Author's Note: Hmmm...yeah. Just something that popped into my head quite randomly. Keep in mind that Peter has somehow grown up, as has Wendy. Based on the book, not the movie. Reveiws are lovely!

Disclaimer: All belongs to J.M. Barrie, thought I don't think he'd mind my borrowing his characters for my own adventure.


1. Impossible to avoid or prevent. See synonyms at certain.

2. Invariably occurring or appearing; predictable: the inevitable changes of the seasons.

It was quite a downpour. People rushed about with newspapers held over their heads, men helped ladies into carriages, and the streets were filled with umbrellas of all natures.

How very unfortunate that she had forgotten hers.

The young woman in question looked up at the sky quite unforgivably, scrambling to gather her picnic things and only succeeding in slipping and smearing mud all over her new dress.

Bother! Aunt Millicent would throw fits.

The park had suddenly become quite deserted, leaving the woman alone save for a family of ducks glaring at her balefully from the nearby pond. She frantically looked for a dry place to stow the letter she had been reading from John at University, but found that her picnic basket was undeniably drenched and settled for stuffing it down her bodice in a regrettably unladylike fashion. The lady grabbed her basket and trudged towards the gates of Kensington Gardens, where she would hopefully hail a carriage in time for tea. Father had invited many of his associates from the back, and it would be an awful shame should she turn up looking like a drowned rat. Unfortunately, the basket slipped from her hand only to land in a puddle with a satisfying plunk. She blinked, and then laughed. What a truly bothersome day.

Before she could retrieve the basket, however, a rather small dog bounded up, seized it in its mouth, and promptly took off running. The woman stared after it, entirely bewildered. She mustn't return home without Mother's basket -bullocks! She hefted up her skirts and charged after the mutt, frightfully glad that no one was here to witness this little episode.

"Oy! Come back! Do come back!" She half-wailed, giggling as the wind and rain swept her hair from it's fashionable high twist and brought it whipping about her shoulders. A young lady of one and twenty should certainly not be racing through a park in the rain, tearing after a scruffy terrier, as is the belief of the time, but this young woman found she rather enjoyed it.

Across the park, a young man sat under the shelter of a large tree, though he paid no mind to the rain. He was far too engrossed in his writing to notice such a trifle, though he dimly recalled that rain used to thrill him. He was drawn from his spun world of magic, pirates, and mayhem by the uncharacteristic shouting of a young lady.

Good heavens. Finally, some girl who's tongue was just as tight as her corset.

The man sat up from where he had been slumped against the tree, watching as a young woman flew by in hot pursuit of a ragamuffin sort of dog. He laughed, the boyish sound quite betraying his manly attributes. Though, he recalled, it was not proper to let lady run about in the rain unchaproned. She could catch her death. He sighed, famously bored with the rules of society that he hadn't even realized he knew but longing for a good adventure. He rose from his seat, laughing at the wondrous feel of the rain on his face as he ran after the lady perfectly barefoot, the wet grass making sqelching nosies beneath his feet.

"Miss!" He shouted, though shouting at young ladies is just as bad as chasing after them, mind you. The women paid him no mind, though, and he could only presume she hadn't heard him. This reminded him afwully of a game he used to play as a child, but then, just how old was he anyway? He couldn't quite recall. Picking up his pace, he was directly behind her, and figured that she might turn her ear to him now. "Miss!" Quite ironically, she started at his voice and vaulted round instantly, and our poor chap had no means of stopping quite so abruptly. They collided in a painful sort of manner, each sprawled on in the rain facing each other. The dog, seeming to find this fantastically amusing, hopped up on a bench to watch. The young man was the first to recover.

"I say, are you all right?" He asked, followed by a exclamation of misery as he realized his precious writing was billowing around, the ink running. He leapt up, gathering it frantically, all thoughts of the young lady forgotten. She, however, had not forgotten her predicament, and was quite insulted by the young man's lack of manners. She had always been properly raised a lady, and this would not do. She got up with some difficulty, weighed down by the water-logged skirts and tapped the young man on the shoulder.

