Disclaimer: His house. I squat.
A/N: Ermm…you all probably truly and completely hate me, don't you? I swore I would update soon, and…I didn't. Even though you guys reviewed over five times. And I said I would. There are two reasons why, so please, let me get through them before you shoot. A. I burned my fingers really, really badly trying to cook and had blisters and couldn't type for a week. B. I had AP testing, and that meant many sleepless nights full of cramming. So fanfiction was a bit low on my list of priorities.
But I still apologize profusely. I'm so, so sorry. You all rock and I failed you. Please forgive me?
No matter how many times she had gotten drunk, she would never get used to the consequential hangover. After the first one (which had been terrible), she had hoped that the body would develop a sort of numbness to this sort of thing over time. Not true. This last one was as bad as (if not worse than) the first.
She awoke with a moan, silently cursing the sun for being quite so bright and shining perfectly into her eyes. A throbbing headache and a pounding inside her head and eardrums greeted her. Clutching at the pain in hopes of easing it (it didn't work), Anne rolled over, groping for her sheets so she could bury her head inside, where the blasted sunlight couldn't hurt it.
And hit Peter Pevensie square in the chest.
She sat up in alarm, backing as far away from him as she could manage. He was slowly awakening as well, rubbing at his eyes and blinking them blearily. He yawned, and then cracked a soft smile at her.
Surreal could not even begin to describe the situation.
"Morning." He said wryly, reaching up to try to tame his unruly hair. He only succeeded in messing it up more. He sat up too, so that he and Anne were on the same level. "Did you sleep alright?" It was amazing how casual his voice was, for there was no time for pointless exchanges of courtesy! More urgent matters were at hand.
"Did we have sex?" She asked bluntly, keenly aware that she was in his bed, his shirt was slightly more unbuttoned than necessary, and that she was still in yesterday's clothes. She felt alright, though—nothing like what the other girls described the morning after like. Her pounding head aside, that is. "Please say no."
"What a question," he answered, biting back a grin. "Bit too early for that sort of straightforwardness, no?" Seeing her serious glare, he rolled his eyes.
"Honestly, Anne, do you really have that low of an opinion of me? Of course we didn't." She relaxed only slightly.
"Then what happened?" She demanded suspiciously.
He stopped mid yawn. "You don't remember?" Mild surprise and curiosity.
"No, Peter, I'm asking you because I have a perfect recollection," Anne shot back scathingly. "Of course I don't remember. Generally getting drunk does that to you."
He stifled another smile at her terrible mood—or was it amusement at how adorably mussed her hair and dress looked?
"Well," he said, playing with the hem of his sheet as he talked, pulling a stray thread out. "I came back from a conference with the Elves of Eyre yesterday night, to find you waiting for me here, bottle of vodka in hand. And…" His brow furrowed, then uncreased as he continued easily. "Well, you were so drunk that I thought you might pass out in the hallway on the way back to your room, so I let you stay the night, and you were quite insistent upon my presence…"
She blushed prettily, and he felt some warm flame spread in his general chest region.
"Sorry about that," she murmured, avoiding his eyes. "I know I get awfully unfriendly when I'm drunk."
"Not a problem," Peter said. He made sure not to look at her, for he was quite certain the girl was embarrassed enough as it was."
"Why was I in your room to begin with?" Anne asked keenly. He flinched—and then hit himself mentally for the mistake.
"It wasn't anything big," Peter said casually, and then hurriedly changed the subject. "Did you sleep well though?"
A pause. She was mulling it over, and slowly the memories were creeping back.
"Anne?" He was desperate now, to distract her. Too late.
"I told you not to go to the war, didn't I?" She said slowly, thoughtfully. He winced slightly—just enough to confirm her theory. "And you ignored me." This was a statement, not a question.
"Not ignored," he interrupted. "I listened to everything you said, but I've got to put duty as my first priority. And duty calls me to lead my people into war."
She stared at him, not bothering to hide her astonishment.
"First priority?" She said wondrously. "Above life? Above happiness, above your family and your friends?"
Another pause—a long one—before he nodded firmly. "I accepted this responsibility to serve my country before all else when I became king." His voice was clear and strong and decided, and despite his tousled hair and the tint of sadness in his declaration, Anne did not think she had ever seen someone so regal and majestic before. The beauty of this boy-man took her breath away.
At long last, she shook her head slightly. "I don't understand it."
