Teehee!
For Bryce and Britney and Guest (who hasn't left me a name yet) and Christopher Scott, a Gentleman Thief. Thank you so much for your kind reviews and all of your love! Have fun...and see you next week!
After two weeks of solid investigating by Scotland Yard, Mr. Painter failed to turn up. People said they saw a man fitting his description around town, but there were plenty of rotund, white-haired Scottish men in London, a popular vacation spot. It seemed that he had simply vanished. The school hired a new teacher, the students mourned, and things returned to normal. You could only disrupt the flow of life so briefly before it ebbed its way back into tired normality. And this was the normality of midterm season.
The trip to Kensington Gardens was cancelled. Gwen was stressed over her midterm papers and Peter was too busy helping the new orchestra teacher adjust for them to hang out much at all. Their meetings on the green with the Losties and orchestra rehearsals were their only occasional contact, and only happened three or four times a week. Natalee had taken to bringing her gothic boyfriend everywhere with her, including the dorm, so Wendy often had to drown out their loud expressions of physical attraction to each other with music while she studied and wrote. Didn't Natalee have midterms to study for, too? She thought angrily, turning her volume up another notch.
Things got hectic for everybody with midterms approaching, and nobody really noticed Erika becoming more engrained in the group. She stuck close with Bryce, going on several dates with him but never really making anything official, while also spending as much time with Peter as physically possible. She talked with him frequently about the one class they shared, comparing notes and helping write essays together in the library. Kevin and Bryce noticed, with mutual concern, that Peter often spent more time with Erika than he did with his girlfriend. They also noticed her sneaking off of campus at strange hours of the night with a duffel bag.
"Maybe she's a drug dealer," Kevin suggested, "Or a prostitute. She hides her naughty clothes or drugs in the duffel to get them off campus. That's how she pays for her schooling."
"You're an idiot," Bryce replied. "Just leave her alone; what she does is none of our business."
"Either you're blinded by love, or you're ignoring a really obvious fact, Bryce my boy," Kevin frowned. "But our dear Peter and your darling Erika are spending a lot of quality time together as of late."
"I fear for Peter and Gwen's relationship," Bryce sighed. "And my potential one."
"Like you said," Kevin shrugged, his frown persistent, "It's none of our business."
Midterms came and went and the group's anxiety seemed to completely deflate. Gwen and Peter rescheduled their date, and thus found themselves walking through the blustery, cold, mostly-empty Kensington Gardens. Gwen's hands were shoved in her pockets, not so much for warmth but because she was (admittedly) a little upset with Peter for all the time he spent with Erika. "Do you really like me?" she asked, suddenly. They'd been walking in silence for some time, and Peter jumped when she spoke, surprised by the angry sound of her voice.
"Yes, of course!" he exclaimed. "I like you very much!"
"Then why didn't you make an effort to see me when everything got crazy during midterms?" Gwen asked. "I called you a few times to make plans and then gave up; you never answered."
"I'm really sorry," Peter sighed, putting his arm around Gwen's shoulders and pulling her closer. He could smell her lavender shampoo through her knit beanie hat, and he smiled to himself, comforted by it. "I guess…I didn't realize how busy I actually was or wasn't."
"Everything just kind of melted together," Gwen shrugged. "Especially with the issue of Mr. Painter's disappearance. I understand how that could get confusing and plans would be forgotten. Bryce and Kevin tell me you've been spending an awful lot of time with Erika."
"Guinevere, dear Lady Gwen, are you jealous?" Peter laughed. "Are you really jealous of Erika?"
"So what if I am?" Gwen huffed, "She's been seeing more of my boyfriend than I have for the past three weeks!"
"Darling, I would never be romantically interested in her," Peter scoffed. "You are the loveliest, smartest, kindest girl I have ever met. I wouldn't trade you for Erika's petty, silly architecture-based conversation ever."
"How kind," Gwen half-smiled. She nudged him with her elbow, "Goofball."
"Geek." Nudge.
"Nerd." Nudge.
"Bookworm." Nudge.
"Regular worm." Nudge.
"My lady!" Peter cried, clenching a hand into his coat over his heart, "You've wounded me!"
Peter fell to the ground, his gangly limbs sprawling in every direction and his eyes closing in mimicry of sudden death. Guinevere laughed, tossing her head back and really laughing like she hadn't for weeks. Peter always knew how to make Gwen laugh, and these were their growing feelings for each other manifesting in one long, happy sound. Peter opened one eye long enough to catch a glimpse of her laughing figure before feigning death once again and holding back a proud and loving smile.
"Oh good sir," Wendy bent, kissing him on the cheek, "You are far too clever for me."
Then, out of nowhere, a thought hit them both.
A young boy dances across a room, watching his shadow follow his movements across the wall and over bookcases and pictures. He turns, placing his hands on his hips as he crows. He turns, looking at a little girl no more than thirteen years old who is sitting at the foot of a bed, her nightgown gathered around her like a lady's dress, his eyes are wide and sparkling as he declares, "Oh the cleverness of me!"
Gwen shook her head, her hat almost coming off. Peter sat up, his eyes wide. "What the hell?" Gwen asked. "Sorry. I've been having these strange dreams lately. I guess I had a waking one just then."
"Me, too," Peter nodded. They looked at each other, eyes nearly-focused and brains hazy. They worked through the thick fog of returning thought and wondered, for a millisecond, if they'd had the same strange vision. Peter shooed the idea from his mind, but Gwen clung to it.
