Disclaimer: I do not own the Chronicles of Narnia.
A/N: I decided to take a few slight liberties. After all, I'm fairly sure that no retired teachers decided to make a make-shift school during World War Two.
It's hard to break a habit that's had fifteen years to form.
Susan was used to having Edmund or Lucy come to her or Peter when they had problems. In Narnia, they had been the parental figures, simply because they were older. Because of that, Susan was used to bottling up her own problems, rarely spilling them because she hated worrying her siblings, especially when they relied on her so much. Peter was much the same, she had noticed.
Fifteen years was a long while to grow used to something – a habit, a saying, a movement. Didn't they all use each? Perhaps it was only habit, because most of their sayings and movements were purely habit, done so many times that they came close to doing them unthinkingly. Susan and her siblings each had many habits they'd picked up, and it was hard to get rid of them in the two months they remained with the Professor at his huge house.
They were back in Finchley now. Susan, her brothers and sister had been living with their mother again for nearly a month. It was hard to get used to being treated like a child – indeed, her mother had not noticed the changes in them enough to change the way she treated them. Or perhaps she had, but didn't want to admit it, didn't want to admit her children didn't need her.
To Susan – and she was sure her fellow monarchs would agree – it wasn't much of a surprise that any of this was happening. Who would believe that four children had lived fifteen years, fought in wars and ruled a country, and had no sign of it? They looked the ages they had been when they left England and found Narnia – and that had always hurt Susan the most.
Fifteen years in one moment. Lucy, Edmund, Susan and even Peter had lived longer in Narnia then they had in this world, in England. Most of their memories of this world had faded, anyway, making the time they spent in this world so much shorter. Few memories had remained – their mother's warm scent, the feeling of her father's hug, the sensation of having parents.
Susan blinked as a knock sounded on her door. "Come in," she called out, and the door opened as Lucy slid into the room. They shared a room, and it puzzled Susan as to why Lucy had not walked straight in.
"I'm sorry, sister," apologized Lucy, slipping easily back into their old way of speaking, the way they still spoke in private. "I was not sure whether you were decent."
"What's wrong?" asked Susan, noticing the expression on her sister's face. There was anxiety on it.
"The girls at - school," explained Lucy. They still hesitated to call in school, because in reality it wasn't. School had been suspended during the war, but some retired teachers had put together a make-shift school. Most of the kids in Finchley went there, sent by their mothers, though most didn't want to. "They've been at it again."
Susan hesitated before replying, thinking again of her mother. Susan had noticed lately the way Helen had been trying to encourage them to come to her more often, as if she had noticed the way they immediately went to each other when they had a problem. Susan had also noticed the faint trace of envy in her mother's eyes, and it still made her feel awkward to think of it. A mother that was jealous of her daughter? It was odd, but Susan didn't blame her.
"Lucy, do you think Mother could deal with this?" Susan asked her younger sister. Seeing her sister's face become momentarily puzzled, she hurried on. "I think she's upset that we never go to her anymore, and I think that we should at least try to break this one habit. We owe it to her."
Lucy's expression cleared, just as Susan knew it would. Susan was the most perceptive of people's feelings, which had helped her to gain the title of 'the Gentle', but Lucy and their brothers had a talent for it to. They needed to, after all, or they would be hopeless diplomats. "I… think she could help," she replied. "But Susan, can I still come to you when it's related to Narnia – when there are things I can't explain to her?"
"Of course, Lucy," Susan told her. "Now go on – and if you see Edmund before I do, tell him what I said, please." Lucy nodded and darted off.
Though pleased that she had helped out her mother, a small bit at least, Susan could not help but feel some irrational jealousy. She was used to helping out her sister and brother, and liked doing it, though it could be stressful at times. Susan sighed and laid back on her bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. At least I can help them with Narnian problems, she comforted herself. Besides, they won't always go to Mother. The Gentle Queen knew there would be slip ups when they would come to her.
After all, it's hard to break a fifteen year old habit.