"You wouldn't," he said softly, and the kingliness faded. In its place was just Peter; friend and almost brother. Then Anne registered what he had just said and was affronted. Seeing her offended look, he quickly continued. "It's not meant to be an insult, Anne. You just love life and the people close to you so much that you wouldn't put anything above them. You can't bear to see them in pain. I used to be like that, until I came here. I suppose you just haven't found a cause strong enough, something that you believe in so resolutely."
"I don't think I ever will, either," she said, laughing a little.
"Yes, you will," he said comfortably, leaning back into the pillows and folding his arms behind his head. "I'm sure you will." He lapsed into silence, humming a melody slightly under his breath, while she fidgeted, debating within herself. She sucked in a breath and then—
"Why do you believe in me so much?"
He quirked an eyebrow.
"I mean, I'm not a good person," she continued. Now that she had worked up the steam and courage to ask, she wouldn't stop until it was all out. "I'm selfish and bad tempered and I think I might have a multiple personality disorder. I've done things that I'm ashamed about. I've—"
"You don't have to elaborate," Peter replied simply, cutting her off while still reclining easily. "Some things I don't need to know."
"So you're saying you don't even care if I've done bad things?" She interrupted, standing up now with her hands on hips, incensed. "Or that you don't want to hear the things I've done because it might taint your purity?"
"That's not what I'm saying." His eyes and voice were serious, and he rolled over to face her. "Of course I care and of course I wish you hadn't done whatever you've done. And as to the second part, don't be ridiculous, Anne. Sometimes you're utterly absurd. What I am saying, however, is that I think you're a good person deep down. I'm saying that it's not so important that I know what you did as why you did it. I want to know what's wrong, Anne, and until you tell me, I withhold all judgment on your actions."
"But I'm nowhere near perfect," Anne murmured, subdued. "I'm not even close to good."
"I beg to differ," Peter answered. "Besides, no one's perfect."
"But—"
"Let's go find that hangover remedy, alright?" Peter interrupted, swinging himself off the bed. There was a pause, in which she just stood there and stared at him. Then at last he rolled his eyes and made shooing motions with his hands. "I have to change, Anne, and although you may have stayed the night, I'd rather you not stay to watch me change clothes, too."
She had the decency to flush again and scurry out of the room. He allowed himself a brief grin before switching into a clean set of robes in a businesslike manner. She found her head filled with words of acceptance from a magnificent young man who radiated hope.
They carefully avoided the topic of the war over the next two to three weeks, although that became increasingly difficult as advisors would interrupt their conversations with 'urgent news from the Elves of Eyre.' War, it seemed, was coming much faster than either Peter of Anne anticipated.
And so it was no real surprise, truly, when Peter knocked on the door of Anne's bedroom and stepped gingerly inside after she gave him the all clear. He had now progressed to entering her bedroom—but only after knocking, and even then he walked so carefully and was clearly not at ease.
She had been reading a book recommended by Susan in her bed, and looked up to see him framed in the doorway.
"Hello," She smiled. It faded quickly when she saw the look on his face.
"Hello." He replied quietly.
"When?" She demanded. He didn't need to ask her to clarify.
"Two days," he replied. "The Buffalomen refused all attempts to negotiate and the Elves are pressing now more than ever for our assistance. We signed the accord with the Elves today. As soon as our army can mobilize, we'll be leaving."
"And that's in two days."
"Yes."
A silence. She sighed and closed her book, knowing she would not be able to focus anymore.
"Come sit," she said at long last, patting the spot next to her on the bed. Peter shifted uncomfortably, and she rolled her eyes at his overzealous chivalry. "I swear I'm not going to sexually attack you or anything of the sort."
He cracked a smile and joined her, each movement still measured and cautious. She bit her lip to keep from laughing—he was so jumpy.
"How long will the war be?" She asked.
He shrugged. "It all depends on the extent the Buffalomen are willing to fight for the territory. Could be weeks. Could be months. Could be a year or more. But we'll be back as soon as we can." She shivered suddenly, and he frowned. "Are you cold?"
"No," she said softly, and her eyes slowly dimmed. "You just reminded me of something my father said to me once."
"What'd he say to you?" Peter prompted gently. This was delicate ground. Anne had avoided all conversations involving her family, no matter how persistent he was in questioning her. When her eyes dimmed like that and her family was involved, he had to tread lightly. His heart, however, did a little cheer inside his chest. Perhaps now she'd open up her problems to him!
"He said…I asked him how long he'd be gone. He said the same thing you did. Weeks. Months. Years. He wasn't sure. But he said he'd be back as soon as he could, too. As soon as possible. Those were his words."
Peter didn't quite know how to respond, but luckily she kept talking, staring off into space as she lost herself in memories.
