Peter sleeps for two days and one night, and on the second night, he awakens. He has no dreams, it's as if he blinked once and all that time had passed. He's surprised to find himself in Wendy's bed; he recognizes her lavender scent clinging to the blankets wrapped around him. He rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face it the pale clouds, marveling in her aroma and his heart swells with warmth. He could lie here forever wrapped up in this welcoming and familiar bubble. The only thing stopping him was the reminder that it could only get better, if only he had his Wendy right here right now.
He sits up hurriedly, flinching as if he were expecting to smack his head against a branch hanging above his bed as he's done so many times before. But this wasn't his bed, and there were no branches. Nothing but open air and a subconscious memory telling him to stop jerking awake so often. He sighs to himself and rubs his face, his eyes, and runs his fingers through his hair. He is drowsy and groggy, but quick to force himself to stand.
As his feet touch the floor and eminent consciousness takes over him, reality starts to set in. Memories come flooding back to him and the warmth slowly fades away. Tinkerbell, England, love making, babies… He could be a father.
No wonder he had been out so long. He must have hit his head.
Nobody was nearby, since they couldn't be every hour of the day. He has no idea how long he's been out, but one thing remains clear; he must speak to Wendy. How could she have lied to him in such a way? Well, she hasn't exactly lied, she just didn't tell him… And who was she to be obligated to anyway? He should have known this! But how could he?
He buries his face in his hands and groans, head pains starting to creep up his brain through his temples. Maybe he's just overreacting; Tinkerbell only made it clear that it was a possibility. There was no for sure way of knowing that they had made a baby. How does that even work anyway…what about doing something like that could result in a baby?
"I need to go home," he whispers more to the open air than to himself. He's known this for days now, but he was sure that he couldn't stay away from Neverland much longer. His home was going to slip into a wintery ice land without him. He rises off the bed but decides it would be safer instead not to use his feet, but to fly.
When he lifts off the ground he feels euphoria come over him that he hasn't experienced in too long. He can still fly, he hasn't forgotten. He laughs with glee and rises up further towards the ceiling and flips in elated circles, before crumbling back down onto the bed because his ribs had started to cramp up from all the laughter. He rolls over slightly and reaches under the bed to snatch up his vines where he knew Wendy had hidden them.
He missed them. Pressing them to his nose he inhales what he remembers to be Neverland, and whispers, "I'll be home soon."
He dresses himself much quicker than with the clothes that regular people wear. He knows his vines; they're much easier for him to assemble than some useless, colorless rags that overheat you.
Once dressed, he's faced with the next objective; convince Wendy to come away with him.
He doesn't know why, but Peter didn't expect the hallways to be so empty. There was no sound. Usually the hustle and bustle of the boys' daily activity can be heard throughout the entire house. He wanders around, leaves and all, eventually heading towards the stairs before checking the spare room and the nursery. Nobody.
"Wendy?" he calls, voice echoing.
"Oh Peter," Mrs. Darling murmurs from the bottom of the stairs. "Goodness you're awake! Come, quickly, Wendy has been asking," she says to him as Peter reaches the bottom. She pauses for a moment and takes in his appearance. "You're…um…"
"The clothes I came in," is all he says in response. "My leaves. I feel better in them." She nods in understanding, a look of sadness coming across her eyes. She knows Peter was to leave soon.
"Wendy has been ill," Mrs. Darling explains softly. "The boys are with their aunt, they're far too rambunctious to be in the house while she's in this condition."
"Ill how?" Peter worries, dread starting to take over him. He knew that they could get diseases from what they had done. Had he done this to her?
"She has been in the washroom for a couple hours every day lately," she sighs, "vomiting profusely. It's as if it hits her like a ton of bricks, then stops." Peter looks down, thinking about this. His doubts about her state are still there, though he thinks maybe this wasn't his fault.
