AN: It was the oddest thing, I had a little extra time this morning and I thought, maybe I could just work on the next chapter of "Trainwrecks" for a little while, and then, pow! Next thing I know, it's six or seven pages later, and the chapter's all done and I'm sitting there going, "Did I just write all that?". LOL. Anyway, I hope it's good, otherwise the proceeding story of how I wrote this chapter is kinda pointless, isn't it? LOL again.

Oh, on another note, I don't mean to whine, but if any of you reading this happen to be even a little familiar with "the little white horse" fandom; do you think you could read/review my one-shot, "Moonlight Scars"? I posted it two days ago and not one review so far. Sigh.

England: September 24th, 1949

11:27 AM

Running towards something, as opposed to away from something, is all very well and good. It is, in fact, a very exhilarating feeling; but when all is said and done, the thrill of it wears off, leaving a person breathless. This is especially true if, like Peter, the person running doesn't know exactly what they're running towards; where their feet mean to take them.

Now, as he felt his pace slowing down to a jog again, his thoughts became clearer and he realized just what had happened. He had been very nearly kicked out of the university; no, it wasn't official, it wasn't like being expelled or anything like that, and, yes, it was only that one class, the other professors probably didn't give a rat's tush as to whether or not his heart was in the class as long as his tuition check cleared. Still, it was a stunning blow. Peter wondered why it didn't bother him as much as it ought to.

Maybe it's just because if I really wanted to fight it, I could, I just don't feel like it right now, Peter thought-his breath felt heavy and he started to slow down from a jog back to a fast walk.

Peter was usually a very fast, and far-reaching, runner, but even he couldn't keep at it for ever though there were times when he almost wished he could. When he ran, he didn't have to think about his siblings, or about Warren, or about Aquamarine, or about lessons, it was just a blank rush of wind roaring in his ears. Roaring, but not like a Lion's roar, nothing quite so unsettling. Perhaps he needed to come up with a better word to describe it; to describe the feeling and the sound, each invoked and enhanced by the other.

At any rate, he was a long way off from the university property now; having rushed by all the familiar places without realizing it. He had even traveled down several streets filled with people, cars, and shops without taking any of it in. If asked a single question about the streets he'd just gone through, Peter would have been at a lost as they had barely even registered as giant blurs in his mind.

The street he found himself on by the time he was going slow enough to take any note of his surroundings was a street he was sure he hadn't been on since he was a child. It wasn't horribly run down, the one or two houses that stood tall at the corners where the sidewalks ended and broke off before extending out onto another road entirely, were well kept-up, but some parts of the pavement looked like they could stand a little repair all the same. Other than those houses, there were only business places: a restaurant, a barber shop, and a funny little building lined with pale yellow stucco which Peter thought looked strangely familiar.

It took a minute for it to come back to him, but then he remembered what sort of place it was. Almost like a little mini-hospital where a bunch of midwives took care of women who had trouble before, during, or after labor. At first, Peter assumed it must have been a place he knew about simply because of his medical studies but then that didn't seem quite right so he stood there a little longer, biting the tip of his tongue in deep concentration.

Of course! He realized-almost laughing from the fact that it hadn't clicked in his mind sooner, mum was here for a few weeks after giving birth to Lucy.

Much to his surprise, he found that although much of his memory of the place was rather hazy (mostly just very dim recollections of playing in the corner with Susan while a bunch of nervous-looking nurses fluttered in and out of the room to check on them every twenty minutes or so-one of them carrying a yowling, barely-more-than-an-infant Edmund because Mr. Pevensie's arms had grown tired and he wanted a little time alone by his wife's bedside) he did remember some of the people there after all. The head lady who ran it-Mrs. Belle, he was pretty sure her name was-her face was one of the ones that stuck in his mind. A kindly-looking woman with a deep, yet not completely unpleasant, frown etched between her two sandy-coloured brows. She had been somewhat over-weight and had a bad habit of rocking back and forth even when she wasn't standing still, making her waddle more than she walked, in general.