"Peter, what did you see?"
Something in Peter's brain went on the defensive. "Just a boat on the Kensington pond," he shrugged. "Nothing too exciting."
"Oh," Gwen said, hanging her head. For a second she had felt an odd and years-long connection with the boy in front of her, as if she'd found someone very dear to her who had been lost at sea for quite some time. It disappeared in a heartbeat as Peter announced the content of his thoughts. Peter stood up, brushing dust and dead leaves off his black coat and placing his arm back around Gwen's shoulders. Gwen suddenly looked very excited and pointed, "Look! The Peter Pan statue!"
"Ah, yes. The most famous statue in the entire garden," Peter smirked, "And my namesake, I believe."
"How lovely!" Gwen smiled. "I've seen pictures of this statue my whole life. It was my screensaver in high school, even. Now I'm seeing it in real life. This feels like magic!"
"Gwen," Peter paused, turning to face her and letting his arm drop back to his side, "I'm really glad we've gotten to know each other so well."
"Me, too," Gwen said. Her face reddened slightly. She blamed the cold, Peter smiled triumphantly to himself.
"I think…" he trailed off, opting instead to lean forward. Gwen stood on tiptoe, reaching for him in return. The air sparked with anticipation, the magic of Kensington Gardens gathering and focusing on the couple. Kensington Gardens had been witness to the end, now they could finally encourage the new beginning. Peter and Guinevere were maybe an inch away from finally kissing when a voice was hurled at them from the nearby vicinity.
"Gwen! Peter!" it was Erika. Kensington Gardens' magic dissolved into thin air, angry and upset at the intruder.
"Oh," Gwen said, her eyes opening and her face turning even redder in embarrassment. She took a small step away from Peter. "Hello, Erika."
"Hey, guys! I came here to do an analysis of the statue for class and found you two, how funny!" she giggled. Peter rolled his eyes and grabbed for Gwen's hand, which had receded back into her coat pocket. He tugged it out and wrapped his fingers protectively around hers. Gwen smiled and Erika's stance became noticeably more defensive.
"Yes, how funny," Peter scowled. Gwen tried not to crack a smile at his obvious anger towards the silly girl who had ruined their near-first-kiss. They decided to end the Gardens portion date, exiting the park rather quickly and leaving Erika behind.
Erika pulled out her phone as soon as they were out of earshot, dialing the familiar number. "Sir," she said, as soon as it stopped ringing, "I managed to stop them this time, but I can't hold it off for much longer. Pretty soon, our little lovebirds are going to kiss."
"You haven't managed to secure him?" the man replied, his voice low and angry.
"He isn't interested!" Erika nearly shouted, "I've tried and tried in every way possible and he just doesn't like me. I can't force him to like me. I don't have magic powers."
"You have failed. This mission is pointless. Is Hook aware of your or my identity?" the man asked.
"No. Even Scotland Yard and the school body itself are unaware of your identity," Erika laughed. "Who would ever think the mastermind could be you?"
"You'd be surprised," he replied smoothly. The click indicated the man's ending of the conversation. Erika sighed, putting the phone in her pocket and walking briskly towards the exit gate of the park. He was going to find a way to end this once more, as he had done for two generations. He wasn't going to let His plan fail again. This wasn't going to be good.
In a comfortable apartment just off campus, Mr. Rogers was sitting in front of a blazing fire, trying to enjoy a book. His right wrist burned, no matter what newfangled medication he took for it. The pain was constant, nagging, a reminder of his true form. It had only returned the week previous and he knew that it was a good sign, a sign that the magic was returning, but he hated it. He tossed the book aside with a growl and stood, pacing back and forth.
"I've gotten them together," he said through gritted teeth. He ranted to himself as he paced, glaring into the fire with his bright blue eyes. "They should have kissed by now. How hard is it for two hormonally unstable teenage children to just kiss? Kissing is not a difficult act, children. Put your mouths together. Not that hard. Though he is a rather thick boy, it might take him awhile to get it, and of course she's waiting for him to make the first move. That stupid girl always had the best manners a sheepdog could afford to teach."
It dawned on him, suddenly. Like a piece of paper catching fire, it flamed bright and obvious in his mind. It had to be Him. There was no one else so desperate to stay the way things were, so desperate to keep in this boring mortal world but Him. Mr. Rogers, or rather James Hook, pulled on his red winter coat (how appropriate) and exited the apartment, heading for another building just downtown.
Yes, of course, there it was. He flew up the steps, into the building, up another flight of steps, and stood before it. Room Two, the number read, the number large and brassy against the mahogany of the expensive door. Hook knocked twice, smartly, and waited for the answer. Yes, of course, as the door creaked open. It was Him indeed. Hook's lip curled into a domineering sneer as he stared at the slightly shorter man. "Mr. Painter, you're alive and well, I see."
"Y-yes," the man choked the word out. I'm ruined. He thought, knowing that the grand charade was up. A hundred years had gone to waste as he tried and tried to keep the prophesy from manifesting. And here was his greatest adversary and greatest friend, come to stop him and return them home. "As are you, Mr. Roger."
"Enough with the pretenses," Hook snapped, stepping past his bo'sun and into the apartment. "And explain to me, Mr. Smee, exactly why you thought I'd let this go any further."