my hands. I chose a star path, one I had been looking at for a long time."
"The second star to the right," Wendy murmured.
"No," Peta chuckled, "not yet."
Peta squeezed Wendy's hands just slightly, but kept her perch on the windowsill.
"Then where, P?"
"The biggest, brightest star in the sky," Peta sighed. "I told my Shadow to go, find some-oneorthing, any-oneorthing, to come be with me. And I threw them, hard and far, through that star path."
"But… but, P, your Shadow was some-oneorthing, and they were already with you."
Peta's skin burned at the edges, at the seams which held her Shadow to her, but Peta shrugged her Shadow off reflexively.
"My Shadow is just more of me," Peta said, so quietly that Wendy had to lean in to hear her.
Wendy's soft breath tickled the back of Peta's neck and Peta almost, almost turned to face her.
"Besides," Peta continued, "Shadows can't talk," hot pain pricked at her skin again, "or think, or feel things," Peta's skin erupted in goosebumps at the seams. "I needed more than just a Shadow."
Peta's Shadow recoiled from their seams, then grew stiff.
"So, who did your Shadow find, when they followed the star path?"
"Who else?" Peta grinned.
"Tink," Peta said, as Wendy said "Tinker Bell."
"But she can't talk, either," Wendy said.
"Sure she can," Peta scoffed. "You may just hear tinkling, because that's what she wants you to hear, but believe me, I get an earful."
"Two ears full, I'd bet," Wendy chuckled.
Peta chuckled.
The far edges of the sky were beginning to grey. They both knew that Peta didn't have long, but for a moment, they simply breathed. Peta could just barely hear John's soft snores and Michael's unconscious murmurs.
"Why did Tinker Bell decide to leave her home?"
"She took pity on me," Peta said, an undertone of hurt slipping its way into her voice. "She made it clear that her feelings for me were as big as she was small. She taught me to fly, to tinker and build things, even how to play Pixie games. But she also taught me how it feels to owe someone something."
"What did you feel you owed her, P?"
"I… me, I think. Myself. My time. My friendship. To repay her, for choosing to come be with me."
Wendy struggled for a moment, then chose not to respond.
"I think that's why I started going down other star paths," Peta said. "Tink came with me, of course. But I went to go find other friends, for me and for her, so it wouldn't be just us."
"She never knew-"
"No," Peta replied softly, finally turning her head just slightly toward Wendy. "We were too busy."
Peta fidgeted under Wendy's piercing gaze.
"We chose the dimmest star," Peta continued, "and found mermaids fleeing a home that had been destroyed, and brought them to Neverland. They were playful but also possessive. Then, the mermaids found a side of Neverland that we hadn't yet, and discovered there were already people living there."
"Oh, the Chief, and Tiger Lily, and-"
"Exactly," Peta said, "another girl who wanted more of me than I could ever give."
Wendy's nightgown was suddenly uncomfortably warm, but she pressed on, desperate to stave off the dawn.
"Is that when you chose the second star to the right?"
Peta froze, feeling nothing but her pounding heart for a long moment.
Peta knew Wendy's eyes better than she knew her own, clear and bright and bluer than the waters of Mermaid Lagoon, even when lit only by the harsh, yellow glow of the lamps down below. But what struck Peta about Wendy's eyes as she finally turned to face her friend was how puffy they were, and how… red?
Peta sat helplessly on the windowsill, letting one gangly leg dangle from either side of it, half inside Wendy's room and half out of it, with her back pressed against the cold, metal window track.
"No," Peta said. "We went through the path of a star whose light kept flickering. The rightmost star. And we found humans for the first time."
"Humans?" Wendy gasped.
"A massive battle on the sea, at the end of the world," Peta said. "That world ended in an actual edge, and two massive pirate ships were fighting a brutal and bloody war-"
Wendy suddenly dropped Peta's hand, recoiling. It was her turn to turn her back on her friend.
Peta looked helplessly at a long, brown curl. It shook slightly, sporadically, against the delicate nightgown and absurd pink sash. Peta swung her outside leg in and stood quietly, speaking directly to the poor curl.
"A young boy was aboard the ship. He had wide, scared eyes, crooked teeth, and inky hair slicked to his white skin by rain and ocean spray. He was the only one who saw me. I was carrying Tink, to protect her wings from the water. He saw her glow, and then saw me. We looked into each other's eyes, and it was as if all the fighting had stopped around us. He was terrified, even of me. I reached out a hand, from half a ship away, and I swear… I swear, he might have been reaching back out.
But then, a cannonball hit, and the wooden planks under his feet exploded. Splinters and seawater showered everyone, and the small boy was flung into the ocean. There was a massive sea monster, a kraken; its gaping maw stretched from one ship to the next, and I saw that little boy heading straight for those jagged fangs. And I dove. I plunged down into the sea and straight back up to the stars, never once letting go of him."
"The first Lost Boy."
"Yes."
"What was his name, P?"
A pregnant pause stretched between them.
"James," Peta finally whispered.
"I mean, what was his name in Neverland?"
Peta closed her eyes.
"I think you know."
"Hook," Wendy said softly.
"Hook," Peta affirmed, the name catching thickly in her throat.
When Peta opened her eyes, Wendy was facing her again, searching Peta's face for something.
"We were… back then, we were children together," Peta admitted.
"What happened?" Wendy asked.
"I think that's enough story for tonight," Peta said, blinking quickly.
"Oh!" Wendy gasped.
Wendy closed the small distance between them in two swift steps, and threw her arms around Peta's waist.
"I had so hoped you would come tomorrow night instead," she whispered fervently.
Peta turned away from her friend and hopped back up on the small windowsill. Wendy let her long arms fall limply at her sides.
"Won't you… oh, Peta, won't you come back tomorrow night? Please?"
"I'll see you again, Wendy," Peta said, stepping out into the night air and hovering beside the window with a halfhearted wink.
"Yes, I suppose you will," Wendy sniffed. "It was fun, telling stories and… and playing pretend with you again, P."
Peta looked back at Wendy's downcast eyes, then at the empty bed where John and Michael had never lain.
Wendy sighed shakily, looking back up with watery eyes, but only the faint golden shimmer of Pixie Dust in the predawn light shone before her.
Peta was already gone.
