Note: I realise that some people (Peter) are somewhat out of character here . . . I hope you all are okay with that. If you aren't, then tell me, or don't read it . . . do whatever you want. So, this is set after Prince Caspian. Ages: Edmund's eighteen, Peter's twenty-one, making Rachel twenty.
Also, for anyone who knows or cares about London geography: I know Peter would never be able to afford a home on Hyde Park Corner, but it is where I imagined it, so try and live with it. I'm guessing that very few people are going to understand what I''m talking about though, so I suppose it's all right.
It was nearing dark. Her striped uniform was blotchy with mud splatters, her trousers brown up to the knees. She left Hyde Park, bidding farewell to Ed when she left him at the bus stop. Her walk home was quiet, peaceful, if a bit chilly, the temperature going down as true darkness fell, her clothing drenched in mud and sweat from the rugby practice on the sweeping green lawns of Hyde Park. As she passed the Mews where Peter lived- though she had tried stop thinking of it as such- she heard laughter, raucous and shrill, followed by a deeper chuckle. Her eyes squeezed shut, but she couldn't stop herself from looking, though she was fully aware she would regret it. And she did, really regret it. Perhaps they would get arrested for public indecency. Sex in an alleyway, during a Friday London evening? She didn't think he could sink any lower. Of course, she had thought that when he'd moved out and gotten his own place, leaving Edmund and Lucy to deal with the parents they couldn't bear, so used to independence and authority. Susan was a lost cause, but she didn't care about what Mr. and Mrs. Pevensie thought. Rachel couldn't figure out why Peter did care what his parents thought of him, apparently it was enough that he didn't want them finding out about his activities, for example, getting drunk on Friday afternoons and having sex with girls outside of his front door. She knew, from seeing him at a swing club she had visited with her own sister, that the woman he was with tonight was not his current girlfriend, who was a blonde, not a redhead. She picked up her pace and tried to block out the giggles that had increased in volume at the sound of her footsteps.
It was a Saturday night, her hair was down in its long waves, and she was wearing a low-cut black dress, even wearing the make-up her sister had insisted on. The skirt whipped the other dancers as Ed spun her twice, each partner laughing. Dancing was too much fun to not laugh through the music. Though neither Ed nor Rachel were by any means the best on the dance floor, Rachel considerably too heavy for Edmund to lift, preventing them from doing any of the acrobatics for which swing was so famous, they whirled about with enough enthusiasm and flamboyancy to match the best of them. Making faces and then cracking grins at each other, they danced for the better part of two hours. When they sat down, both were drenched in sweat and panting.
"I don't think dancing was this physically demanding in Narnia," he shouted to her over the band's blaring brass section.
"Well, maybe you're just out of shape!" She called back scathingly, mischief sparkling in her eyes. He just rolled his eyes at her and sat back in time to see Peter literally throw his partner high into the air. He caught her, but the girl, a tiny brunette this time, did not look happy. In fact, she seemed positively livid. She started shouting at him in the middle of the dance floor. Neither Rachel nor Ed could understand the words over the music, but they were both in fits of laughter by the time the young woman, having none of Peter's comforting embraces, slapped him across the face and stormed out of the hall. The giggling pair hooted and screamed with unrestrained mirth as the doors knocked shut behind the girl Peter had obviously intended to bring home with him that night. He looked quite put out, which only made Rachel and Edmund laugh harder, and he spotted the pair as he watched the brunette leave. He appeared resigned to his fate as a humorous spectacle as he stalked to their table. The band started up Sing Sing Sing; the best swing song there was to dance to, in Rachel's firm opinion. She beamed and glanced across the table at Ed, intending to force him to dance the song with her. He glared and shook his head, and she made a face at him. She started as someone took her hand and she found herself gazing into Peter's familiar blue eyes. She almost gasped, but stopped herself in time.
"H-hi, Peter." Then she smirked. "Having fun?"
"Oh, yes, tonight really couldn't get any better." His sarcasm caused her to chuckle. "Unless, of course, you would do me the honour of taking this dance?"
It was not sarcasm this time, and her chest tightened. She knew she would probably regret it at some later date- but Sing Sing Sing was playing! She couldn't resist.
