AN: Sorry it's not exactly a long concluding chapter, but writing any more felt forced. So I had to end it as is.
Peter spent all of Sunday in a quiet daze. His adventures in Narnia, even after accepting fully that they were over, were not something which could be instantly shaken off without a day almost of silent mourning following this acceptance.
For the first time, he thought he truly understood, perhaps a little bit, how Edmund and Lucy felt when they were separated; why it was so readily comparable to being an amputee. Narnia's loss did not hurt him so much as being without Susan did; he was connected to her, despite the fact that she was in one world-one completely different universe-and he was in another. It was rather like a bruise. A dark, defining, never actually healing bruise. He could function around it, but it was always there, like a soldier's wound that caught on something and ached if he wasn't careful.
And, honestly, Peter wouldn't have had it any other way.
That 'bruise' meant it had all been real, that he would love Susan for ever, no matter what. The pain mattered hardly at all to him. In fact, he wondered if it mightn't come to a point where, one day, he would be so used to it, so accustomed to missing Susan, that it wouldn't be like real pain at all.
Monday came round and, for once, Peter felt almost ready for school. One couldn't be frightened of school after having been on a real battlefield! Being afraid of Taylor and his idiot friends after facing down Rabadash and his army of Calormenes would be like being afraid of a smallish pit bull after defeating a gigantic grizzly bear.
Going to breakfast, taking his seat at the oval table, actually eating his oatmeal with noteworthy vim (great adventures followed by mourning could produce a surprising appetite in a boy of only thirteen), he jumped a little when he heard the scrape of another chair being pulled back.
Helen was there, but she wasn't wearing her nursing clothes or carrying a clipboard, nor did she seem to be in any particular hurry.
"Morning, Mum," he said, making a somewhat vain effort to swallow quickly so he wasn't speaking to her with his mouth full.
"You might actually finish your breakfast this morning," Helen noted, looking pleased.
Peter shrugged. "It tastes good today." He gestured at what she was wearing. "No work today?"
"No, Love, I've got the day off."
He couldn't help smiling. "So... You mean to say, you'll still be here when I get home today?"
"Yes, I suppose such."
"Bye, Mum." He stood up and kissed her on the cheek, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "See you after school."
Mashka wasn't on the bus (her father must have driven her to school that day), and Peter was a little ashamed to admit he barely noticed her absence at first; but in his defense, by his perception, he hadn't seen her on a daily basis for roughly seven years, so perhaps it wasn't too awful of him, really. He did remember her eventually and of course missed her then, so that is something.
Taylor Ehatwitch seemed much smaller than he remembered him being. And a whole lot more utterly pathetic, too. He'd used a homemade sling-shot to aim a pebble at Peter's head as he got on the bus, and Peter had barely flinched, drawing himself backwards a couple inches to avoid it; his reflexes were quicker now, just as his confidence was stronger. Even the bus driver seemed to notice there was something different about him and didn't flash him his usual scowl of unfriendly disdain.
At school, Peter was putting his books in his locker, ignoring the fact that Trevor was fake-coughing insults at him.
Taking out the only books he'd need for first period, he turned suddenly and looked very hard at him. "Trevor, is there something the matter with your throat?"
"You're stupid," Trevor blurted. "And you talk dumb."
"Thank you very much for that insight, I can see you obviously put a lot of thought into that well-grounded insult. You sure gave me a good what-for," said Peter, in a voice that sounded both sardonic and oddly diplomatic at the same time, one eyebrow slightly arched as if in vague amusement, shutting his locker and walking away, whistling to himself.
He thought, for a split-second, he saw Mashka talking to a boy with glasses who looked a bit like Asher, Trumpkin's steward, and hastily fast-walked towards them to see for himself.
Unfortunately, when he reached them, the boy was gone, and he wondered if it had only been his imagination.
"Mashka!"
She turned and grinned at him. "Hello, Petya! How was your weekend?"
He laughed. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Mashka."
"That exciting, eh?" She elbowed him lightly.
"Words can't possibly describe it," he said. Then, "Hey, uh, if you don't mind my asking, who was that you were just talking to?"
She blushed. "I don't know, actually. He was very nice to me, though. I liked him. New student, I think. Has an accent like yours. Maybe Taylor will stop bothering you all the time now."
"Taylor doesn't bother me." Peter shrugged, rolling his eyes. "I've met mosquitoes whose bites worry me more than Taylor's bullying."
