Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own made up characters in this story...whoopdeedoo!

A/N: I'm proud to say it only took me four days to update, and I thought it would take atleast a week. I was computer-less for the weekend - and believe me, it was hard - so I'm trying to make up for it as fast as I can. I'm so excited for this story! This chapter has Charlotte reminiscing and musing a lot, but you'll see how it all turns out later on! Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Enjoy:)

For Our Own Lives

The next few days went on slowly, and I spent it mostly reflecting my days in the city. I didn't know how long I'd be gone, or even if I'd have a world to come back to. The war had been going on for so long, some of my friends had forgotten why it even started! It hurt to see so many men who'd seen many years join the army, but it hurt even more to see boys who hadn't seen enough join, too. If this war would ever end, where would my country go from there? The stakes weren't very high of us winning, and though we did all we could, if any men returned home, it would be very few. I didn't know what to make of it, but I knew that if all fell down, I wouldn't fall with it.

"Hullo," a young boy said, waltzing over to me, with several sticks and stones in his hands, "what's your name?"

"Charlotte," I replied, blushing, "what's yours?"

"Peter," he replied, scratching his head. "How old are you?"

"Eight," I said, proudly. "How old are you?"

"I just turned nine!" he puffed out his chest.

"I say, you are very dirty," I mused.

"Do you want to build a fort with me?"

"Sure!"

I chuckled, reminiscing on when Peter and I first met. It was such a long time ago when we were little children, with not a care in the world; everything was perfect. I wanted it to stay that way. But no life was perfect, and I'd have to be content with what I had.

That Friday, I spent my time with Lucy, helping her pack up the last of her things.

"I don't suppose there will be any room on the train for Wilbur?" she said, holding up a tattered, brown stuffed puppy dog.

"Sure there will!" I assured her, "we'll let you hold him on the train, and that way he won't be lonely."

She beamed, tucking the toy under her arm. Lucy was an ordinary child; neglected by her older siblings, and sometimes she needed a friend to look up to. The poor eight year old had no idea how serious a war really was, but she was terrified enough, with her own father away. A sudden rap on the door and a shadow accompanying its opening brought me out of my reverie, and I smiled as Peter greeted us both, mischievously.

"Playing dress up?" he asked, pointing to the several items of clothing laid out onto Lucy's bed.

"Actually we were just about to finish packing," I said, in an admonishing tone. Lucy giggled.

Peter winked playfully at his little sister, then his eyes turned back to me.

"C'mon!" he said, grasping my hand and tugging me out of the young girl's bedroom.

"No, Peter, I need to finish with Lucy!"

"Just for a moment," his eyes pleaded.

I smiled, giving in and letting him guide me into a larger room, with two beds, much like Susan and Lucy's room. One bed was nearly submerged in forest green figurines, and the other very clean. I could feel his scent all around the room. I breathed in deeply, then turned sharply finding Peter closing the door. I shot him a fierce glare.

"What?" he asked, innocently, moving towards me and putting his arm around my waist. "Look," he pointed around the room, "that's Edmund's bed, and there's mine, and we all live angrily ever after."

I laughed. "Is he really that bad?"

"I told you one day I'd kill him, and I'm going to fulfill that word." He said quite seriously.

Ignoring his last remark, I said, "What else is in here?"

Peter shrugged, following me around the room. A dresser drawer hung open loosely, seeming like it was just waiting for someone to search through its contents. I knelt down and started rummaging through the drawer, smiling to myself as I saw countless piles of Peter's shirts and trousers. Peter had his back turned to me at that moment, then turned back and took on a look of alarm, and rage.

"Don't look in there!" he stormed ominously, and I nearly jumped, not hearing him this angry before.

My hand was caught by something at the bottom of the drawer, and I pulled it out, finding a letter, stained at tattered, with something scribbled down about time, and place. It was Jimmy Hamilton's handwriting, and he was one of the few students who had left for…the war. My heart was caught in my throat, I felt lightheaded and it seemed like nothing could keep me from fainting. I felt my face grow cold, and Peter steadied his hand on the small of my back.

"You promised me you wouldn't go to war," I said, slowly, the words coming out in small, hushed tones.

"That was before I promised you," he said rather sheepishly, "Jimmy and Moody and I planned to enlist together, and those were my instructions to report."

I felt a smile creeping to the corners of my mouth, but I shut its presence away. Gilbert Moody was a headstrong, brooding boy like Peter, and he wanted nothing more than to rid the world of Nazis. He left without a goodbye and enlisted, having yet to write to his family. Peter had more sense than Moody did, but I was still worried for the both of them.

I returned the piece of paper back to its home, and stood up, kicking the drawer closed with my heel. I turned to Peter finding remorse and defeat in his eyes, and I looked into them searchingly, running my hand through his hair. His gaze was fixed upon me, but I could tell rather easily that he wasn't looking at me. Like he was caught up in a reverie; so captivating and fantastical that I couldn't bring him out. I sighed, smiling and encircling my arms around his waist.

"So, why don't you throw the paper away?" I inquired, wondering if it was a mistake seeing the murderous gaze Peter turned upon me.

"Some things are just hard to let go of," he jaw set, yet his arms welcomed my touch, "I imagine everyday how I would end the injustice of several people's lives, and that would be one step closer for us to winning the war."

"But one man can't do it alone," I whispered in an admonishing tone, letting my head fall back onto his chest.

"Charlotte," it was the first time he'd said my name in a while, "the people who deserve to die live, and the people who deserve to live die. The scenario must change, and I wanted to be the one to help it."

