Peter's Lily (Sequel to Pan's Tiger)

Chapter 22: Competitor

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My eyes fluttered open as warm and gentle lips planted a feather light kiss onto mine. I felt a split second of a moment in which the breath of the owner of the lips tickled my cheek, hovering there, before retracting. I blinked in confusion, releasing a heavy sigh as my eyebrows pulled together, recalling that moment, puzzling out who the lips belonged to.

Without inspecting much more than the left side of the room, I instantly deduced that I was in Pan's room, lying on the bed which we had so frequently shared. A light morning breeze from the partially open window tickled my cheek, caressing my skin delicately. Billows of silky smoke drifted in ribbons from a few candles on the windowsill after the night before. Expecting him to be there, I looked around curiously, but there was nobody there.

Releasing a steady, deep breath, I rubbed my eyes and hoisted myself onto my elbows. My eyes met with a dark figure against the wall opposite the bed I was lying in.

Pan.

That was all that was required to hasten my memories of all these events that have been chocking me, slowly trying to drown me in their masses. All I could think of, was how much I wanted freedom. I wanted to turn back time and fall in love with Malcolm again; raising Rumplestiltskin properly.

Unlike myself, Peter wasn't ignoring me. He was seated on the chair in the black shadows of the diagonal wall. The chair was wooden and simple, much like those used by the natives, but the oak wood blended with his dark green clothes and the shadowy corner, making it difficult to see his countenance and stance. He was leaning forwards, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes clung to mine, flaming with curiosity and greed.

My breath hitched at the intensity of his stare and his unusual silence. I swallowed heavily, shuffling backwards slightly. It was off putting how easily he could manipulate me into fearing him with just a simple stare. Finally, I said with a soft, unspeaking morning voice, 'You lied to me.'

He said nothing. His eyes looked at me in a way I hadn't seen since Malcolm was destroyed, but it was a look I was familiar with one his face: pity. Pan pitied me? He looked at me deeply and seriously, like I was a beautiful treasure, the biggest mystery to life. It was like he was beginning to realise that I wasn't just delighted to see my son; sad that I had wasted a life that could be spent raising him and angry that he lied to me, but also that I was devastated that Pan, someone I said I loved, had betrayed me in this way.

'You said that Rumple was dead, but he is not,' My lips trembled as I spoke, my voice breaking with sadness. 'Rumple was alive all this time... Baelfire is my grandson... Henry is my great-grandson...'

Malcolm.

Rumple.

Baelfire.

Hook.

Oliver.

My parents.

Dafara.

My native family.

My heritage.

I had lost so much because of Peter Pan.

Peter continued to study me intently, his eyes dancing around, darting across my face,may if confused by my emotions. His jaw was tightly clenched. His shoulders were tensed. I slumped deeper into the bed, whimpering as I pulled the covers up to my chin, 'How can I trust you when everything I believed in was a lie-?'

'-Not everything, I wasn't lying when I said I love you.' He said gently, but I ignored him. If he wasn't lying about loving me then, he had to be now. He wouldn't claim to love me and then do this to me.