"You can't throw me, you know."
"I know that, yes." His amused grin spoke of the countless nights they had danced together.
"Well, then . . . all right," she agreed, a smile of anticipation stealing onto her face.
They danced to Sing Sing Sing, and then the next song was a Benny Goodman tune as well, so she couldn't bring herself to sit down after that, so, unable to resist a willing dance partner, she found herself still in Peter's comfortably familiar embrace at midnight, when the band began to pack up.
"Wow, how is it twelve already?" Rachel shook her head incredulously.
"Because you've been having so much fun with me!" Peter smiled down at her and she shrugged her acquiescence to this fact; he was a good partner, and she had been having fun, despite occasionally looking up to see Peter's eyes significantly lower than her face. She supposed she had asked for it, wearing the low cut dress she had chosen. The bar had closed as well, unfortunately, and Rachel felt as if the dancing has transformed her throat into sandpaper.
"I am so thirsty, honestly, dying of thirst, here," She complained to Peter as they exited the building.
"How are you getting home?" he inquired, glancing at their surroundings to see if a bus was coming.
"Bus, like you. I can't drive, you know. Though it isn't like we could afford a car if I could," she added, letting her sentence trail off as a red double-decker hissed to a stop in front of them. Peter followed her in. The N13 they had boarded would end its route very near Peter's home in by Hyde Park Corner, where Rachel would have to switch buses to reach Kensington, where she lived. As they sat in together on the grimy seats, they spoke of trivial, normal things- schoolwork, rugby- getting into a rather heated debate about which was better, rugby, cricket, or football. After they jolted to a halt and re-emerged into the brisk night, Rachel bade Peter farewell.
"Well actually, you wanted some water, and you're going to have to wait for the next bus anyway- would you like to grab a glass of water at my place?"
"Er-" She chewed her tongue. She knew this was a bad idea, but at the same time, her thirst was rather over-powering. It was getting to the point where she felt unsteady on her feet, she was so dehydrated, so she gave in, and nodded her reluctant consent. He had been very nice this evening, she told herself. Why would this be a bad idea, when they had trusted each other with their lives, slept in the same room for more than a decade? It shouldn't be bad, she decided, and really, what she expecting? It was Peter, for goodness sake, trustworthy, simple, honest Peter. With easy confidence in her step, she crossed the threshold and followed him to the small yellow kitchen. She surveyed the room and, spotting a record player in the corner, trotted over to it. A Benny Goodman record was on, the needle just waiting to be put down . . . she grinned and started swaying to Sing Sing Sing.
"How can you still want to dance?" Peter shook is head, grinning incredulously. He turned to her, proffering a cup of water as he sipped his glass of wine. She grinned back at him, taking the cup and downing it as she continued her dancing, closing her eyes and listening to the music as she twisted her hips and shook her shoulders. She snorted in laughter as she spilled a few drops down her front, giving the cup back to him as she raised her hands and rocked her body about, snapping her raised hands to the beat. Peter grabbed her hands and picked up the dance and, despite the restricting space of the kitchen, they were both out of breath as the song ended.
"Definitely the best song to dance to. Ever." She giggled at her statement. It was impossibly comfortable around Peter, just as if she and Edmund were joking around, though she doubted Edmund would have actually joined her in that last dance, preferring more to watch and tease than actually join in. Though she found endless hilarity in his amusing comments, it was nice to have someone to dance with.
"Could I have some more water?" She asked, thirsty again.
"No," he replied, grinning as he turned away to pour more water into her cup. She downed it again in several gulps, not managing to keep from spilling a bit again, feeling it roll down her chest and wet the front of her dress. "You are incapable of drinking."
"Yes, yes I've come to that realisation, thank you," she responded, chuckling at her own clumsiness. Her breath stopped as he wiped the errant drops away with his fingers. She cleared her throat and looked at his face. "I'm going to go now," she said carefully, setting the empty cup down on the nearest flat surface.
