Here is the next chapter everybody! I hope you all enjoy, and thank you ever so much for the reviews, they really make my day, especially the long ones! hint, hint

Disclaimer: I am merely borrowing C. S. Lewis' charming characters and world, and will eventually return them. The only thing that is mine is the plot.

Disclaimer 2: If this story in any way resembles any other fanfiction it is by complete accident, as I go out of my way to avoid fanfictions that resemble mine until mine are completed. My apologies to any other great minds.

Author's note: This story is set pre-, during- and post- The Last Battle. I am a first time fanfiction writer and any reviews are appreciated.

Chapter 4: Questions

Peter and Leona sat on the cold, stone steps of Leona's flat, waiting for the police to arrive. Neither wanted to go inside with the dead man still lying on the kitchen floor. Both were silent. Peter thought absently that this would be one of the first times that he and Leona were quiet in each other's company. They didn't find silences difficult or felt like they must always be talking, but they just never ran out of things to converse about. Most of the time they would be discussing or debating something, or just talking about anything that would come to mind, even if it was something as banal as the weather. The silence between them now was heavy, but somehow not awkward.

A large, tawny tomcat wandered up to the steps and looked up at them with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.

"Prowler, there you are!" Leona exclaimed, leaning down to pick up her cat. "I was wondering where you were - some guard cat you make..." She rubbed her face against the warm fur, then said quietly, "Though I am glad you were off wandering tonight, you'd probably have been killed if you were at home when that man..." She broke off, gave an almost invisible shudder, then resumed petting the feline in her lap. Peter held out a hand for Prowler to sniff, smiling a little at the memory of another Animal that he had done the same thing to with astonishing results. Prowler seemed ordinary however and obligingly sniffed Peter's fingers. Upon apparently deciding Peter was no threat, he resumed enjoying his mistress' attentions.

The cat jumped from Leona's lap and ran into the night as three police cars, sirens blaring, drove up the narrow street and stopped in front of the building. Peter and Leona rose to their feet as the sergeant got out of his car and walked up to them.

"You the one's who called about Conroy?" the man asked. Peter nodded and Leona opened the door to let the police into her flat. "He's in the kitchen," Leona said, leading the way. It seemed to take the head officer by surprise to see the dead body on the floor, even though Peter had said when he called the police station that he'd killed the intruder. Three other men slid past Peter and entered the kitchen after their leader. One leaned down and checked for a pulse on the body.

"Dead," the officer confirmed. "It's Conroy alright, I recognize his face off the sheets."

"Get the scene secured then, I'll take these two down to the station for interviewing." The head officer motioned for Leona and Peter to follow him to his patrol car.

It was a short and silent drive to the station, but Peter was starting to get worried. Would he be in trouble for killing Conroy? It was self-defense and he could prove it, but what would happen if they didn't believe him at first and he was arrested? What would he do about classes? What would his family say? Would Leona be in trouble as well? He called upon the nobility and confidence of the High King and made himself calm down. Worrying would not do anyone any good, and he'd done nothing wrong, even though he had killed Conroy. What else was he supposed to have done - roll over and let himself be killed and Leona violated and then likely murdered?

The officer pulled up to the station and let the couple out of the back seat. After escorting them into the building he led them into a well-lit room and left to get his superior. Leona seemed nervous as well, and kept twisting her hands in her skirts. Peter gave a small smile, reached over and laid his larger hand on hers.

"It'll be fine, neither of us did anything wrong. We were well within our rights to defend ourselves." She relaxed and gave Peter a smile back.

The door opened and an older man in a police uniform stepped in. "Hello. I'm Sgt. John Fowler, and you are?"

Leona replied, "He's Peter Pevensie and I'm Leona Hart." The officer shook hands with both Leona and Peter, then settled himself across from them. "So, tell me what happened tonight."

They did, starting from the fight with Fitzhugh's gang and ending with the call to the police station, each correcting the other on little details or commenting on something that the other hadn't mentioned. The chief of police listened and took notes, asking the occasional question, but otherwise remaining silent.

When Peter had finished, Fowler put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. "First off, I'd like to thank you both for your assistance in taking Conroy down. He's been a thorn in our side for months. No sooner would we think we had him cornered than he'd slip away again. Don't worry. It is highly unlikely that there will be any charges made against you, Mr. Pevensie, for the events of tonight. Conroy's death was regrettable but understandable, and a clear case of self-defense. On a different note, what's the name of the gang leader who attacked you on your way home? It seems odd that you'd have two attacks in one night. Fitzhugh, you say? Why does that name sound familiar..." Fowler started looking through his papers.

"Sir," Peter asked. "I was curious, what made you suspect Conroy was coming here?"

Not looking up from his notes, Fowler responded, "He has family here, his sister lives in the area. We searched her house once already but found no trace of him hiding there. Aha, here's why the name Fitzhugh sounded familiar, Conroy's sister is Madeline Fitzhugh."

Peter and Leona looked at each other, comprehension dawning on both faces.

"That little bastard!" Leona said, furious. "He must have known his uncle was interested in me and wanted first grab! Oh, when I get my hands on him..." Leona was nearly spitting in rage, and looked truly intimidating.

Peter was feeling his own anger rising as fast as Leona's and he had to battle the urge to go out, find Fitzhugh and beat him until there wasn't enough left to bury.

"Don't go accusing anybody yet," Fowler commented mildly. "Until we bring him in for questioning there's nothing anybody can do, but I can assure you that he will be behind bars within a day, for the attack on you two if nothing else."

