Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters in this story...*sigh*

A/N: It took me only two days to put up this chapter, but it just so happens that It'll be the last chapter for awhile, since I'll be without a computer for the weekend. Fortunately though, this is the longest chapter I've written! Thank you all for the lovely reviews! Enjoy :)

And When Your World is Crashing Down

After hearing the news of my dad I seemed to lock myself in my own little world. I isolated myself from my surroundings, wanting to shrivel up and die. I hadn't seen Peter in weeks. My mum was away from the house most of the day, sending care packages to the soldiers in the war. She hadn't bothered to frame that letter; I wasn't sure if she had let it stay on the floor, or let it burn in the rubble the bombs caused. I found myself roaming around the downstairs; I didn't even realize it. I felt my eyes sting from all the tears, and my soul ached with longing. The peg had found my inner heart, and it was twisting and turning.

At school, my grades were the same, but all of my friends, and my teachers; they seemed to melt into the wall. I didn't notice them. I tried to stay as far away from Peter as I could, but I didn't know why. It had been weeks since I'd last seen him, but somehow, I didn't seem to care. I usually sat in dad's easy chair after school until midnight, and some days my mum wasn't back yet. She even arrived in the morning, just to go back out again. She was determined, but was it a good thing?

A Thursday evening found me lying in the lush, green grass, staring above my head at the budding stars in the darkening sky. I closed my eyes, wanting to take it all in, and at the same time wanting to let all the pain, and sorrow loose, never to be felt again. I could've sworn I heard footsteps, but I paid it no mind. Suddenly I felt a gentle hand touch my waist. I sat up, quickly, but realizing it was Peter, I laughed and laid back down.

"Where have you been?" he asked, running his hands through my hair.

"I was just…busy," I had trouble thinking of a believable lie.

"Have you found out what our mums were talking about for the past few weeks?" he asked playfully, a sneaky smile surfacing on his face.

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't." I said, a bit saucily. I corrected myself.

He nodded, dropping the subject. "But why is it that I see you everyday at school, but you never take the chance to see me?"

"It's…complicated," I whispered, feeling the lie pierce me.

His brow arched; I wondered if he was skeptical of everything. He reached his arm over my waist, and sat up, moving his other arm around my back, lifting me up. I looked at him confusedly as he kissed me passionately. I felt him move against me, and I gasped. I let my head fall back, and he caressed my chin. I smiled as he pulled back for air, and started leaving heated kisses on my neck.

"Peter," I whispered, gasping again. He stopped and looked at me with concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I just keep getting carried away."

I sat up, looking him directly in the eyes.

"Why do you keep apologizing to me? It's not like I'll be scarred for the rest of my life."

He sighed, almost afraid to look into my eyes.

"What's wrong?" I asked, lifting his chin up.

He took a slowly drawn breath. "Remember, how we always told each other everything? No secret was left untold?"

"How could I forget?" I laughed.

He eyes took on a look of fear, truth, and determination. "It's not like the times where we joked around, Charlotte, this is real." He paused, then went on, "I love you, and…" he trailed off.

"And, what?" I asked, my smile fading.

"And I want to fight. In the war." He said, looking at my eyes searchingly.

I looked away from him. He loved me. And he wanted to fight— I snapped back into reality.

"Peter, don't!" I yelled forcefully.

"I have to, I'm seventeen, and didn't you see a few of our other classmates leaving, too?"

"No, don't, please!" I said pleadingly, "War is a place of death, they're taking over, and you'll die if you go out there." I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, I clutched my throat.

"No I won't." he said defensively. "If war is a place of death then why are we still alive? Why aren't we all buried in the rubble from the air raids? My dad's still out there, and I want to find him!"

I stopped, never seeing him this upset. But I couldn't let him go, I couldn't.

"Peter you can't go, please don't!" I felt my voice cracking, the tears spilled over my eyelids, and I felt the color drain from my face.

"I need too! It's the only way," he retorted, his murderous gaze turned up to the skies.