"Oh, dear, are you crying?" She asked, taken aback at his miserable face.

"Are you daft? It's raining, women!" Answered the man, shocked at the very notion of such a thing. Our lady felt rather embarrassed at her mistake. "Well, what's your name, then?" questioned the man archly, looking her over.

"Wendy Miora Angela Darling." She replied grandly, brushing a tendril of wet hair out of her eyes. "And yours?"

"Peter Pan."

"Is that all?" Wendy frowned, waiting for a surname, for surely Pan was just some sort of rubbish nickname.

"Yes. Expecting someone else?" He answered shortly, with a grin, and Wendy felt silly again.

"I'm sorry, I just thought...oh, nevermind. Where on earth do you live?" She found it a bit strange that she should be so forward with a man she had just met, but it seemed as if they had been friends all their lives. She ought to be hiding a pretty blush behind an extravagant fan, offering one of her dainty gloved hands for him to kiss. Oh, but, she had known him for ages, hadn't she? Surely there were exceptions. He smiled mischievously, and pointed.

"Second alleyway to the right, and straight on til' Main Street." Wendy nodded, frowning as yet another rain drop landed squarely on her nose.

"And your mother doesn't mind you clamboring around in the rain, chasing after young women?"

"Don't have a mother."

That explained an awful lot. Mothersare absolutely crucial in the proper rearing of children, you know.She glanced around a bit hopelessly, looking for any sign of the little dog. Peter followed her gaze, raised an eyebrow, and then remembered about his ruined papers with a defeated sigh. Wendy crossed over to one, picked it up, and laughed.

"Why, how on earth were you trying to keep these all together?" She asked, wrinkling her nose. Peter shrugged, feeling a bit stupid. She was a very pretty lady, after all. Wendy looked up at him, the receding rain clouding her vision a bit. "You ought to have sewn them together, just like a real book." Peter smiled.

"Of course, brilliant! Oh, the cleverness of me. So glad I thought of it!" He crowed, grabbing the paper from Wendy's hand and bowing to her teasingly. Wendy found that she couldn't keep the smile from her face, despite her most honorable efforts. How curiously childlike he was.

"Oh? If I am of no use, I can at least withdraw. Good day, sir." She turned and strode towards the gate, her head held high despite her extremely soaked clothing and undone hair. How highly inappropriate of this silly boy to talk to her, anyway. Peter's smiled evaporated as she walked away, and he felt a curious sinking.

"Oh, really, come now! I can't help but crow! I'm sorry, do come back, Miss Darling!" He called after her, jogging to catch up with her. "Besides, I do believe you owe me something for my daring attempt at rescuing your basket!" Wendy spun to face him indignantly.

"I owe you no more than a thimble, sir!" She cried, desperately wishing this boy wasn't staring at her so oddly. Peter caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. Wendy froze.

"A thimble for you, Miss Darling, and I do expect one in return, lest I should pluck you from your bedroom window to obtain it!" The rain had mostly stopped now, and Peter grasped her other hand a bit awkwardly.


"Yes, Peter?" Asked our young lady somewhat breathlessly, already picturing her wedding gown.

"I have the queerest feeling that I've seen your face before. As a matter of fact, we've done this before, haven't we? Long ago? "

"Yes, I think so, though you were shorter, I think, " whispered Wendy, though a bit dissapointed. "I, too have got that feeling. Why, it's rather like flying."

Peter laughed, startling Wendy. "I think, Miss Darling, that courting you would be an awfully big adventure." He offered her his arm, and she took it, surprised at how lovely and right it felt, as though she had grasped this arm ages ago.

"Well, that's perfect, Peter, because I've been so longing for an adventure."

They left Kensington Gardens like a proper young couple after Peter recovered his shoes, with he quite courteously helping into her carriage and kissing her on the cheek as was custom. Very far above them, a little ball of light twittered angrily. For, you see, Tinkerbell much preferred things unexpected, and this, well, this was just inevitable.

A/N: Every time you don't reveiw, a fairy somewhere drops down dead...