I've had no feedback if this story is any good, but I'm enjoying writing it so I will keep going, but if you could just let me know what you think it would really help, since I do plan on revising after I am finished. Thank you.

That night, Peter packed. He knew almost completely that Mr. Darling had not chosen him. He gathered some clothes, wrote out a note to Madame concerning his departure, and stuffed a bag to the gills with cookies from a cookie box. Using his ever so silent feet, he snuck to the kitchens and hoarded some bread, jam, and half a pot roast wrapped in wax paper. He thought about waking Wendy to make his escape now, but he couldn't bear to tear her away from her parents in the night… again. She would come to him, she would give him the sign. A crow, or a call from a bird perhaps.

With a jolt, he heard the singing of a teapot. Soft footsteps came into the kitchen to fetch the pot. Peter hid behind the counter. It was Madame. She fetched the pot and hummed joyfully under her breath as she made her way back to the dining hall. The scowled man was sat at a table, peering over paperwork. Madame made her way to him and whispered if he would like any sugar with his tea. At that, the scowled man (who was no longer scowled) pulled her plush body towards his to rest on his lap and kissed her vivaciously. She giggled and scolded that she should spill hot water on him and made her way to her own chair, hips swaying flirtingly. They sat, across a table, with a lamp illuminating paperwork. Their hushed whispers and flirting peppered the night with a romantic air. Peter shook his head, and crept back to his room, pot roast under his arm.

When he reentered his room, he laid down with his pack ready to leave. He peered out his window, searching for an artificial flicker of light, listening for a whistle, waiting for a sign. His eyes became heavy as he watched. He waited so long, that he fell into a dream. In his dream, Wendy had come to his room, and taken him away much like he had taken her four short years ago. He felt enraptured in her presence, ensnarled by the magic of her. They flew together, and played among the trees in the forest. Twisting dangerously between the branches, and trying to catch each other.

When he awoke, he was still in his room. Wendy had not come for him, and he felt a sort of panic. Had she changed her mind? Could she not leave her family? He could hardly blame her, but… he had left everything for her. Could she not make the same sacrifice he had? He rose slowly, pondering the possible conundrum. He made to leave and swung his door open, only to see a tie attached to the door handle. A note reading 'You should wear this' was pinned to it.

Now, Peter had never worn a real tie. He had worn pretend ones, but never even thought about how to tie it on. He made his way to the mirror and looked at himself, tie in hand. For the first time, he could see the adult that he was becoming. Avoiding his own eyes, he wrapped the thing around his neck and tied it clumsily into a knot. He groaned, it was not right. He tried again. Horrible. He resounded to tie the only knot he really knew well, which was a bowline knot. Looking silly and unrefined, he shrugged. Close enough.

Madame knocked at his door, and peered in.

"Peter?" She asked. He turned to her, ashamed tie in hand. Madame shook her head and moved to help him. Her eyes were cast down, and she deftly fixed his knot. "It has been agreed." She started. "That you may marry your Wendy."

Peter frowned at the statement. The thought seemed so alien that he had a hard time adjusting to it. Peter had awoken with such worry and anxiety that he could not wholly feel glad. He was merely surprised.

"Oh…" He said, staring down at the little bowtie Madame had tied for him. She held him firmly by the shoulders and stared worriedly into his downcast eyes.

"Are you not glad?" She said. He did not register the question fully. He was still trying to process the reality that he had passed the test. Mr. Darling had given Peter his daughter. He sighed deeply as he remembered those sweet nights with Wendy, reading stories together. It seemed like such a long time ago. How strange that now it may all be set right again?

"When?" He asked in return.

"Today." She said. Now it really dawned on him. His silly bowtie was here for a reason. He fingered it playfully and smiled at Madame.

"We are to be wed today?" He said, excitement now replacing his nervousness.

"Yes." Said Madame, relieved in seeing Peter react positively to the news. He was so volatile in nature that she feared he may be volatile in love as well.

"How do we get married?" He said. He had tried the secret already, and that had obviously not worked, and now he really wondered.

"I've taken care of the legalities." Sighed Madame. "You're welcome." She made a face as if it had been such a torment. Peter knew she had not been tormented at all to do it, and grinned slyly at her. At seeing his grin, she reddened. "Just… do as you're told, Peter. It will all be very simple." She said. Peter's face broke into a smile.

"I will do my best." He said. Finally, did he feel the impact of her words, and he was consumed with happiness. He made his way to her and held her tightly.

"Thank you." Peter said. "I couldn't have done any of this without you." He wanted to say more, in fact he had much to say to her. He had even taken the time to write it down for her in his goodbye note. He tried to remember it now but he couldn't. She patted him strongly on the back and tried not to be too moved by his words.