"All right." His voice was rough and she recognised it, and knew why. She took a deep breath and turned her back to him. It was not as if she was unaffected by him as well. His blonde hair was damp with sweat near his face, as it had been when he took his helmet off after training. His eyes were so, so blue, and his lips were a deep crimson a she had always loved . . . please stop, she told herself. She felt him take her hand. "Just wait for a minute, please." She took a deep breath and faced him. "I forgot . . ." He ran his fingers down her cheek, causing her breath to catch. She bit her lip and he frowned. He reached up and gently pulled it from her teeth. They stood like that, staring at each other, for what seemed like hours.
"I really should go," she managed to get out.
"Please, just . . ." His eyes were filled with emotion that she had not seen in a long time. It was desperation and yearning and . . . everything she was feeling. She looked down an reached up to squeeze his arm; she needed something solid to hold on to, just then. The door frame they stood in was too small for them to fit in, yet she felt somehow that there was too much space between them. She should not feel that way, she knew. Still, she could embrace him, that would not be wrong or going too far, so she stepped forward and held herself to his familiar lines, feeling, with horror, her eyes welling up. She squeezed them shut and concentrated on the feel op his chest on her face and his back under her hands. She felt his chest hum as he spoke. "I forgot this. I don't know . . ." His arms tightened around her and she smiled sadly. She pressed herself away, but suddenly his hand tilted her face upwards, and put his lips to hers. She made some small noise of surprise or protest- she wasn't sure which -but she had given in within seconds. It felt a bit different, but still comfortingly, wonderfully familiar when she let him deepen the kiss.
There was a wall against her back, he was pressed to her and holding her to the wall with too much force, and she broke away to tell him so, but he just leaned down to kiss her neck. He did step away from the wall, though allowing her to follow. She took a steadying breath, but then felt fresh air on her back; he had unfastened her dress! His hands started to ease it off. He kept a firm hold on her arms as she pushed away.
"Peter! What do you think you're doing?"
He just grinned and pulled the dress down past her bra, kissing the exposed flesh. She angry now. She took hold of his neck and forced him back. Her grip was weak from confusion and fear, and he easily took her hand away, all the while grinning that awful smile. He took hold of her dress again, leaning down to her lips to kiss her, but she violently threw herself to the side and felt her dress tear. She couldn't even hit him, she was so shocked and frightened.
"Rachel, what is wrong with you?" His voice was irritated and she suddenly felt nauceous.
"Me? Peter, you- you've been acting just- I don't even know how to describe it! I am such an idiot to think you were the same. Well, you may think you can do me in the alley beside your front door, but I will never - Just- don't come any closer unless you want your nose broken." Her breathing was heavy and laboured with anger and revulsion. She turned to face him. He looked at her, his face contorted by frustration. He seemed to have come to some decision. He set his face and walked toward her. She shook her head incredulously.
"Look." He took her arms and pulled her to him, gently this time. "I'm sorry. I guess . . . I've gotten . . . just, you're right." He lowered his face to hers and she let go of her anger, trying to see the man she had known behind this vulgarly demanding boy. She was in the process of forgetting when he forced her against the wall again and dragged her leg up to his hip. She pushed at him, but he pushed back, harder. That had crossed a line. Her hand, previously occupied caressing his neck, now dug its nails into his skin. She shoved him away with all her considerable strength, gasping.
"What the hell is the matter with you, Peter?" she cried, her voice breaking. She tried to run, but he grabbed her and held her close to him. Complete mental panic erupted as terror and frustration flurried through her mind. She jerked once, and then cried out as she hugged herself with her own arms and felt her knees start to buckle, utterly horrified by the body she was being pressed to. She felt his arms go slack as she sobbed, and then she took off, sprinting out the door, unable to see his horror-struck, regret-laden face.
She never cried in front of him, not like this. When she shed tears in sorrow, for lost comrades or some other horror, she did it alone. Her duty had been to protect her kings, and seeing her in such despair would have upset both kings, so she shielded them from her own suffering. She always knew they suffered more from the losses incurred than she did, so though she wiped the kings' tears away and held them as they sobbed, she always cried by herself. For this reason, breaking down in Peter's arms was such an unbearably distressing experience for both of them that she had hoped he would give up, and she had been right.
