At certain times of the day, when Wendy wanted to be alone or felt that her head would explode if she was asked to darn another sock or tell another tale, she went and rested in her tiny house. For hours, she lay barely dozing or dreamily staring up at the ceiling and sun-dappled leaf walls, smiling when she heard the loud stage whispers outside:

"Is Mother well?"

"Have we upset her? Say no! Father will make us drink medicine by the jugful if we have."

"When is Mother coming out?"

The boys clamored joyfully when she emerged, fussing as if she had been gone for a week.

Wendy was always happy to see them again, but she took delight in her solitary afternoon "house visits".

But at night, when fairies glowed boldly outside and shiny visions of Hook danced in her head, she wanted to be close to Peter and the band.

She knew he would scoff if she admitted to being afraid of anything in the immediate vicinity of the house. He might even be insulted and think that she doubted his ability to protect her and their brood from Hook and his cronies.

But Peter understood the frightful prospect of banishment all too well. When Wendy described how her parents had planned to evict her from the nursery into a cold, lonely, solitary, grown-up room when she wanted to stay near her brothers and have fun, his eyes had narrowed in anger at the perfidy of adults. Before she could say another word, he had summoned the boys and immediately ordered them to make her a "Mother's Den" angled into the back corner of the house.

It was small but snug – almost a human-sized version of Tinker Bell's chambers, with a little bed, a tiny, scuffed wooden table and chair that served as a vanity, and a large, tattered piece of dark blue cloth hung across a string for privacy.

Wendy adored it.

She also adored their goodnight kiss. Except for games of tag and practice fights, it was the only time he touched her.

She got into bed, having washed before story time. Peter waited for her to arrange herself comfortably and then moved forward to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed.

Slowly, she put her hand on his shoulder. She had found that he didn't draw back from this contact if she did not rush into it.

He smiled at her and, in the gesture she had come to depend on, he closed his eyes, leaned forward and pressed his cheek to hers. Wendy closed her eyes, her skin tingling from his breath, savoring the smooth warmth of his skin and the comfort it gave her.

She could have stayed that way all night, but when Peter started to draw his face back by degrees, she did the same so as not to make him nervous.

He always smiled at her again once they could see each other's eyes once more, but tonight he drew back with a start.

"What is it, Peter?" she asked gravely.

He swallowed, lifted a hand and solemnly pointed it at her face. "Your mouth…in the corner…"

"Oh." Wendy grinned winningly and raised a finger to her lips, scrubbing the delicate skin there. "A smudge? That won't do at all, will it? I can't very well discipline the children for being dirty if I'm covered in stains myself, can I?"

She giggled and turned her mouth up to Peter.

"Is the spot gone?"

He looked down at his grimy hands for a moment and sighed. Wendy sat up, worried at his expression. He looked almost like their gentle family Dr. Brown did when he had to give her a shot that he knew would hurt her.

"The spot does not go away, Wendy. It is hidden in the right-hand corner. I always see it. I have not liked to mention it, but it does not go away, and it is getting stronger."

"Oh…"

Wendy leaned back against the worn but comfortable pillow Slightly had given her as a present last week. She grew warm under Peter's compassionate, pitying gaze, because she knew right away what he meant.

Some unpleasant memories of London were starting to run a little at the edges.

Yesterday, Wendy had been a little scared when it took her a full hour to remember the name of her cruelest form teacher – Mrs. Lehane, who liked to humiliate girls by standing them with their nose in a corner for hours on end. The name had only come to her when she stopped thinking about it.

When she told Peter about the memory delay, mildly distressed, he grinned like a satisfied cat. "Good!" he said. "That only proves you belong here. I hope you will soon forget that nasty lady's name entirely and forever."

But this memory was razor-sharp, because she knew the aspect of her mouth to which he referred.

Her hidden kiss.

Aunt Millicent's voice rang in her mind like a bell - not with the slightest distant trace of an echo, but so plain and strong that Wendy looked anxiously around the room to make sure the nervous, kind lady was not actually there.

The one the kiss belongs to…They that find it have slipped in and out of heaven.

The one the kiss belongs to…

Wendy looked tentatively at her partner parent.

"Do you find the…spot…ugly, Peter?"

He immediately shook his head.

"No. All sections of you and all parts of your mouth are beautiful, and it is too."

She relaxed, feeling her cheeks flare with sudden heat. She knew it was terribly immodest and conceited to adore a compliment so, but she couldn't help herself.

"Don't!"

The expression tumbled from her face like a leaf from a shaken branch.