"Ah!" He said, remembering something suddenly. Peter made to fetch something from under his bed, and Madame thinking he had a gift, beamed with anticipation. She was sorely disappointed, then, when she was presented with half a pot roast, and a loaf of bread.

"I got hungry last night…" He lied. She looked at the pot roast, then at Peter.

"Strange boy…" She muttered, and made her way to return them to the kitchen. As she put away the roast, she saw that she had the perfect view of the table she had occupied that night from the kitchen. Peter was giving her a hint.

"Sly, strange, boy." She muttered again.

Peter took much more care in dressing the rest of himself. He did not really know how, but felt that if he did it very slowly, it would make it all the better. He noted carefully the tactile nature of sliding one's arm into a sleeve, and noted the clever popping the buttons made as they pierced through the cloth. He shall take care to remember everything very well today. He recounted in his head Madame telling him that he should marry his Wendy and told himself to pack that thought away forever. He smiled at replaying it two or three times, just to make sure.

Once dressed, he made his way downstairs. His only goal was to see Wendy. He walked the entire square of the building and had not seen her. He walked it again and still did not see her. All this time, tables and chairs disappeared from the dining hall and appeared into the courtyard. There was a heavy amount of noise coming from the kitchens, as if a crazed man had gotten in and resorted to bang every single metal object together. The scowled man was sitting at a remaining table in the room, and sipped coffee while shuffling through papers, which seemed his natural state.

"Good day, Peter." He said as Peter had passed him once. Peter greeted him quickly and made to tour the building again.

"Good day, Peter." He said as Peter passed him for a second time.

After his third tour, Peter felt Wendy was playing games with him, and began to look deftly behind corners, plants, and doors. This resulted in such a fright from several of the building's occupants as Peter popped out quite suddenly to scream 'Aha!' and then to frown and walk away without explanation. By noon, no one walked passed a corner without looking around it first, nerves affray that some wild, bowtied youth would come jumping out at them.

Seeing he was causing trouble, the scowled man invited Peter to sit down with him after having to bid him good day for the fifth time.

"You won't see Wendy until everyone is ready for the wedding." Said the scowled man.

"Why?" Asked Peter.

"Because… It's bad luck." He responded. Peter rolled his eyes. What a stupid reason to be not allowed to see his Wendy. "Relax, Peter." Said the man, offering him a cup of tea from his tray. "It will all happen in due time." Peter's leg shook impatiently under the table, but began to make efforts for passing time.

"What is your name?" Peter asked, starting a bout of small talk. The scowled man, surprised that he did not know answered happily.

"James Cuthfeld." He said. "The third."

"Third?" Asked Peter, ignorant of the meaning of third persons.

"My grandfather named my father after himself, and then in turn my father named me after himself." Said James, and shook his head, as if bothered. "Such a vain practice. If I were to have children, I should give them names they can make their own, don't you think?" Peter nodded, and wondered who had named him. Then he wondered, what would he name his children? If he was going to be a father, this would be his responsibility.

"When I have children. I should name them after the stars." Peter said, passionately. James smiled, as always fascinated by Peter.

"Little Orion and Pleiades. Charming." James said chuckling. "What would Wendy think?" Peter paused to think, and the pair resorted to sipping slowly their respected drinks in silent contemplation, James returning to his paperwork.

Peter had lost himself in a powerful daydream as he recalled and recounted every single memory of being with Wendy and packing it away carefully in his mind. He recounted their discovery of the secret and shuffled uncomfortably as he felt James could now suddenly read his mind and know what he was thinking of. James took no notice and began writing happily on his papers.

"What are you writing?" Peter asked, suddenly intrigued. James smiled.

"I'm writing a story." He responded. His papers were sorted into two piles, and he placed his hand over one. "Work." He said, then moving his hand to the other. "And pleasure." Peter, excited at the opportunity to be told a story, pried.

"What kind of story is it?" He asked. James leaned in and smirked.

"It's a love story, Peter." He said. Peter was quite taken aback. James was also a grown-up who had taken him by surprise. If not in getting to know him, Peter would have thought James was an awful, stuffy person, but now found that he was intriguing and genuine. The whole world, it seemed, had been turned on its head. All that Peter thought he knew about grown-ups and life had been skewed. He recalled now how Wendy had once called him deficient, and in this moment now he understood. He had been ignorant, and stubborn. He shook his head as he remembered the painful memory of Wendy leaving Neverland and imagined a small rubbish bin the corner of his mind where he pretended to throw out the thought resoundingly. The act reminded him of Mrs. Darling sorting through the thoughts of her children, and he realized quite suddenly that what he was doing was a very grown up thing indeed.

James looked at his watch and jumped in surprised.

"Oh, my, it's nearly time!" He said. "Come, Peter, let's begin."