note: nc-17 scene ahead.

For over a century she lived and waited. In that time, if you had the option to see it all over a few seconds, you would see a girl slowly transform into something else. She was not an adult, she was not a child but something in between and even then she could surprise you. To look at her you would be mistaken for thinking her strangely hollow, her gaze unfocused as if earthly matters did not concern her and you would be half right. She had found to survive she had to retreat into her mind, construct her own reality in a place where anything was possible, if Peter allowed it.

It was that freedom that caused him equal parts amusement and irritation. She was to become as rooted into the island as he was, as he shared the secrets of the place with her or she discovered them despite his best efforts. She was a storyteller, weaving fantasy and dreams into solid constructs and after awhile she surpassed even him. He did not have the desire to draw up elaborate illusions because Neverland as an island was already his construct and he was perfectly happy with it. But it was not hers. Most of the people that ventured to the island were not even aware that half of the land was barred to them and Peter was to find one dreadful day that she had believed enough to exclude even him after a terrible fight. He had waited, too stubborn to apologise and be the first to relent but as so much time passed he could take it no more and ripped into her fantasy world and was suitably amazed and then appalled.

Through the detached, dreamy air that she emitted was a sharp, cunning mind that did not have time for sentimentality but it was not always so. Though she loved deeply it was selective and reserved. How could it not be with such a jealous lover? Peter had taken her love, her adulthood, her family and her virginity but her sense of moral obligation had been the hardest thing to disregard and even now it was not gone completely. After the first decade she had cast off any sense of frigidity or misplaced respectability that belonged to another people, another world. What was proper and expected was dire and out of place on the island and so she had let the last vestiges of the age she was born in slip through her fingers and vanish. It was exceedingly freeing.

Sometimes she would sit by his side when boys joined the island, like some visiting dignitary and Peter allowed her to pass judgement. Those who were not the right fit were taken back home while those willing and acceptable were allowed to stay. It was one of her demands: if he was to recruit it must be boys that actually wanted to stay and be of sound mind too. They did not want a repeat of Slightly but who can say what way the island will twist a mind? She had hand picked Rufio, approving of his fire and charisma but in hindsight she wished that she had never laid eyes on him. He was too much like Peter and that had been his downfall.

Over those long years she had seen many things, visited other worlds, loved and lost but it was all leading to one outcome and as that day approached Wendy's attempts at pretending grew less and less substantial until she could not deny that a cold hard reality was about to lower over their heads and she was scared.

It was the day. The two idiots, as he affectionately called them, were about to succeed and the long century of waiting was about to come to an end. The Heart of the Truest Believer was about to be delivered to them but it did not produce a sense of relief or joy, though Peter could fool his followers. He was apprehensive, wound tight with hope and fear but there was something else. It could mean the end of them and like any possessive creature he was not ready to give her up.

He stood in the door way, staring at her intensely from under his brows. A wolf at the door. He did not say anything and neither did she. They both knew that this may be the only time that they could be true to themselves because when the boy came and the others on the ship arrived storytelling time would begin and they both had their parts to play.

She wanted to be slow, to be gentle and savour what could be the last intimate time they had together but he was too full of nervous energy and need and she was always so easily caught up in his passions. He backed her against a wall while she tugged at his hair, kissing each other with a desperate urgency. He lowered his hands and tugged on her dress, gliding his palms over her thighs before hooking his fingers into the hem of her stockings and pulling them down. Dropping to his knees, her hands in his hair they stared at each other but when they did the truth of what was about to happen was reflected back at each other. Haunted by reality she started to speak, say his name but he rose quickly and pressed his mouth against hers and silenced her. Foreheads touching, she nodded once, eyes deeply trained on his and wrapped her arms around his neck as he picked her up and laid her down.

