Peter was rather confused. He didn't know where he was, but he was 98% certain the he wasn't in France anymore, but he had never been anywhere else to compare the foliage.
Some time, too. He thought, bitterly, trying to move his legs from their place lying hopelessly beneath him. Although, he had been quite enamored with the Wendy girl, and she acted like she had known him.
His toes started wiggling, finally, but the pain was almost unbearable. He let out an audible moan.
Then, there she was, with her honey eyes and full lips. Her red hair tangled and looking almost wind whipped.
"Peter, what's wrong?" She managed to ask, in French, so that the group of boys wouldn't understand.
"Are both of my legs broken?" He asked, trying to prop himself up, but her cool hands pressed him back to the bed.
"Are both of my legs broken?" She mumbled to herself, and Peter realized her French must be quite rudimentary, but before he could ask in English her eyes dulled.
"Yes, along with your…" she motioned to her ribs, blushing.
He sucked in a deep breath, looking away from her, managing the way her flushed face made his heart race. That and he didn't want her to see the way the pain in his legs had made tears spring to his eyes.
"Would you like me to give the boys go?" She asked, and Peter couldn't help but smile at her French mistakes.
"If you wish it." He responded in English, for her benefit.
She took in a sharp breath, and the shine in her eyes betrayed tears, just like those he had just tried to hide.
He had caused her pain?
Sure, he thought. She wouldn't be the first girl who he hurt, not even close. Turns out it was a specialty of his. He couldn't even at most girls, always feeling like he was betraying… His eyes flitted back over to hers and he remembered what she had said, that they had been in love.
He shook his head, he was being horrid, and he knew it. The Wendy girl was simply mistaken in her feelings for him. Yet… she was so… Peter couldn't help the smirk that set upon his lips, she was delectable. Soft in all the places where she should be, with skin the color of peaches and he couldn't help but watch as her chest as it rose up and down while she was breathing, the soft subtle curve ample compared to her slender waist.
She stood from where she had been sitting at his bed side, allowing Peter to watch her hips sway in her tattered nightgown, as she walked towards the boys "Little ones, let father and mother have a moment would you. Go to the waterfall and have yourselves a bath."
I watched in amusement as a smirk found its way to her lips "Slightly, Darling, would you do me a huge favor and grab extra furs from the Indian village, I have it in my mind to make a new dress." She rushed them all out of the house, smiling and laughing at their protests, explaining that it was important for them to bath.
When they were all gone, the last traces of Wendy's smile vanished, and she let her head dip down so her chin touched her chest delicately. Peter ached to touch her, to caress her cheek, to comfort her from this un-known pain. Pain that he had caused.
"Peter…" Wendy turned on her heel, facing him from across the room.
"How did we meet, really Wendy?"
"Exactly as I told you; I wouldn't lie. You flew into my window one night, and swept me off my feet." A sad smile spread across her pale face.
He looked away from her, mimicking her sad expression "How do you expect me to believe that?"
"Where do you think you are? England, France?" She slammed her foot against the dirt floor as anger makes her cheeks flush.
"Well, yes…?"
"We're in Never Land! Second Star to the Right, Straight on Till Morning; You've never actually heard of Never Land?" She slinked over to him, sitting at the edge of the bed.
"No… but it sounds familiar?"
"Because you're King!" Wendy exasperated, throwing her hands into the air.
"The only thing I'm King of is rolling joints." He huffs, trying to sit up.
"Would you like me to… prop you up?" Suddenly, Peter was very aware of how close she was. "That's a horrid thing to be the King of, Peter." She chastised, pushing an extra pillow behind him, while holding him close to keep him up.
She smells just like she used to, Peter thought idly, rubbing his nose along her jaw line.
She sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't move, keeping herself pressed lightly against him. Peter frowned, how would he know how she used to smell? He had the same feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had when they had kissed, like this was familiar and yet so new.
"Peter…" Without thinking he ran his left hand down her back, relishing in the warm skin when he found ripped patches of her dress.
She closed her eyes, and Peter didn't know whether that was good or bad, so he stopped hesitantly before tracing her spine back up to her neck.
"Peter." She pulled herself away; the unknown tears had found her eyes again.
"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to pull her back.
"Nothing… It's just that… well I…"
"Don't you like kissing me?"
"I like kissing you, Peter, but how can I… do this while you don't even remember who you are?"
"I'm beginning to; sometimes I'll think that something is familiar when I've never done it before. Like kissing you, or… I remembered your smell."
Wendy bit her lip and completely extracted herself from him "How are your legs?"
"They only hurt when I move them."
"At least you can move them." She smiled, turning away from him and grabbing more of the dank smelling paste.
"Mandrake." She explained "The Indians use it as an anesthetic. We were lucky that they let us borrow some."
"The Indians?"
"Yeah." Wendy smoothed some of the past onto his thigh, avoiding his flaccid member.
"You could put some underwear on me, if you're uncomfortable."
"I have two brothers. Penis doesn't make me squeamish." She giggled at her slight slant rhyme.
"What does?" Peter asked, gauging how open she was willing to be with him.
"Seeing you hurt." She clipped, pulling the covers back up gently and placing a soft kiss on his forehead.
Peter shifted uncomfortably. The Wendy girl obviously had him mistaken for someone else, but… was it hard to imagine loving her? He could see why someone would be physically attracted to her, and she was… smart. Well, clever, he had no real gauge for her intellect but she seemed smart just in the way she held herself.
"Peter, who do you think you are? What were you like back in France?" She kept her face near his as she tucked herself into the crock of his arm.
Peter smirked; of course she would be in love with him, who could resist?
"I was in charge, I had a group of friends I was in charge of and we did everything together. Including get in trouble." Peter leaned his head down to touch his forehead to Wendy's, their skin warm and soft against the other.
"Did you get in a lot of trouble; did you go on a lot of adventures?"
"Loads, of both, we were always doing one stupid thing or another."
"Did you get in a lot of fights?" Her eyes lit up, and peter got the distinct feeling he was answering all her questions correctly.
"Too many to count, and I always won."
"Of course! You're Peter Pan! Have you ever lost anything?" She smiled triumphantly, gingerly placing her hand on his cheek.
Peter suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest, not the kind that could be explained by his injuries, and soon he whispered, without thinking "I lost you."