I liked her, Peter remembered-feeling a little guilty that not once growing up had it ever occurred to him to try and write to the lady who seemed to have been a far better aunt figure in his early life than his real aunt (Aunt Alberta) ever was, I remember now: she used to slip sweets and goodies and things into my hands when I walked by and then would whistle all innocently, acting like she had no idea where I'd gotten the candy from.

He wondered if she still remembered him (or maybe his mother) and decided to go in and find out-that is, if she was even still working there.

The door knocker, Peter noticed with a light chuckle, was the very same one that had been there when he was little, a weather-beaten, iron-carved image of some large jungle cat's head. When he had last been there, he had been too small to get a good look at knocker unless he bothered to stand on the tips of his toes and stretched, and he couldn't remember if he had ever actually tried it. It was probably a tiger or a panther or something of the like or a...a lion...

A Lion! Peter could practically hear a roaring he still refused to admit was unimagined. Squinting at the knocker as if he couldn't remember what to do with it, he thought, just for a split-second, that he saw the gray-black stone grow tawny and the eyes light up a bright golden colour.

Groaning, he shut his own eyes as tightly as they would close and rested in the darkness until he 'regained his senses'. When his eyes opened again, it was just an ordinary door knocker; it needn't have necessarily even been a lion, it could have been any sort of cat. Just a cat, a harmless, unknown, run of the mill cat.

Ignoring the knocker all together (strangely wary of the 'cat' now), his hand reached for the wood of the door to the side of it and rapped twice in a polite, almost apologetic, manner.

The door swung open and a rather pitiful-looking girl of about thirteen wearing a brown dress and a blue smock stood there. She looked terribly flustered and Peter felt as if his very presence qualified as bullying her.

The timid wisp of a thing seemed unable to give him direct eye-contact, but she managed to stammer, "C-c-can I help you?"

"Yes," said Peter, wondering if he should try to meet her eyes or if that would just make the girl more uncomfortable as opposed to simply pretending not to notice her awkwardness. "is Mrs. Belle there?"

She breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief and actually looked up now. "Are you a friend of Mrs. Belle? Here I was thinking you were a lawyer or something...or someone about some official business. "

"Why?" Peter asked in spite of himself.

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "I thought maybe they were going to shut us down because the hospital opened up a new wing last week."

"I see." he tried to sound supportive, but came up a bit short.

The girl didn't mind. "I haven't got anywhere else to go if we close for good...but, Mrs. Belle says we wont and that I'm worrying for nothing..." she explained, holding the door open a little wider to let him in.

As soon as he saw the front antechamber, Peter realized it had hardly changed at all, give or take a little fading of the sunny-coloured walls and a few deeply impressed dings in some parts of the trimmings.

"Wait here." said the girl, giving him a friendly nod. "I'll go see if Mrs. Belle is available."

Peter nodded back and took a seat on the little sofa which he assumed was the same one from all those years ago with new fabric sewn on top to try and hide its actual age. It was a lumpy seat and by the time he was finally able to get comfortable enough so that he wasn't constantly squirming all over it, the girl had returned, bringing a person he could only assume was Mrs. Belle with her.

She didn't look quite how he remembered her, though much of her face appeared to be the same. New wrinkles had formed, not on smooth skin but on other wrinkles and although she'd had a good deal of gray in her hair back when he was a young boy, there was far more of it now.

Still, Peter was fairly certain it was the same person and not someone else with a similar last name. "Hullo."

The woman forced a kind smile and for the first time since she arrived in the room, he realized now tired she looked. "Um, hello there, I was told you wanted to speak to me?"

Peter waited a moment to see if she would recognize him, but when nothing happened, he stood up and said, "I was one of the children you helped take care of in the nursery when my Mum was here a good many years back....um..." he was starting to feel awkward, even a little stupid. "...do you remember me?"