She was running, her breath coming in deep gasps as the buildings flew by her. She didn't know where she was going at first, but her feet took her up Oxford Street, then she found Baker Street. The Pevensies. She had to see Edmund, she couldn't stand seeing her mother in this state, breaking from an experience she would never share with any blood relation. She ran until her pace slowed and her breathing evened. She wouldn't run all the way to Finchley, it would simply take too long, so she caught a bus and sat in the back, eyes red, dress torn, face stony with pride and anger. She left the bus and walked to the front door but didn't knock or ring. Instead she ran to the tiny back yard and rapped her knuckles on Edmund's bedroom window which was, thankfully, on the ground floor. His white face appeared in it, rapidly changing from alarmed, to confused, to shocked. He emerged out in garden after a few minutes which Rachel spent pacing and moaning.
"Hey." She didn't say anything else, she didn't know what to say.
"Er- hi. What in Alsan's name are you doing here? Wait- what happened to your dress? Did you get mugged?!" He voice rose as he stepped forward to seize the edge of her damaged collar. She let out a mildly hysterical giggle.
"Mugged? I wish. I could've used a nice fight . . ."
Edmund exhaled as he realised his mistake, but his brows snapped back together within seconds. "Then . . . what?"
"Peter." Her face darkened as she said his name, her mouth contorting into a snarl.
"Wh- Peter, what, attacked you?" Edmund's face was screwed up in confusion.
"You could call it that, certainly."
"I'm- Could you explain, please?" Edmund asked helplessly.
"I just- he-," She shut her mouth, needing to think clearly about what she was saying. She bit her lip and looked back at Edmund, who was staring in mystified consternation at her. She began again, more calmly this time, though still shivery with revulsion. "I stopped with him at his house on the way home to get some water, because I was really thirsty." She grimaced; it seemed extremely stupid of her to have done it in hindsight. Edmund was looking confused again, and she knew why. "I know, I know, I haven't even spoken to him is such a long time, but- he was being nice, and it's Peter, for Christ's sake! I trust him- I shouldn't, but I can't help it! Aslan, I'm such an idiot . . . " She trailed off and looked up with Edmund gazing uncertainly back at her. "We- Well, we started, er, kissing, and he wanted- more. And I didn't, and he was- forceful. I've never had anything like that- I mean, I've known him for twenty years and . . . it just really scared me. Edmund?" Edmund's face was frozen with shock, then-
"I am going to kill him." It was said icily and frighteningly slow. "How- What the hell is wrong with him!?" Edmund burst out, the cold fire in his eyes replaced by hot fury. Rachel was not sure why he was reacting so strongly.
"Edmund, it's alright, it's my problem. I just needed to- to see someone who-"
"It is not all right! My brother, my brother! How can he-" Edmund sank to his knees, his face in his hands. Rachel's face screwed up with regret. She threw her arms around the young man's shoulders. She hadn't even considered what it would do to Ed, learning of his brother's actions. She knew Ed had always looked up to Peter, had always felt that he was the better of the two of them, the true leader. The knowledge of Peter turning on his closest ally in such a despicable way was rending his sense of the world, marring it irreparably.
"Edmund, it's fine, I'm fine . . ." She tried to comfort him as best she could. She held him and waited for his breathing to even out. He went suddenly still, rock-solid with tension in her arms. "Ed?"
"You . . ." He growled.
"Wh-" She stiffened and rose, whirling about. Edmund's face had been over her shoulder, facing the alley to the street out front. In the alley was a blonde young man; Peter. She felt movement behind her and reached for it but was too slow. Edmund raced to Peter and rugby tackled him, and the brothers turned into a blurred tangle of swinging fists and kicking legs.
"Get off each other, now!" She roared. It was a battlefield shout and rang out shocking and loud in the walled garden. She grabbed an arm and heaved on it with everything she had, falling back as the body came free. It was Peter. She shoved him off of her and lunged for Edmund, who was about to jump back onto his brother. "Ed, stop!" She grabbed his arms and forced them down to his sides with difficulty. "Don't do this, please. Talk with him. I'll go inside. Please, Ed." With one last look at the murderous boy, praying her words had been enough to control his anger, she headed for Edmund's bedroom. She would not interfere in the brothers' conversation, but she would listen to it. She opened the window and waited.
