Lost Girl: Peter Pan/Once Upon a Time

Part XII: "I'm sorry."

"I passed? How did I pass? I didn't find anything!"

He smiles at me and puts both of his hands on my shoulders.

"Yes you did! You found me. That was the test." 

To be blatantly honest, I'm confused. When he said I was supposed to find something, I pictured an object, not Peter himself. Raising an eyebrow, I give him a puzzled smirk and laugh as he immediately mimicks me. 

"Do I look like that when I do it?" I tease.

His expression becomes one of someone who has been horribly insulted, but completely overdramatized, and I can't help but smile at him.

"What are you saying, Lyv? Are you implying that I am not, in fact, devilishly attractive?"

"Yes," I grin, "exactly."

Shivers crawl up my arms as he takes a large step towards me.

"What about now?" he asks, soft and almost in a whisper. Not too long ago I was in the same situation - with him extremely close and attempting to seduce me. I could have punched him in the gut, and I wanted to. 

Now, however...now I don't want to. Kick him, maybe. But softly. Not enough to hurt him.

My nose is even with his mouth since he is a few inches taller than I am, but I can feel his gentle breaths against my face like a steady current. 

That's when I hear a voice in my mind scream at me.

"Falling in love with him is what he wants!"

Instinct kicks in and I thrust him away, shooting him a bitter glare. 

"Why do you keep doing that?" I yell. "You are absolutely sick!"

When I say this, his eyes widen and he merely looks at me. He seems hurt by what I said, but how can that possibly be?

It's fake. It's a show. 

Guilt pangs inside of me as his eyes flit to the ground.

"He's faking it. Don't believe him," I think. 

Suddenly he speaks, his words interrupting my internal conversation. 

"I'm sorry, Lyv."

"What?"

"I said..." he pauses, "I'm sorry."

His face retains its expression of dejection and regret and his eyes pierce my heart, pleading for forgiveness. 

"It's alright," I reluctantly respond, still curious as to the nature of his apology.

Is it sincere or a deception? Am I talking to Peter or Pan?

For a few moments we stand completely frozen in the treehouse, only looking at each other in quick glances. 

Finally I decide to speak. 

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Try and get me to kiss you, or whatever that was."

He scrunches up his face in resounding disagreement. 

"That's not what I was trying to do."

I'm not convinced by this statement and I cross my arms over my chest to communicate that. 

"I never loved any of those girls. I told you that they loved me, and as far as I could tell, that was true. Anything I did received their praise and approval. If I had murdered their parents they would have forgiven me with every ounce of their hearts and continued on with life."

"Your point?" I ask. None of this seems to have any relevance.

"It was superficial," he continues. "All of it. And I hated them for it. They acted like they loved me and in each case I quickly realized it wasn't really love. It was fake."

As he takes a step towards me, my heart leaps inside of my chest. This time he keeps a fair amount of distance between us, which I am thankful for, but grabs both of my hands and holds them in his. 

"But Lyv...you aren't like that. You aren't superficial. And I know that you might hate me, but that just proves who you are. You treat me how I ought to be treated."

Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks me in the eyes and cracks a smile.

"I wasn't trying to get you to kiss me, Lyv. I never will again. In fact, I was doing exactly the opposite. I needed to prove to myself that you truly didn't feel anything."

My mouth hangs open and no words come out. What is he saying? Can he possibly be telling me the truth?

He takes another moment to stop and look at me, his eyes begging for a response. 

But I can't answer.

Sighing, he releases my hands and takes a small step backwards, staring at the floor. 

"And now I know you don't."

The words are in my throat, trying so hard to escape. I feel them crawling up inch-by-inch but I swallow hard, forcing them back down. 

Turning around towards the ladder, he whispers gently, "Goodnight, Lyv."

And then he is gone.

That's when the words finally escape, two seconds too late, and my stomach twists up in knots. 

"But Peter, I do."