Peter choked back his rage with difficulty. This was England, not Narnia, he was no longer High King with the ability to dispense justice to wrongdoers. He would have to be satisfied with what the law could give him, even though the desire to beat Fitzhugh into a bloody pulp was still strong within him. Then he remembered Conroy's body lying in a pool of blood in Leona's kitchen. His anger melted away and his fists unclenched. He had done enough bloodletting for one night. The last thing he needed was to add another ghost to the legion haunting his nightmares. Conroy was enough without adding his nephew to the count of invisible dead following behind Peter's shoulder like a creepy row of malevolent ducklings, incapable of harming him, but still haunting his steps.

"There are only a few more details to sort out," Fowler said. "We'll need to retain control of your flat, Ms. Hart, for at least a few days. We will be happy to put you up in a hotel until everything is cleaned up and all needed evidence is taken. If you like, we can take you back to your home long enough for you to pack a bag or two." Leona murmured agreement, and Fowler again addressed both of them.

"How much publicity are you willing to have with this whole affair? The police will have to make an announcement to the press tomorrow, but would you two rather remain anonymous? There's no need to have your names mentioned if you don't want them to be."

Peter and Leona exchanged glances, and Leona spoke for both of them. "I just want to forget this ever happened. It's bad enough that I'll have to deal with knowing that..." She seemed to be looking for a word strong enough to describe Conroy."...that madman was in my house, in my BEDROOM, without everyone else knowing too." Leona looked a little green at the thought so Peter reached out and wrapped an arm around Leona's shoulders comfortingly. Fowler nodded understandingly, and told them that they were free to go, but not to leave the city until given permission as their testimony might be needed later.

Outside the station, Peter and Leona got into a taxi that had been called to take Leona to her flat and then the hotel, and Peter back to the college dormitory.

"I was surprised that Fowler didn't ask more about how I knew how to fight," Peter commented to Leona, who shook her head at him.

"I'm not surprised. Most everyone these days knows at least a little of how to defend themselves. With the war going on, you need to know something," Leona said. "Besides, you did mention that it was luck that helped you win. Conroy was more experienced than the average man, and under the fighting circumstances..." Peter nodded, thinking that her response made sense.

After a quick trip to Leona's flat during which she stuffed two small bags with necessities, carefully avoiding the kitchen, the taxi was waiting outside a modest hotel near the college. Peter walked Leona to the door. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked. She nodded, "I'll be as right as rain soon. Nothing actually happened to me, but I'll definitely be rearranging furniture when I get my flat back. Leaving it like it is would just make it easier to feel uncomfortable."

Impulsively Peter reached down and gathered Leona into his arms. Surprised, it took her a moment before she hugged him back. Peter let the feel of her in his grasp, real and safe, flow through him, calming him and letting him release the tension of the night's events.

"Thank you," Leona said as Peter let go of her. "For killing Conroy, I mean. It makes me sick to think of what would have happened if he'd caught me alone. I couldn't have fought him off myself, no matter how desperate I would have been." She picked up her bag and turned to go into the hotel. "Goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight." Peter watched her through the glass doors as she went up to the front desk, then he turned back to the taxi and got in.

He spent the entire trip back to the dormitory thinking, mostly about Leona. She was full of surprises. Every time he turned around there would be something new about her. It was strange and rather disturbing. Peter thought back over the events of the night. The gang fight, where she had shown bravery and an unexpected and unusually good ability to fight. The comments she had made after Conroy lay dead in her kitchen, "I thought I was safe." A little voice that sounded remarkably like Edmund pointed out that until tonight, Peter had never even known Leona's last name.

That realization got Peter thinking over everything he knew about Leona, and he was astounded to find how little that really was. He know what her favorite ice cream was, and that she was interested in mythology of any kind, but he didn't know where she came from other than her vague mention of living in the country. He didn't know if she had siblings or other family, or anything of real substance about her. How was that possible? He'd spent hours almost every day talking with her! He knew that he had told her all about his family and friends, how could he have neglected to find out about hers? Maybe it was just chance, he knew that their conversations were frequently interrupted by customer's or other business. It would have been simple for them to just move onto a different topic when Leona was free to talk again.

It disturbed him that he could know so little about someone that he was now able to admit to falling in love with. Oh, yes. Tonight's events did at least show him how deep his feelings for Leona ran. He had never fought as hard in Narnia as he did defending Leona from Conroy. He knew what it felt like to defend himself, and he knew how it felt to defend another person. Tonight had definitely been the latter, he would have willingly put himself in between Conroy's blade and Leona if he thought it would have helped the situation. He had always feared for Susan, Edmund and Lucy when there was danger around, but it was not the sick fear that gripped his bowels at the thought of Leona being hurt or, Aslan forbid, killed. It was odd. He hadn't even noticed the change from mere interest in a pretty woman into something far deeper.

The taxi pulled to a stop outside the dormitories, and Peter grabbed his book bag, which he had remarkably managed to remember to bring to the police station. As the taxi drove off, Peter took out his key and entered the building, glad that for once there was no one at the desk by the door. He wouldn't want to try and explain his disheveled appearance to a curious chaperon.

As he climbed the stairs wearily, he decided that any questions about Leona would have to wait until tomorrow. He would go to the college nurse in the morning to get his wounds cleaned and his bruises tended. Right now the only thing he wanted was a hot bath, some pain relievers and several day's worth of sleep.

TBC...