"Why?" My voice was shaking from the fury I could feel thrumming through my veins. I had never felt this much anger. No one had ever so treacherously attempted to hurt someone I loved. In the wars, it was always fairly impersonal. We fought over land and ideologies, never one of our own. No one had ever come after Peter or I with a knife because they hated one of us as people. No one had ever gone after Rachel because of who she was. I could barely believe the person standing before me was my brother. Sure, he looked like Peter, handsome, blonde, tall- though I would be taller if we grew to the same heights we had been in Narnia. But the person who stood in front of me had done something so vile and horrible I could scarcely lay eyes on him, and he had done it to someone who had essentially given her life for his on countless occasions, someone he had, at a time that seemed so long ago now, been in love with. Someone I loved as a sister, closer than any friend I'd ever had, save my siblings. Even then, there are things Peter, Rachel, and I shared while on campaign that Su and Lucy will never know or understand. And he tried to- I didn't even want to think about it. I couldn't. "Why, and how? What could make you so . . . evil? Because that's what you are you know." I said it with venom and desperation. Surely there must be some reason for my brother's behaviour.
"Ed- Ed, I'm sorry, so sorry, you have no . . ." Peter ran his hands through his hair, looking about ready to tear it out. I just kept staring, with cold, restrained fury, at him.
"You're sorry? Well, why did you do it in the first place?"
"I forgot." Peter said it quietly, as though surprised at himself. "I forgot about Rachel. I don't know how I did, but . . . and when I kissed her I just- lost it. And I'm so used to girls who- well that's all they want really, that I didn't think and . . . I'm so sorry." He angrily dashed a hand across his leaking eyes and looked up at me. For what it was worth, which wasn't much at this point, his explanation actually made sense. But I would never understand how he could forget. So I asked him, my voice noticeably calmer this time. "How could you forget? Everything- did you forget everything? Are you like Susan now, you think it was a game, some stupid fairy tale we dreamed up to get away from it all?" My voice cracked. I didn't want it to be true, what I was accusing him of. I didn't want to lose Peter, any more than I already had.
"No! No, Ed. I don't know, I just- I couldn't stand it! I moved out to get away from you, and Lucy, and Su, because every time I saw you I would think of- of Narnia. And I can't stand not being there, not being home. So I thought if I forgot about it, I could be happy. But I wasn't. And then I forgot about Rachel too and- and then it all came back, all in that one moment and I just . . . lost it. Please, Ed." He was on the verge of leaving, of giving up on me. Well, I knew about betrayal. I wouldn't be a hypocrite, I wasn't the only one who deserved a second chance. I took a breath and smiled sadly- and stepped forward to throw my arms around him. He was tense at first, but then he gave a watery chuckle and hugged me back, lifting my feet off the ground for a second. We stood together like that for a bit, and I broke away first.
"I forgive you Peter-" I raised my hand before he could respond, "But I don't know if Rachel will. You have to talk to her too." Peter nodded solemnly, his face twisting into a look of regret.
"I- I do. I think." Rachel stepped back into the garden. I watched Peter. He looked as if he were holding something back. I think he wanted to run to her and hug her and tell her he was sorry- at least I hoped he did. She walked slowly up to me and smiled. It was a small smile, not a very happy smile, but still- better that than punch to the face, which would have been justified, I think. I had, after all, just forgiven Peter, and she knew it too. I suppose she had been listening. Fine by me. It was her business, more hers than mine. She turned to my brother. She took both his hands in hers and squeezed them. I saw him wince- she was digging her nails in, trying to release her anger towards him without really hurting anyone. "I understand why, and I don't know what you want from here, but-" She hesitated, then reached up and kissed him softly and quickly on the lips. "-Be better. I'll see you later." She turned and walked away, heading home, I suppose. I looked back at Peter. He had his hand raised to his lips, a rather foolish, delighted expression of hope on his face. "You look like an idiot."
"Oh . . . I don't care." The oaf grabbed me in a bear hug. "I've got you back, and Rachel . . ." He trailed off and nodded, that stupid smile still on his face. Well, at least things were closer to normal, and if I was truthful to myself, a great weight had been lifted from my own soul, something massively heavy that had been there long before tonight. Finally I was free of it.