"No matter what you do, Peter, you'll still have that burning passion inside of you to join the war. But if you do, you'll—"

"Feel an emptiness, a remorse, like I've committed a crime. I don't want to lose you, my family, or my friends to something vain, and unjust, yet it's my duty to my country, to do what's right and necessary, to ensure out freedom. Either way I'll feel some sort of conflict. It's not easy." He finished, tightening his grip around my own waist.

I nodded absent-mindedly, then pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "You're here now, you're safe, and we need to be strong in this time."

He looked at me, with awe and sincerity in his eyes, leaning down and letting his lips move against mine. I let myself fall against him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on to all I had now. It was comfort, it was joy.

I didn't know how long it had been since Peter had taken me into his room, but the lights outside had become darker, and Peter and I were lying on the edge of his bed, looking into each other's eyes. Maybe it was young love, but still, there was something else about him, something I couldn't comprehend.

"Peter, It's getting late, and I have to go—" I began starting to get up.

"No, don't!" he cut me off, pulling me back onto the bed, with a cheeky grin on his face.

"No, Peter, I'm the logical one here!" I said, laughing and sitting up.

"Why do you have to leave now?"

I became grave. "I don't know what time it is, and I want sometime to speak with my mum. She's killing herself slowly, and it's evident to everyone."

His eyes took on a look of compassion, and he pulled me to him, and I let myself fall back onto the pillow. His gaze turned to the locket that lay to the side of my shoulders, and he picked it up, turning it over several times as if searching for something.

"What are you going to do with this?" he asked, opening it to find nothing.

My father's words returned to me. "Something worthwhile; something that will stay with me for the rest of my days."

He ran his fingers down the rose engraved in the center, letting it shine off the reflection of the setting sun. He smiled, a different smile; quite vacant, and somewhat hopeful.

"I'll make sure we all stay safe," he whispered, moving closer and nudging his nose against mine.

I giggled, pressing one last kiss to his lips before leaving the room. I turned back for one moment and he smiled, the way he did when we first met; the childish beam that brought light to the darkest day.

"I love you," he said, so softly I could barely hear him.

"I love you, too."

I didn't realize how late it was until I arrived home, and I let out a sigh of relief hearing my mum's familiar shuffling of feet in the kitchen. I walked briskly, anxious to see her face. She was brewing tea, and she looked at me, and smiled. I was alarmed at the sight I beheld. My mum was different. Her eyes had dark circles adorning them, and her face itself was pale and withered, almost signaling defeat. Until now I hadn't realized how old she seemed, but it wasn't of the physical. She was mentally, and emotionally as weak as a wounded soldier on the battlefield, and she was letting the enemy persevere in her own battle. I ran to her, putting both arms around her shoulders.

"Mum! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, in her silvery voice. "I'm just a bit tired."

I took her hand and supported her back with my other, and lead her upstairs to her room. I stopped short in the doorway, not realizing until now how long it had been since dad had left. On late nights I used to sit on the floor next to him, and we'd read the newspaper together, like "Regular Old Men", as he called it. I shed a tear, wanting to see him there, but I only saw my mum's frail body lying on the bed, and she was now asleep. I kissed her cheek quickly and ran downstairs to attend to the singing kettle, and made the tea for myself. I sat in the living room, my gaze fixed on the framed letters the whole time. But nothing could mend my heart. It had been tampered with, and now it was being ripped apart and bringing me down with it. I decided then I wouldn't let myself be defeated. Not in this battle, and not the war.

Sunday dawned, and during the last of my packing I cut out a picture of my father and put it into the locket. I pierced it against my heart, promising myself I would stay strong in the times of death and defeat. My heart seemed as though it was shattering itself into innumerable pieces, scattered in hidden areas that had yet to destroy themselves. I kept the last few bits of my heart together, enough to keep me alive, not physically, but emotionally, and spiritually. The tension in my family was growing, and almost losing Peter was a blow I was still recovering from. I sighed, taking my few suitcases down to the front door, and I looked out the window, not knowing how long it would be until I saw my home again. I let myself cry, because staying strong was hard. But I wouldn't stop believing.

Early Monday morning, the Pevensies, my mum and I all made our way to the train station. My mum promised me she'd take a few days off work, but I didn't expect her to fulfill her word. Mrs. Pevensie had given us the final instructions of our trip.

"You are to be staying with Professor Kirke in the country, and his housekeeper, Mrs. Macready. Be respectful, and stay strong." She said, holding back tears.

Stay strong. It seemed as though that phrase was overused, because everyone around us was crumbling with the last light of dignity and sincerity they were given to protect. My mum came to me and gave me her last goodbye.

"Be a good girl," she said, glancing at Peter, "and take care of the younger ones."

I smiled as best I could. Her arms clasped around me and I gave her a simple kiss of the cheek. She broke away, and it seemed another piece of my heart left with her. Mrs. Pevensie gave her last goodbyes to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy and we left for the train. I saw Lucy's eyes fill with tears, and Peter assured her everything would be all right. I took her other hand in mine, and squeezed it tightly. She looked up at me, smiling brightly, though her eyes were saddened.

We boarded the train, and the last call sounded. Susan and I peeked our heads out of the window and soon the others joined us. We waved goodbye, smiling as if there was nothing wrong. My mum blew me a kiss, and waved, taking Mrs. Pevensie's hand, until we were out of sight.

A/N: There wasn't a lot of Peter/Charlotte action in this story, but stay tuned for the next chapter, I have tons in store for them! Also, this chapter is slightly shorter than the last, and I'm working on making each chapter atleast 3,000 words. Reviews are most appreciated :)