The woman's smiled brightened just a little, but her head still shook no. "I'm sorry, dear, I wish I could....it's just we get so many children-and their parents-in and out of this place...I'm sure you were a lovely child."

Before turning to leave, Peter added, "I'm Peter, Peter Pevensie."

Mrs. Belle's whole face lit up like a candle and she let out what he assumed would have been a squeal of delighted surprise if she was a few years younger. "Peter? Oh, good lord, of course I remember you now!"

A little taken back he said, "Really?"

"This is Peter Pevensie?" laughed the girl who'd opened the door for him. "Oh, gosh, that story the older workers tell about you is the cutest thing I've ever heard!"

Was there some highly embarrassing story going around with a bunch of people he didn't even know? He wondered, waiting and listening to find out more.

"You've gotten so big!" gasped Mrs. Belle, pulling him into a tight hug. "All grown up now."

"Why do you remember me?" Peter murmured, unable to comprehend what was happening.

"How could I forget?" laughed Mrs. Belle, patting his shoulder affectionately.

"Forget what?"

"Oh, don't you remember?" the girl blurted out in a rather shocked voice.

"Mary, he was quite young, it's not unlikely he'd forget by now." Mrs. Belle explained understandingly.

"Forget what?" Peter asked with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, can I tell the story this time?" begged Mary.

Mrs. Belle shook her head. "Not this time, dear, you're needed to fold up some towels for the lady who checked in yesterday, two twins premature, fancy that!"

The girl nodded obediently and left Mrs. Belle to tell Peter the story on her own.

"Well," she started. "I'm sure you know that your mother had four babies, you and your three siblings."

Peter wondered if she knew what had happened to them recently and decided that she probably didn't. "Um, yeah..."

"Well, anyhow, when you were born, she had a hard time with you and that was when she first came here."

Peter blinked at her, he hadn't known that, having assumed he was only there after Lucy was born.

"Thankfully she was a very strong woman and got herself together and was soon home with you, who also pulled through nicely." Mrs. Belle went on. "The next two births-the middle children-came along fine, no problems, no need to check her in here."

Peter nodded to assure her he was listening and wanted to hear the rest.

"When your youngest sister was born though, she had her toughest delivery yet..." even though it had been so many years, Mrs. Belle's eyes still grew moist. "...we thought she was going to die, Peter, and she was such a dear, sweet woman...the baby was strong though..."

Thinking back, Peter realized he hadn't known his mother was close to death, no one told him anything about it, not wanting to upset him. Strangely enough, another memory from that time came back, of Aunt Alberta squawking some nonsense that was supposed to comfort him and make him stop asking so many questions about his mum.

Mrs. Belle's lips curled up and her eyes grew less watery as she remembered her favorite part of the story, the main point of it. "We nurses were all talking about what might happen to the baby, Lucy, I think was her name....is that right?"

Thinking about Lucy made his stomach ache so he didn't say anything; rather, he just cleared his throat in a 'go on' sort of way.

"One of us said, 'who's going to take care of the baby now? Surely the father is going to have his hands full with the other three...' and we all shook our heads, probably assuming the poor little thing was going to be up for foster care as likely as not. Thing was, we didn't know you had wandered away from the play area and was standing right behind us sipping a glass of milk one of the staff members had left out on their desk."

"What happened?" Peter asked, curious.

A twinkle came into Mrs. Belle's eyes and she told the final part of the story. "You came up right behind us, all brave and firm and stuff, and said, very loudly, 'I'll take care of her.' and we all stood there just gaping at you because you had the most determined little look on your face."

Peter laughed, "I said that?"

"Yes, you did." she chuckled good-naturedly. "The funny thing was that you had only seen your new little sister one time before that." her eyes flickered playfully. "We'd practically had to pry you away from her crib three hours later."

Suddenly it occurred to him that the picture in the wooden box of him holding Lucy might have actually been taken while they were still here in this mini-hospital, though he didn't know that for sure.