"Has she eaten something bad?" Peter wonders as they stop outside the washroom, passing Mr. Darling asleep in the chair by the window in the family room. John is on the floor, nose buried in a book. He doesn't notice Peter, much to Peter's relief.
"We're not sure," her mother rubs her face frustratingly. She looks cautiously over to Mr. Darling, to make sure he really was asleep. Then she leans in closer to Peter, her lips by his ear. He stiffens. "I fear she may be with child," she whispers.
Peter blinks, trying to process what she had just said.
"I…I didn't…I can't imagine how…she never told me…" he stops. He wasn't going to be able to explain it properly.
"Peter I know. I know my daughter. I'm not upset with you…" Peter exhales in relief, though the heavy weight of the thought of a child still lingers over him.
"I need to speak to her," he says. He meant for his voice to come out strongly, but instead he just whispers the words, eyes dropping to the floor. Mrs. Darling nods and gestures for him to go in.
Wendy is lying on the floor, her head near the toilet on a big pillow. There are towels laid out on the floor and a cup of water sitting on the floor next to her. She looks worn out and exhausted, her hair is unkempt and it looks as if she has been lying on this floor for hours. He kneels down next to her and strokes her shoulder. She's so soft, just as he remembers she was the last time he held her in his arms.
"Peter?" she whispers, opening her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes. Peter grins widely, for a moment forgetting everything and pulling her into his arms in a tight bear hug. She pulls back to look at him for a moment. "I'm so glad you're awake!"
"How long have I been asleep?" Peter admittedly confesses to actually having slept, which is not something he usually does.
"Two days, I found you on the floor, you'd hit your head," she murmurs. He scoffs nonchalantly.
"I've hit my head hundreds of times, I'm fine." He stands and places his hand on his hip, offering his other to Wendy, who takes it timidly. She sways a bit as she stands, but other than that she seems perfectly normal to him.
"They're making a big deal out of you being a little sick, had me worried for a moment," Peter shrugs.
"You? Worried?" she chuckles. "I would've thought that such a feeling was unknown to the great Peter Pan."
"Yeah well," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "things change." He suddenly remembers what Wendy's mother had told him, and he cringes at the thought.
"What is it?" she places her hand on his cheek, urging him to look her in the eyes though she's significantly shorter than he.
"Your mother thinks you might be with child," Peter mutters, refusing to look at her. Wendy looks down, not saying anything. She lets her hand fall and turns away from him. His heart sinks. "So it's true! You knew we could make a child and yet…we…" he stops. He can't come up with the right words. He did this too, it wasn't completely her fault. He should have questioned her more.
"I'm sorry," she chokes, and Peter realizes she's crying. He melts instantly and pulls her tightly into his arms, unable to hide the affection he has for her. He loves her too much to stay angry.
"Why didn't you tell me that's what would happen?" he whispers into her hair, fighting back his own tears. He hated to see her in pain.
"I didn't think about it… I didn't' think it would happen! It's not always guaranteed you'll have a child, I thought we would be lucky enough to dodge it, just this once…" she weeps softly, shoulders trembling and tears dripping down Peter's bare collarbone. She strokes his leaves, finally starting to notice his attire. "You're leaving…" she says, voice cracking and she starts sobbing frantically. "Please don't leave me," she begs, hardly able to get her words out before hiccupping again, a lump in her throat. She feels as though her world is falling apart.
"I could never leave you, my Wendy," he whispers warmly into her ear as he rubs her back. "But I can't abandon my home. I have to go back. I'm begging you to come with me, and if you can't…I'll come back every day and see you." He looks behind him towards the door, which was opening slightly.
"Wendy," her mother murmurs softly. "We need to go now."
"Where?" Peter snaps, terrified at the thought of her leaving his arms.
"To hospital, I need to know if I am really with child. Please, don't mention this to my father," she sniffles, sobbing once again. Peter nods.
"I'll come too."
He leads her out to the carriage waiting, and nobody says a word about the fact that he's dressed in leaves and vines.