"Peter, my father is missing in action!" The sobs came out heatedly. "My mum is nearly killing herself working—you can't leave too!"

His eyes softened. "What?" he asked. I turned away from him. "All this time you hadn't seen me, your father's been missing in action? Charlotte, if you had just told me, I wouldn't have…" the tears in his own eyes threatened to spill.

"That's what our mum's were talking about all this time." I whispered, vacantly, "We got the letter about a week ago."

"Charlotte," he whispered, taking my face in his hands.

"Don't go, please, don't leave." I said frantically. His eyes were uncertain.

"I'll think about it," He said, taking my hand and pulling me into his arms. I let out all that I'd been holding in all this time. He kissed my forehead gently, and stroked my hair, whispering comforting words in my ear.

It all came to this. I thought. But he wasn't leaving now, that was all I cared about.

It wasn't until that night that I'd realized I cried in front of Peter. Under the circumstances, I couldn't care less. But hadn't he cried, too? I had spent all my time thinking about the fact that he wanted to go to war, that I didn't realize he really did love me. Maybe it was all happening so fast that it didn't sink in. Did I love him back? Did it really matter now?

The next few days I pondered on Peter's words. I'll think about it. So maybe I was being selfish, but living a day where you don't know if your father's alive, or if your mother might even commit suicide; I needed something to stand on, someone to hold me during the storm. If Peter left, then my heart left with him. I couldn't let that happen. I won't.

A peach-skied Sunday afternoon found Peter and I exploring the small, rural town of Finchley. I decided then that I wouldn't press him for answers.

"Is your mum feeling all right?" he asked, nuzzling my cheek with his nose.

I laughed, feeling the tickling sensation. "As well as I'd expect." My expression became grave. "Alice Morrison was killed two nights ago in the bombings. Her house blasted to little piles of brick. It seems as though a few days ago she was vibrant and alive, but suddenly she's gone."

Peter became tense. "All these bloody air raids are killing all the people we know and love."

"Most of them die from the rubble, not the immediate bomb itself." I tried to tell him.

"But it's still too many!" he stormed.

We stopped in front of our school, a large brick building. Brackenridge Academy. It seemed old and gray, and almost looked as though it would fall apart. I felt the ground beneath me begin to shake. Suddenly the sky became ablaze with fire. The building burst into flames then fell to the ground in a single second. The ear-splitting crash echoed for miles and miles, and the rubble was falling everywhere around us.

"C'mon!" Peter grabbed me and ran to a nearby station where we could hide. Just as we started moving, the sidewalk we were standing on just a moment ago gave way, and the rubble from the school house crashed down onto it.

I looked back in horror, but kept on running.

In the large mass of people that began appearing, Peter grasped my hand even tighter rushed towards the basement. We were pushed and shoved, and a split second later Peter and I were separated.

"Peter!" I screamed with all my strength. He looked back at me, his eyes pleading.

I turned away and we were all rushed into the basement. The hot tears that were held back for so long fell freely now. "Peter!" I screamed again. He didn't answer. I was pushed into a tight shallow corner next to a young woman and a crying baby boy. We were both scared, but I tried to make conversation.

"What's his name?" I asked, trying to smile.

"Francis," the woman said with a heavy French accent. She looked down, in what seemed to be terror as a crash sounded just beyond the walls. He started crying again, and she willingly handed him over to me.

I couldn't help but kiss his rosy cheeks, and press him close to me to keep him warm. I thought of Peter; if he'd survived or if he was lost among the rubble. I swore not to think of that. More and more people piled into the basement, but none of them were Peter. I finally lost hope, and sat against the cold stone wall and fell asleep with little Jimmy in my arms.

Hours later, I awoke. I was sure it was night; the bombs were going off uncontrollably, and everyone was cowering and crying. I heard someone who sounded like Peter. No, it couldn't be after all these hours. My mouth watered. I knew I was starving, but I couldn't let myself think of food right now. The woman, whose name was Camille, had some wafers tucked up in a sack. She offered me some. I accepted and took small bites to preserve it. I heard my name again, closer this time.

