To those who posted reviews, thank you! FFN is being weird and although it shows reviews, I cannot see them. I'll be updating randomly, as I have time to write, but enjoy this chapter for now! ~JS


Wendy pried her eyes open to the sound of Michael tromping down the stairs, whooping a war cry. She lay still, her gaze traveling to the open window. Grey clouds crowded the skyline, the impending rain harmonized with her mood.

She pulled on her housecoat and tied the sash. A flash caught her off guard and she pried Fitzsimmons' ring off, dropping it onto the dresser. It wobbled and rolled behind her hair powder. Wendy rubbed at the mark on her finger and left the ring there. Methodically, she brushed her hair, refusing to look at her reflection—the miserable grown-up who had refused Peter Pan and Neverland. She set the brush down...at least she would always have her kiss.

As she descended the staircase, John begged their feathered brother to slow down. "Come now, Michael. Sit down. Let's eat so we can go to the park." He glanced up at Wendy as she arrived in the dining room, his face imploring her to help.

"Let's eat, boys," she sighed.

"I want to hear more about the Indians and Tiger Lily." Michael ran a tight circle around the table, knocking his hands against each chair.

"Sit!" Wendy's terse command stopped the ten-year-old, his eyes wide at her sharp words. "Please, Michael, my head hurts and I have to go to a fitting later."

John herded their younger sibling into a nearby chair. "Make sure you have everything you need," he suggested, with a curt nod of his head towards her naked ring finger.

Wendy pulled her hand under the table as she sat. She wouldn't tell them about Peter's visit. It would upset them to know he had come and she had made him angry enough to leave without saying hello to them. It was enough to be disappointed in herself.

As swiftly as breakfast was finished, Mother hurried Wendy to get dressed. She was rushed off to the wedding dress fitting with Aunt Josephine. To Wendy's horror, the older women baited and teased her about her lack of excitement, interpreting her silence as nervousness for the wedding night. The thought of a wedding night with Fitzsimmons made Wendy's stomach churn. When she turned for the last time for the seamstress, everyone declaring the fit perfect, Wendy couldn't help but think Peter would think the dress silly because it would get dirty.

One day morphed into the next, nights marched one after the other, filled with parties and social engagements. Wendy smiled when she should and nodded when she ought. She slipped on her ring before she left the house and tossed it to the bureau when she returned. No matter the weather, she left both windows flung wide open, hoping Peter would return.

Fitzsimmons delivered her home a week after the engagement party, two weeks before their wedding. He'd whisked her off to an opera and paraded her around during intermission, showing off her ring to anyone who mentioned their impending matrimony. He devoured her lips when their carriage stopped. Wendy tried to extract herself from his grasp.

"I simply cannot wait until you are mine, Mrs. Fitzsimmons." His mustache smelled of stale beer.

"Miss Darling, still yet." She wrenched the door handle and flung the door wide. "I'm sorry, but I need to go inside before Father comes to investigate my delay."

"He knows I am a gentleman."

Wendy throttled her body out of the carriage. "Yes, as do I. Goodnight, Gerald." She practically ran to the front door, anxious to flee his advances. It had been a week and she was desperate to see if Peter would come back, even though she was sure he wouldn't. But she still believed in pixies and promises.

"Wendy." Her father's subdued voice came from the parlor as she closed the door. His cigar smoke stifled the air.

She waited for the sound of the carriage pulling away before entering the room. "Father. You are up rather late."

"It is my duty when my daughter is out late without a chaperone."

"Thank you, Father. I am tired. Goodnight" She just wanted to shed her clothing and fall into bed. Dreams waited for her—dreams of flying and Neverland.

"Goodnight."

Once in her room, Wendy saw the windows were shut. She flung her ring to the dresser in her haste to remedy the situation. Chilly air slammed her face once the latch slid aside. She closed her eyes and pulled off her gloves, dropping them to the floor. A strong breeze beckoned her towards the window sill. She sunk to her knees, eyelids still sealed, and rested her forehead on the cold casing. Peter was not coming. Even if he had, her window had been closed. She was too late…again.

Wendy jerked and her head banged against something solid. Her hand reached up to the back of her head and felt the wall behind it. Pressed against her cheek, the cold floorboard. She must have fallen asleep at the window and slid down to the floor.

"I didn't know that you liked to sleep on the ground."

The back of her head knocked into the wall again at the sound of a man's voice. She scrambled up, legs tangled in a web of petticoats. Wendy tugged at the hem to keep her ankles from showing. "Who are you?" A chunk of loose curls fell into her eyes.

"It took longer than a few days, Wendy."

"Peter?" She pushed the curls behind her ear and searched the blackened room for any hint of his whereabouts. "Oh Peter, where are you?" Her smile grew. He had come back for her!

"You won't know me." His voice was deeper. It had lost its pitch.

"I will always know you. You're my Peter—Peter Pan."

Peter sniffed in the darkness. "It wasn't much fun becoming a grown-up."

"I am sorry. Did it hurt much?"

"Yes. But I've had worse." His pride was bound in a masculine tone. "I am scared you won't like me now that I'm grown-up too."

Wendy laughed and tears pricked the corners of her eyes. He was still thirteen in his mind. "You are my best friend, Peter Pan. I will always like you. I am going to light the candle next to my bed now. Come sit next to me when you're ready."

Her hands shook when she struck a match to light the wick. Wendy tried to smooth her hair and dress, feeling ridiculous. How hard could it be being grow-ups together? Silence stalked her room. She knew he was watching, waiting.

To calm her nerves, she closed her eyes and hummed. Her fingers drifted up to remove the pins holding the rest of her hair in place. As she pulled the last pin free and her hair dropped to her shoulders, the mattress dipped at her side. Still, she continued her melody to completion, pulling her fingers through her curls. At the end of her song, her hands drifted to her lap.

When she gained the courage to open her eyes, Wendy watched Peter's large hand slide into hers.