fandom; Peter Pan
pairing; Peter/Wendy
warnings; none, I think
disclaimer; I own nothing.

i.

Her voice is kind of soothing, he guesses - although there is no real word that could serve as an ideal definition to the sure curve of tones, the reassuring letters pronounced in perfect, good-mannered English. It's like being slowly lulled to sleep he supposes, feeling your thoughts slip away to all that is safe and good; unwillingly, yes, but without much resistance.

Actually, Peter muses, her voice comparable to lullabies and good-night stories is able to take him to a dream land of its own entirely, far from mermaids and pirates and crocodiles with clocks ticking away seconds in time with the pulse in their gut; much further away where everything is bright and colorful, where things unimaginable are displayed as every-day scenarios.

He never meant to actually ever speak with her, since stepping by every week or so to eavesdrop during storytime was something meant to stay that way, her voice like feathers floating to the ground saved in his memory as something untouchable-

(well, he really did need his shadow back, so sneaking in while she was asleep seemed to be the only solution, and-)

-the moment he heard that voice, though, directed only at him, it made his own vocal chords entangle themselves in a mess of awkward speechlessness, completely over-whelmed.

"Girls talk too much", he complains, hoping she won't notice the fair skin of his cheeks heating up without no obvious reason, hoping himself to get rid of this bothersome feeling as soon as possible.

She looks slightly put-off by the comment, but not really hurt (then again, how would he know? hurt just doesn't exist in a place located in, well, nowhere, and girls and feelings are things he was never able to read, anyway-), and even as she quickly puts that smile to her rose-petal lips and sews his shadow back on in a way that is nothing but habital, her voice rings throughout the small nursery, not faltering.

He is.. impressed? Interested? Intrigued?

(he doesn't want her to stay the inaccessible whisper of stories sprinkled with sparkles that he re-tells to the Lost Boys; he'd rather just steal her away, mine mine mine play with me talk to me read me stories tuck me in mine mine mine, but that's childish thinking - but that's why he dislikes reality making it childish thinking.)

"-I have to grow up tomorrow."

Peter snaps in a way he is entirely unused to, but impulsiveness and straight-forward thinking is his well-accustomed companions, so he's pretty sure he's made up his mind as he speaks, because really, he simply-

"-won't have it!" and he's barely conscious of his own demanding hand reaching for her fragile wrist.

She's confused, she's hesitating but she's not really protesting, and sure Tink is going to be angry with him, but this girl could maybe make a great longed-for mother, and she's nosy as ever when it comes to her favorite object of story-prospects, so-

("What's a kiss?" and even long after she tried to show him, long after his confusion, long after the interruption, he still wants to know - but only if she's the one explaining it to him, which is weird, and-)

-faith trust and pixie dust, and just like that, he's living his dream of sugar-glazed adventures, she's by his side and her bubbly laughter rings in his ears as they pass by Big Ben, her curls bouncing against her back and her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Wendy", he calls, and is amazed when she turns to regard him, beaming all over with the curiosity of a child (which means she's not grown-up, she'll never be, she'll stay and-) at the sight of all that this fantasy world has to offer; siren songs echoing from every ripple, the howl of the indians in the dead of the night, and Peter merely smiles and shakes his head when she lifts a questioning brow at him because he realizes he has nothing to say, he never had.

(and he sincerely hopes for all that he's worth that he can one day work up the courage to ask her if they can make their own Neverland).

ii.

Peter's only ever made two mistakes in his whole life.

The first was visiting his parents in the stupid human world long after being brought away to Neverland, watching their peaceful faces as they rocked a little baby with tousled red hair, his mother's twisted face when she swore she heard something and his father circling the garden in the search for whatever it was that had disturbed their picture-perfect family moment - in the search for him.

(he's sure that his boring, moral-infected parents wouldn't approve of him choosing to become a fairy tale instead of a police officer or a lawyer).

Days pass and time flies and every day's a chapter of its own among all the discoveries they make, even Tinkerbell has gotten used to Wendy although she's still showing off that useless hostility, and every night as Peter retreats to bed and listens to Wendy's serene voice reading story after story to the Lost Boys, he's sure that this is what it feels like to be content, all warm and cosy on the inside as she pulls the covers up to his chin and smiles.

But something's on his mind and that something seems quite undeniable because it becomes all he ever thinks about and yet he can't really put his finger on it, can't categorize it as Important Stuff, Less Imoportant Stuff and Unimportant Stuff - can't brush it off as nothing and go taunt Captain Hook or play with wooden swords instead. Besides, there's something else; a phrase picked up from his travels to the concrete world, a word plaguing his mind..