"He said that he'd miss his little dreamer—that was his nickname for me—terribly and that nothing, not even a thousand Germans armed with guns, could keep him from returning to me and my mom as soon as humanly possible. I wrote a poem for his return, you know. Something to welcome him back."
"What'd it say?" Peter asked.
"I forget," Anne whispered, and she drew her knees up to her chin and hugged them to her chest. "I ripped it up after…"
"After?"
"Nothing." She shook her head a little as if to clear it, and the fog in her eyes evaporated. "So two days, huh?"
"Yeah, two days." Peter tried to disguise the disappointment in his voice. He had been so close…
"The castle's going to be so empty without you," She murmured, half to herself.
"So what, you're going to miss me?" He teased, and yet a part of him (a part that he denied existed—the same part that felt like grinning whenever she blushed or laughed, the same part that noticed how thick and rich her hair was and how she had seven freckles exactly and how her eyes shone brilliantly when smiling) hoped it was true.
"I never said empty was a bad thing," She said, winking. He laughed lightly, his shoulders shaking up and down with mirth. A pause, while he finished laughing.
"Susan and Edmund are going, aren't they?" She said abruptly. He nodded warily.
"Lucy's staying to take care of the kingdom while we're gone, but yes, Susan and Edmund will be coming."
"Can I come?"
He had known it would happen. Known she would ask. She was too inquisitive, too curious and prying by nature, not to have. He was only surprised it came this late. And so he drew in a deep breath to reply.
"No."
She looked at him, affronted. "Why not?"
"Because you're Anne."
"What sort of a reason is that!" He sighed inwardly. This was going to be uglier than he thought.
"It's true. You obviously have some sort of past psychological trauma dealing with wars, and I don't want to expose you to them any more than I have to."
"I don't need you to protect me, Peter. I'm not so weak that I can't fight."
"I'm not saying that you're weak."
"You implied it."
"I did not imply that you are weak! I'm simply stating the fact that you have never had any military experience before, and that, plus your past psychological trauma dealing with wars added together, renders you pretty much useless."
"What, so now I'm useless?"
"Well, considering your past psychological trauma dealing with—"
"Stop saying that."
"What?"
"Past psychological traumas. I don't like it."
"Alright. But still, no."
"I could learn how to fight and gain military experience. I'm not stupid. I could pick it up quickly. And as to the war problem that I've had, that's my issue. I'll deal with it. I want to come."
"Still, no." He said resolutely. She was livid now.
"Give me a good reason," she demanded, temper flaring. "One good reason and I'll listen to you."
A pause, and suddenly his face, set and determined before, softened.
"Because I don't want to see you hurt," he answered throatily.
Suddenly she found it was hard to breath and the world was spinning and it was very hot and she realized how close they're sitting and how alone they were.
She seemed to have misplaced her voice. "Oh." She croaked at long last.
He reached out and gathered her wrists gently in his hands and held them there. Her pulse sped up. "I'm serious, Anne," He began, his voice low and almost pleading. "Please don't go."
She was floored, dumbstruck, too dizzy to do anything but nod. His hands were really very warm.
"Thank you." He released her and she could breathe regularly again.
"I'll stay, if you promise to do one thing for me." She said, now that thoughts flowed coherently again.
He looked wary. "Alright…"
"Just…be careful. Take care of yourself, Peter. I…I don't want to see you hurt either. Promise?" She cast her eyes downwards, too embarrassed to look him in the eye, so she doesn't catch the flush of pleasure that crept across his cheeks.
"Okay. I promise."
"Good," she said. "And if you break that promise, I will be really, really mad at you, okay?" A grin from both of them.
"Okay."
Later, after a nice long conversation sticking to safe, comfortable topics, Peter stepped out of her bedroom and into the hall. He decided it might be necessary to lie down. He was feeling slightly feverish. Likewise, teh book lay forgotten on her bed as she tried to return her breathing to a regular, steady pace.
A/N: FLUFFY! YAY! UPDATE! YAY!
P.S. I raised the rating to T because of language last chapter. Sorry if that offended anyone. I swear she won't drop as many bad words from now onwards. Maybe one more chapter about like that. But that comes later anyway. I thought it fit a Drunk!Anne, and I'm sticking to that choice.
P.P.S. I swear I will be faster in updating. And thanks to Jillie for the grammar/quotation correction and to Katy for just being all around amazing :).
P.P.P.S. Notice how this chapter is ESPECIALLY long to make up for the wait?
So, that means...please review? I won't update until there's five, no matter how controversial the decision may be.