England (Peter and Warren's apartment): September 24th, 1949

11:30 AM

Rubbing her temples, Aquamarine yawned heavily. For the first time in a while, she was free of Azure during the daylight hours because Peter wasn't there and he didn't feel the need to chaperon. She wasn't sure what the mentally challenged merman was doing, nor did she care.

More than anything, she realized, she wanted a nap-a nice long one. The thing was though, that she didn't have a bed of her own here, she'd always slept in the bathtub at night because of her tail. It wasn't that she would have necessarily minded sleeping there during the day, she simply didn't feel like resting against a cold marble surface at the moment; her back was aching a little from the tub not being large enough to fit all of her without hunching up.

Because he wasn't there, Aquamarine thought it might be alright to go into Peter's room and sleep in his bed for a few hours, promising herself she would vacate it before he came back from the university-whenever that was.

Crawling under the covers, Aquamarine sighed and fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillows, finding herself plunged into a very peculiar-and surprisingly vivid-dream.

She was swimming during an evening, twilight hour, in the most beautiful sea she'd ever seen or imagined in her whole life and the shore-line sparkled with delightfully golden sand. Not far in, more up than anything else, there was a splendid white-stone castle with little candles lit in the windows twinkling like dozens of cheery, yellow fairies on nearly each sill. Though it was nearly sunset-well passed the time Aquamarine could have had legs in real life-she found herself able to dry off and walk up to the castle.

Inside, there was a feast the likes of which had never been seen before. Rejoicing and happiness abounded and there was a strange goat-legged man playing a funny looking flute, and a tree-maiden playing a harp.

When Aquamarine managed to stop gaping like a stunned cod-fish, she turned to one of the guards and asked him what all the excitement was about.

"Don't you know?" the guard laughed merrily. "The lost high king has returned and he's brought a bride with him! So of course, everyone had to give themselves up for sheer joy and have this marvelous feast."

"I see," said Aquamarine, though she still felt strangely confused.

"Wont you go on in and rejoice with the others?"

"Okay." Aquamarine shrugged her shoulders and walked into the ballroom where everyone was dancing and singing; she could have sworn she saw the same Lucy-girl she'd met on the train the day of the crash dancing amongst the rest of them and even a glimpse of another girl she thought looked rather like Hailey, if that was possible.

There on the dais, was the high king. The mermaid saw at once that it was Peter and that he was far happier than she had ever seen him before. Fairly beaming, she thought to herself as her eyes turned to his bride.

The bride wore a long veil of sea-colours which hid her face at first until she looked over and lifted it up to peer around the room more clearly.

When Aquamarine saw the bride's face she nearly fainted from surprise-it wasn't a stranger's face, it was the very same face she saw every time she looked in a mirror, it was her own face.

"Why, it's me!" the mermaid gasped in disbelief, too stunned to feel disgusted.

Then she woke up and found herself back in the apartment again, breathing a sigh that, although could pass for one of relief, sounded almost mournful as well.

Shortly thereafter, she fell back asleep but it was a deep, dreamless one this time.

England (Peter and Warren's apartment): September 24h, 1949

1:45 PM

Peter arrived home, feeling lost and confused but also a little better, stronger somehow. He knew it was early and didn't really expect anyone to be home; Warren was probably out running errands and goodness knew where Azure and Aquamarine were.

As he walked into his bedroom, Peter thought he heard deep breathing and noticed Aquamarine asleep in his bed. She looked fairly peaceful except for the fact that she shivered occasionally. Noticing that she had accidentally kicked off some of the covers, he replaced them and put an extra blanket over the top for good measure.

For a fleeting second, he felt the urge to bend down and kiss her forehead or cheek before leaving, but he quickly returned to his senses, shook his head at the mad idea, and left the room.

Lifting up her head, Aquamarine found herself under the warm blankets and saw Peter's retreating back as he vanished into the hallway.

AN: Thoughts? Please leave a review!