"Um, Wendy, what is 'love'?" he says it with uncertainty, like he doesn't know the proper pronunciation, like one would say a terribly long word with no significant meaning.

She giggles, stopping in making one of the beds.

"Wherever have you heard that?"

"Uh, well.. just something I noticed, so.."

"It would be hard to explain, I suppose", she hums, "but it's a feeling deep inside that makes you feel all happy and warm and like you can overcome anything!"

"Like flying?" he pledges, confused.

"Yes, sort of. It's a feeling you have for a person that's real special, someone close. Oh, but there is love towards your parents, too. Everyone loves their parents. Love towards someone outside of your family, though.."

"Yes? What is that like?" he asks, inching closer and making her smile again.

"It's something I've heard is a wonderful thing. When you'd do anything for someone, when your heart beats faster whenever they're around.. you want to be close to them, you want for them to be happy."

Peter has to ponder over this for a while, considering the girl's answer. Then something hits him.

"So.. have you ever loved someone, then? Except for your parents?"

"Me?" she splutters, blushing despite being ever-composed. "Oh, no. Never."

"Never.." he repeats, a breathy echo rather than a question. To think he used to like the sound of that word.

His second mistake was (meeting, falling for, losing) her.

Peter doesn't like troubles and problems and scowls and pain because that does not belong in his eternal adult-free world; butbutbut-

It doesn't rain the day she leaves like in the movies - it never rains in Neverland - but it does feel like something within him is being ripped out and left to hang half-brokenly, the mirror image of himself reflected in the water looking more mature than he has ever seen it, and-

("-everyone else thinks I'm great!" "Especially Tiger Lily!")

He sees her off with a smile, telling himself that he'll just go on like always, searching for treasures and messing with pirates, his life a rotating adventure; telling her "you'll be back soon enough", confident as ever, (who'd want to grow up, anyway?), turning his back as if not to see the sorrowful smile on her lips as she hops off of the railing of the ship and lands quite gracefully on the roof of her home.

In the end, Peter reasons, she was nothing but fuel to his pixie dust-covered fantasies. But she will be back, and that is for certain. No one has belonged better in a world so free of boundaries; no one could be more suited for this sort of life.

(her voice ringing in his head like a mechanic mantra, so unlike the velvety quality he is used to; never never never).

iii.

If he only remembered how to cry, now would be a good time to do it.

He's been avoiding that building on purpose the very few times he has payed a visit, but it's the goddamn same window as ever (so she still hasn't left the nursery) and he sees her, standing out as much as the second star to the left does across the night sky. She's all curled up on the windowsill, clothes ruffled and hair messy, so unlike her usual prude self, and he can't help the roller coaster of feelings that overcome him the moment he notices her.

"Wendy", he whispers, floating closer despite Tink's warnings, and he lands before the small girl whose face is hidden in her propped up arms. Just as he is about to reach out and touch this precious, precious person, the door is opened and in comes a beautiful lady along with the light from the hall lamp. He is quick to hide just beneath the window, hearing his own heartbeat above the footsteps inching closer.

"Jane, dear, wake up. You'll catch a cold if you sleep by the window like that. Come now, Jane", a voice calls, and a pang echoes throughout his suddenly frozen body.

There is mumbling and sleep-mussed words along with the sound of rustling, but he fails to hear it due to the piercing shock. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"What were you doing here? Waiting for Peter Pan?" she speaks again, smooth and calm like always, the hint of a smile behind her words.

"Mom, you know I don't believe in stories like that", comes the stubborn answer.

"But Jane, dear-"

"Faith, trust and pixie dust - it's all nonsense! None of it will bring dad back! Mom, this is for real, we don't have time for childish games!"

Peter's blood turns to ice and he feels just as dead inside as the unmoving soldiers scattered among the red-tinted streets of London - this is for real, this is for real, and Wendy has moved on and grown up (without him).

For a brief second, just before he turns around to see Tinker Bell's light go out like a fading lamp, he truly feels like a child (and he's quite sure that this is not how the story's supposed to end - then again, it's not like he can ask his favorite narrator or anything).

[end]

A/N; this didn't exactly turn out the way i planned, but i must say that i adore this fandom to no end. although i prefer the book version instead of the movie(s). i ougtha write another oneshot about this sometime, but from Wendy's POV! i already have a few ideas..