"Charlotte?" Peter came into view, all covered in soot and ash. I could see the tears in his eyes, and the restless expression on his face.

"Peter!" I exclaimed, handing the baby to the woman.

I ran to him. He swept me up into his arms. I cried and refused to stop; I was safe now.

"I thought…I thought you were—" He pulled my face to his and kissed me.

My arms wrapped around his neck. I clung to him with all I was worth. I wondered if he'd leave for the war now, but I didn't ask. That didn't matter now. We were safe, and we were alive.

Ages later we could go home, and we rushed on watching the last embers of the fire burn out from the piles of rubble that were once houses and schools, and churches.

Finally we made it back to Peter's home. Thank God it's still standing.

"Mum?" Peter called out. It wasn't a second later when a pair of arms wrapped around him, and then mine.

"Oh, we were scared to death, what happened to you two?" my mum said, cupping my face in her hands.

"We were in a bombing," I burst out, a tear falling down my face.

"A bombing?" said the two women together. "Oh God, are you all right?"

"Yes, but I'm afraid we won't be going to school for a long time." Peter said, hiding a small smile.

"Yes!" Edmund burst out from behind a door, his arms raised and his cheeks pink.

We glared at him, as Susan and Lucy appeared. They both ran to us and gave us clinging hugs.

The piercing sound of breaking glass broke us apart. Edmund ran to the window.

"It's worse, this time!"

"Better get down to the shelter," Mrs. Pevensie said, in a determined tone.

We gathered blankets and food; we didn't know how long we'd be in there this time. One by one, we rushed into the dug-out, spreading blankets around each other. Peter put a blanket around my shoulders, sitting down next to me.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked, as he held his crossed his arms.

He shook his head gravely. I knew he was lying. I put part of the blanket onto his shoulders, and he laid down on my lap. I stroked his hair, as he looked at me with awe in his eyes.

I love you. He mouthed.

I smiled as I pulled him close to me.

We stayed in the shelter until early dawn, emerging to see three homes gone. The rest of the day went on in silence, and Mrs. Pevensie and my mum were talking nearly that whole time. They finally called us into the living room of Peter's home around dinnertime, and we all sat down eagerly, but at the same time dreading what was about to be told.

"We've decided to send you all to the country, where it'll be safer."

"What? Mum, no!" Ed gasped.

Susan and Lucy's faces grew pale.

"Yes!" she said, in an exasperated tone. "Mrs. Dawson and I will stay here until the air raids stop."

"Mum, you're staying here?" my eyes were wide. "You can't—"

"I have to," the frail woman said, looking deeply into my eyes. "I'll be working at a local hospital now, and maybe, maybe I'll find your father."

"Mum, you'll kill yourself out there!" I protested, reaching for her grasp.

She shrank back. "If I do it won't be in vain."

My eyes softened; I was too aghast to cry. It would be in vain. She knows it. I thought. I turned to Peter, his face grew red, but he was trying to compose himself.

"What about dad? When will we come back?" he said softly.

"When it's safe," Mrs. Pevensie assured him.

"When will we leave?" Lucy spoke up, her eyes searching.

"A week," my mum's voice threatened to crack, but she held her strength.

"Best go pack your things." The two women got up and disappeared, and Susan, Lucy, and Edmund did as well.

Peter and I walked out into the backyard; he sat down onto the swinging bench and put his arms around my waist and pulled me into his lap. I looked at him lovingly.

"I suppose you have no choice but to come with us," I said, running my finger through his hair.

"It was all in vain," he said, looking above him; the first clear night in ages. "If I left I'd have to be forced to. I'm not going to leave you, Charlotte, or my family. I love you all too much to ship myself off and die in hatred, not bravery." He looked up at me, a true serenity in his eyes. "That way you'll be mine forever."

I smiled, leaning down and giving him a tender kiss. He wasn't leaving. But we were evacuating the city in a week. Where would we go? Would we survive? I told myself not to get too caught up in the future. For now we all were safe and sound.

That was what mattered most.

A/N: Please review! :)