((I don't own Peter Pan.))

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In the Jungle

"I hate you!" shrieked a shrill, girlish voice. Seconds later, the door was flung open and a young girl of about eleven stormed out, fury and shame written all over her red, tear streaked face.

The door shut with a protesting creak and a loud band, but not before the equally angry voice of a lady shot through after the retreating child. "Don't come back in until you can control yourself!" The girl wailed like a furious banshee and spun around, kicking the poor door with as much force as she could manage before running out into the garden.

Within seconds, she was lost among a veritable maze of green life, with honeysuckle at her elbows and delicate purple hangings of wisteria brushing her black hair. The child's feet made barely a sound as she sped blindly through the growth, which didn't suit her at all; she began deliberately lashing out, snapping delicate branches, breaking off blossoms of color, and leaving a trail of general destruction where she'd been. Finally she came to a slow stop and sank to the ground, her slender fingers digging into the ground as she shook with the force of her angry sobs. Slowly even that stopped, and she just sat there, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

"Oh," said an unfamiliar voice resignedly, "You're a girl, aren't you?" The girl looked up, surprised, and found herself staring into the dirty face of a boy. He did not look particularly happy.

"What are you doing in my garden?" she asked, simply because it was the first thing that popped into her head.

The boy shrugged, leaning casually up against a tree. "Nothing, apparently. I had come to get someone who'd said that they didn't want to grow up more than 100 times, but I don't take girls. You're always more trouble than you're worth."

Thunderclouds formed behind the girl's eyes and she got stiffly to her feet, her chest still shuddering from all the crying. She took in the boy's outfit, one that seemed to made up completely of leaves and vines. No shoes on his filthy feet. She looked at his face, tan from countless hours in the sun and caught in between the prettiness of a little boy and the handsomeness of a teenager. His blonde hair looked like it hadn't seen a comb in years and was in need of a good trim. Her dark eyebrows went up haughtily. "And just who are you supposed to be? Tarzan?"

The boy blinked and looked at her at askance, confused out of his superior act. "Who?"

The girl's eyebrows went up further, almost disappearing into her hairline. She'd quite forgotten about the fact that she was supposed to be furious beyond hope of reconciliation. "You don't know who Tarzan is? You know, the boy whose parents were researchers in the jungle, but they were killed by a ferocious leopard when he was just a baby."

The boy leaned back against the tree again, but kept his eyes fixed on her face, his expression interested. "No. Why didn't the leopard eat him? If he was just a baby, and all."

"Because," replied the girl, warming slightly to the subject, "A mother gorilla who happened to be passing heard his cries and rescued him. She took him back to the rest of the gorillas and raised him as her own."

The boy's eyebrows shot up just as high as hers had a moment before. "Raised by gorillas?"

"Not just raised by gorillas; he grew up to become king of the entire jungle!" Suddenly she remembered what was going on and frowned. "Just like I'm king of this jungle. So, if you please, tell me exactly what you're doing here or I'll sick my man-eating tigers on you!"

"You can't be a king!" protested the boy, surprised by the change of subject. He took a step back and looked nervously from side to side. Did he actually think there were tigers in her garden?

"Oh, yes I can!" she shot back defiantly, "I am King of this jungle, boy, and I will have you stuffed and eaten for your insolence! Or perhaps," she added, more thoughtfully, turning her eyes thoughtfully to the ground, "I'll just string you up by your ankles and leave you for the boa constrictors. How does that sound?" she asked, looking up into his face again.

He didn't look nervous anymore, just amused and slightly thoughtful. "You are more trouble than you're worth, you know. Every time a girl shows up, I almost get killed." He paused, cocking his head. "I'll think about it." The next second, he was gone. The girl had seen, had thought she'd seen, how he'd gone, but it had all happened so fast. One second he was there, the next second… But she could have sworn he'd shot… up.

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Edit: Okay, wow. I really, really did not expect to have to do this, but... enough people have asked for a continuation, so I guess I'm going to give them one.

...Please stand by whilst I scramble to come up with an actual plot.