For my twinnie Wendy, because we're both Wendy Darlings at heart.

(And because it's her birthday.)

ILY!

I know there's a LOT of Peter Pan adaptations and spinoffs out there, but the only one I've seen is the Disney animated version. So that's what I'm going off, even though this quite possibly contradicts other versions.

"I … need a moment."

Wendy Darling, imminently to be Mrs. George Richards, says this firmly to the cluster of bridesmaids around her, making shooing motions with her gloved hands to hide their nervous trembling. At last when the room is cleared, she walks as calmly as she can to the wide window seat and unhooks the window, relieved as cool breezes tickle her cheeks.

She loosens the lace at her throat and sits down, draws her knees to her chest, takes the childlike position she once assumed every night. Almost hopefully, she gazes into the clouds. Peter Pan is a child's dream, but one she still nurtures—because this dream was real. Peter, Never Never Land, the Lost Boys, Captain Hook—she didn't just dream them; she knew them.

"Peter?" she calls in a trembling voice. She's never tried to contact him before. When she was a girl he came whether or not she asked; when she was a young woman she didn't care to ask. Now, about to permanently join the ranks of adulthood, Wendy craves a last glimpse of her precious past.

One tear drips down her nose and into the crisp white bodice of her dress. Will that stain? wonders Wendy worriedly. She pulls a handkerchief from the small bag around her waist and dabs the tear away.

"Wendy!" exclaims a beloved voice. A shadow darkens her dress; she whirls around and finds herself staring at Peter Pan.

She hadn't let herself believe he'd hear her.

"You answered!" she finally exclaims, shocked at how young he is. His hair, always untidy, now seems to stick up more than ever; his voice is still high and lilting; he's stick skinny.

"You called!" His inflection is exactly the same as her own as he leaps gracefully from the windowsill into her room. "But what's this awful thing for?" he asks, plucking at the skirt of her dress.

"Oh …" Wendy smoothes it, a little bit defensive. "Well, I'm getting married today, Peter."

"Married?" His tone of incredulity matches Michael's when she told him. "What would you want to go and do a thing like that for?"

This isn't a question Wendy has ever thought about. "It's just something I have to do," she finally sputters, sinking back down onto the window seat.

Peter makes a horrible face. "You do not."

"Do to!" Her cheeks redden at the childish exclamation. "Well, I want to, anyway," she mutters, cheeks going even redder.

"Gross!" Peter swoops across the room to land on the wardrobe. "And I thought growing up was bad!"

Wendy stares at her childhood friend a little bit fondly, a little bit sadly. "Maybe you should try it," she suggests halfheartedly. "You might like it, you know."

"Say," exclaims Peter, "If all you called me was for trying to make me leave Never Never Land, I might as well leave now!"

"Oh, Peter, don't!" And Wendy clasps her hands and begs him with her eyes. "Come on, tell me about Never Never Land. Has Hook caught his crocodile?"

"No," Peter beams, "And I don't think he ever will."

"Why?"

"Because I fed an alarm clock to every crocodile in the ocean, and whatever other animals would eat it. Seals, turtles, even one of the mermaids!" He leaps down from the wardrobe to whisper to Wendy, "She wasn't the most intelligent of them all."

Wendy laughs with all her heart. This is the Peter that she remembers. "What else?" she asks.

"Well, all the Lost Boys are perfectly happy living in our tree, without a mother." And

Peter scowls at her.

"Wha—You asked me to be their mother!" she protests, but now he's laughing, and she's laughing too. "Imagine," she sighs, "Me just a girl and playing Mum to all of you."

"And now you getting married," says Peter discontentedly, "And probably being Mum to someone soon."

"Oh Peter!" Wendy exclaims, "When I have children, will you come see them too?"

"Ew!" he exclaims. "What if I don't want you to have children?"

"Then I will anyway," she tells him firmly. "You cannot tell me what to do."

"Aw, Wendy," he sighs, "Do you really want me to visit them?"

"Just like you would any other boy or girl," she reassures him. "You don't have to … see me … at all." She plays with the lace at her throat and straightens her dress, unable to look him in the eye.

"Well, I'll try." Peter jumps back onto the wardrobe. "Say," he adds, "I should get one of these for me an' the Boys."

Wendy snickers, feeling the prickliness in her eyelids ease away. Just then, a knock sounds on the door. "Wendy?" comes the high pitched chatter of two or three of her friends, "Are you alright?"

"Yes!" she calls. "I'll be out in a minute. Go away." She turns to Peter. "You … you have to leave now. It's time for my wedding."

"Aw, Wendy! You're not really going to go through with this, are you?" he cries.

"Peter, don't." Now she's about to cry again. "Peter, of course I am. It's what grownups do."

He kicks at the wardrobe angrily, going a bright red color. "Well that's why you never should have grown up."

"Peter!"

The tone in his voice is pleading as he jumps across the room to stand in front of her, looking into right into her eyes as he says softly, urgently, "You're not really grown up yet. Come back to Never Never Land with me. Right now. You can be our mother, you can be whatever you want! Just don't do … this."

For a moment, Wendy is torn. She never thought she'd be offered a trip back to Never Never Land, and the longing for her utopia had tormented her once Peter stopped visiting.

But she just can't. She is grown up, and fleeing like a coward from friends, family, fiancées is not what grown ups do.

"No, Peter." Those are the hardest words she's ever spoken.

His face screws up unpleasantly. "Well you're never coming back, then! Never!"

"I know."

He squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, and when he opens them, he's collected himself a little.

"This is the last time I'll ever see you," he tells her.

"Oh, Peter!"

And Wendy flies from her seat to hug him, catching the boy in her lace covered arms. She's never embraced him before, and is surprised when he doesn't stiffen and pull away. For maybe a half a minute they hold each other, holding onto everything they've given each other—friendship, motherhood, flying lessons, homes, adventures.

Finally they pull away. Maybe at the same time, maybe orchestrated by Peter, who blushes and scuffs his slipper along the floor.

"Goodbye Peter," she says, trying to hide the trembling of her voice.

"Goodbye, Wendy," he replies solemnly. And then he leaps out the window; soars through the clouds. Wendy leaps to the window seat and kneels upon it, leaning out as far as she dares to watch the lithe green figure disappear. When he's almost lost in clouds he turns, gives a little jump in the air, and lets out his trademark crow.

"Peter …" she whispers, nearly calling for him to come back. Instead her eyes fill with tears and she waves goodbye, trailing her handkerchief through the sky, until his shape is nothing but a distant memory on the horizon.