She brushed her fingertips along his face, down his nose and over his mouth as if she would not be given the opportunity to do so again. He kissed her fingers softly before he grabbed her hands and pushed them down by her head. She felt a thrill go through her as he did because she was the one usually on top. Forcing her legs apart he slipped the buttons on her dress open and then slide his hands over her stomach and around her waist, lifting her so her back arched. She was moaning now, a low constant noise that issued from the back of her throat that turned into a gasp when he kissed her chest and moved between her thighs and she drew her knees up. Wendy's moan was muffled by his mouth as he pushed into her and stopped, eyes pinned to hers and she gave a look of commencement. They had spent so long together that more often then not words were not needed. She gripped the bed covers below her as he rocked against her, movements quickly becoming rough and frenzied and she was vividly reminded of the time she had lost her virginity to him. It had even been in the same bed though the circumstances had been wildly different.

As when he dreams this was one of the only times that Peter was visible without a mask or subterfuge in place, his emotions true and in that moment it was clear he was nervous. He fed that sense of uncertainty and helplessness into his kisses and touch, leaving her mouth red and her skin bruised but he was left no less damaged. His back was dotted with dashes and red crescents as she dug her nails into his skin and tightened her arms and legs around him, as if she could hook him there with her and never let him go. But soon he was shaking, meeting his end and she held him gently until she started to buck under him, chasing her own pleasure and when she did she cried out his name as he whispered into her ear. He laid limply against her, panting into her hair but leaned up when he felt her chest heaving and jerking under him. She was crying, tears running down her cheeks and he brushed them away with his fingers.

"Don't," he begged.

"I can't help it," she gulped and tried to smile. She wanted to be brave, to be positive and think that everything would go according to his plan but even after a century the seers words still haunted her.

Cursed worse then ever...

She closed her eyes, trying to banish their words and drew him closer to her. If only she could just keep him here with her, like she had so desired once. He lifted his head off her chest and looked at her knowingly.

"No cold feet now, it's happening old girl."

Old girl. Of course she liked to call him young man but only in private. She brushed his matted hair back and then touched his chest lightly. It had been her idea, the last ditch attempt, a last resort in case the plan failed and as such he was counting on her.

"I'll play the part," she said softly, "but if my brothers are hurt or their lives threatened in any way I will stop." That was her one condition and he nodded, leaning off her. The loss of contact made her instinctively reach out as he clothed himself with a thought and he smiled as she pulled him back into her arms.

He could not love like others, like she could but that did not mean he was heartless. It was his one and only form of salvation but now he had to give it away and it caused her a psychical pain. But better to be heartless then cursed, better to be a true monster then be the most wretched and tormented being alive.

"Are you ready?" she asked, changing her attire with a fleeting glimpse. The people coming would expect Wendy Darling, a girl who had flown away to Neverland in her night gown and slippers, not someone with poisoned berries in her hair and a knife strapped to her leg.

"Yes. If I say," he hesitated, eyes tormented "...I can't be this to you," he said softly, moving a hand between them and she nodded. He could be unbelievably cruel, she had seen it and been on the receiving end but this would be different.

"I know, but only for awhile," she said and waited until his heart throbbed hard in her hand. It was dark and pitiful but over time it had lightened, just a little but it gave her hope. "I'll keep it safe," she whispered as his gaze became cool and calculating. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, wanting one last embrace before he was gone. She kept her eyes closed, remained still when he pulled away and tried to savour the illusion that he was still beside her. But he had gone without a goodbye and now the game was about to begin. Wendy removed the thimble necklace she always wore and kept it and his heart in a safe place. He was not the only one that would have to weave lies and spin tricks but she was nothing if not a master storyteller.

She could play the part as well as she told it.

~fin~

a.n:

It's my headcanon that Wendy's in on everything and I'm probably going to be jossed, so good thing it's AU ;)

Thank you all so much for your support and correspondence, it's been amazing! The sequel, The Riddle of his Being, will be available soon and cover Wendy's 100 year stay in Neverland, so please keep an eye out for it. Thank you!