"What's the matter?"

"The spot gets bigger when you smile at me like that."

"Peter…" Wendy sat up again and shook her head, helpless and hurt. "Why does my hidden spot distress you so? You just said you thought it beau -"

His lightning-blue eyes widened in distress.

"What's wrong with you? Do you not understand? The scariest parts of Neverland are the most beautiful! Don't you remember the mermaids? They would have killed you! You would be at the bottom of the lagoon right now if I hadn't pulled you back!"

She blinked back sudden tears, dismayed and disheartened by his sudden outburst.

"Peter…I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"Afraid of you?!" he cried, his surprise totally genuine.

To show how afraid he was, he leaped up from his seat on the mattress, tore back the blanket, grabbed her bare foot by the ankle and yanked her out of bed.

Wend shrieked and almost fell on the floor in a heap, but her feet stayed free of the hem of her nightgown and she managed - barely - to right herself.

She glared at him, a little angry that he had yet again managed to divert the conversation whenever it so much as crept close to a street in which certain types of feelings lived.

Peter bared his teeth, eyes dancing like Tinker Bell. In a split second, his short dagger was swept from his belt and brandished at her.

"Bold and silly Mother, have at thee!"

Not breaking his gaze for a second, Wendy reached behind her to the tiny, scarred vanity table and picked up the long wooden blade that Peter had whittled for her. He had rolled his eyes when she first requested one, and constantly insisted that she use a real sword when she dueled with him.

She refused point-blank, saying that she preferred to let the metal blades stay sharp for any battles that may arise with Hook or his lackeys. Peter had yelled over and over that Old Five-Fingers, as he sometimes called the Captain, could never find their house, and that the steel blades would rust if they weren't used regularly. But when he realized that Wendy would not fight with him unless or until she had a satisfactory weapon of her own, he carved a wooden rapier for her with all due haste.

"En garde!" Wendy hissed, and they were off.

She forced Peter backward though the curtain that served as her bedroom door. With his left hand at his hip, he danced his way through the floor maze of snoring Lost Boys, none of whom stirred an inch.

One thing about her children, Wendy thought as she narrowly missed stepping on Curly's chubby forearm – once they fell asleep, they stayed that way for the whole night. They never woke up with bad dreams or requests for water. Their long, hard hours of play were good for something after all.

The pair lunged and parried in a mad, silent, joyful dance. Only Wendy's growing talents as a swordswoman saved her sturdy but thin wooden rapier from being slashed or knocked in two pieces by Peter's slender steel.

Blades clashed for several minutes until Wendy suddenly gained – and kept – the advantage.

"Et la!" she whispered, pointing the dull wooden blade against the waxy leaf that covered Peter's heart.

He grinned and bowed at her, conceding defeat.

The first time she beat him in a duel, Wendy was apologetic and expected Peter to be sulky, resentful or both. To her pleasant surprise, he was happier when she won than when he did himself. When she asked why, he explained that it was fun to play in "different" ways. Also, since he was the one who gave her fighting lessons, he saw it as a testament not only to her strength, but to his battle strategies and teaching skills. Whenever she vanquished him, he congratulated her and insisted that she show the Lost Boys how she had done it.

Wendy laughed shakily as Peter bowed her back to her living quarters. She was annoyed at him for deflecting the gravity of their talk into mere childplay…but in Neverland, there was nothing but time, she mused as they sat together on the edge of her bed.

"Your goodnight kiss, Mother."

He plucked an acorn from his verdant vest. Candlelight from the outer chamber shone in Wendy's eyes as she reached out and took it from his hand.

As always, she thanked him and strung it around the chain at her neck. It was now filled with the smooth kisses that Peter presented had her with every night since their arrival. After all, if one had saved her life, would not many be even better?

Peter waited until it was secure on her necklace, then nodded with satisfaction.

Peter picked up the patched, soft bedcovers from where they had fallen on the floor. Wendy obediently lay back as he tucked her in, her heart still pounding from their frenzied dance across the floor. Peter gently smoothed the warm blanket across her shoulders and then checking to ensure her feet were covered.

To bid her a fond, final sleep farewell, he adopted a phrase she sometimes used with the children.

"I shall see you in the morning, Wendy. I can't wait."

With another bow, he silently closed the curtain and headed to his own hammock.

"Nor can I, Peter…" Wendy murmured. She turned luxuriously on her side in her warm bed, her mind and soul already knocking on the door of the land where her night dreams…and the figure that filled them…waited to welcome her.

"Nor can I."