"There is something different about you," Mashka mused, blinking at him. "It's like you're older."
"I feel older," he told her, sighing. "In a good way."
"I am glad. You are very cheerful today; it's nice. Do you know, that boy I was speaking to, he is not the only one with an accent like yours. There's a new girl, too. She is a seventh grader, I think."
Peter felt his heart skip a beat. He wanted to believe...possibly...but he wouldn't-couldn't bear to-truly let himself. Entanglement, if it was what he hoped, was it responsible for this? "You don't say."
"Here she is now." Mashka pointed to a girl whose locker, ironically, turned out to be right next to Peter's, which he'd just left a minute ago.
Trevor was still there, joined by Taylor and Tommy, but Peter wasn't looking at them; he was captivated by the girl. She was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand; her hair was long and dark, her eyes blue, and even the mannerisms she displayed doing such a simple thing as opening her locker were identifiable. She was younger than the last time he had seen her, looking very much as she had when they'd first met, save for the fact that she wasn't dressed like Narnian royalty, but that didn't matter.
"Susan," Peter breathed, knowing her at once.
"Oh," realized Mashka. "So you already know her?"
"Yes," he said, when he'd finally caught his breath again. "I know her really well."
"How nice." She was glad he was going to have another friend on his side at Pulverulentus Siccus.
"You talk funny," Tommy was saying to Susan.
Peter, feeling very protective, clenched his fists and went back over to them.
"Shut up, you moron!" Taylor slapped his friend upside the head. "She's hot."
"Excuse me," Peter said, tapping Susan on the shoulder as soon as he was near enough. "Are they bothering you?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
It felt so good to hear her voice; Peter felt his breath catch again in his throat as she turned round. In a moment, she'd be facing him and surely recognize him. He had so many questions for her, about how she'd gotten from her world to his, how much time had gone by in Narnia when it'd only been a day for him, how Edmund and Lucy were getting on, and so forth. But first, he had to deal with Taylor. He didn't care a fig if the bully wanted to try and pick on him (it was almost amusing now that everything was different), but Susan was another story entirely. If Taylor really persisted in making her uncomfortable, he was more than willing to put him in his place, and fast.
But when Susan looked straight at him, Peter was stunned to see that there wasn't even the vaguest hint of recognition in her eyes.
Didn't she know him as he knew her? Why wasn't she happier to see him?
All the same, there was the matter at hand to be dealt with. "Taylor, you and your little gang of hoodlums leave her alone."
"Oh yeah?" Taylor pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. "Make me."
"I could," Peter snapped, "but you're not worth the detention."
"You're dead meat, Pevensie." They tried to pick him up and shove him into Susan's locker, but he was too fast for them; in under two minutes they were panting by the water fountain across the hallway, Susan's empty locker was closed, and Peter was leaning against the wall, yawning teasingly, barely even having broken a sweat fighting them off. Every single blow they'd aimed at Peter had never even come close to reaching him.
He twisted his wrist, meaning to look at his watch, but it wasn't there. He'd forgotten, for a moment, that he had left his digital watch behind at the end of his adventures.
Thinking he wanted the time, Susan looked at the watch on her own wrist and informed him that it was, in fact, three minutes till first period.
Peter recognized it immediately as the one he'd given her back in Narnia, which made him wonder all the more how she could possibly not know him.
"Anyone wanna explain how this kid became Spiderman over the weekend?" hissed Taylor to his friends as they quickly vacated the hallway together, once they had come out of their shock.
"Bye, Taylor!" Peter called after him.
"Thanks," said Susan softly, gazing at Peter.
"Su," he said, "do you have any idea who I am?"
"How can I?" she replied. "We've only just met."
"I see." Except, he didn't; not really. Or, rather, he saw plain as day what was happening, that she was here, with him, and didn't have the foggiest idea that they were friends-much less, that they were in love with each other-but he didn't understand why it was that way.
The disappointment on his face must have been pretty overt, because Susan quickly added, "If it makes you feel any better, I can't remember much of anyone."
"What?" Peter crinkled his forehead.
"I was in a trainwreck," she told him, a bit shyly, tucking a strand of her dark hair behind one ear. "Earlier this year, in England. I couldn't remember anything, only waking up in a hospital bed, and I guess my parents thought..." Her voice trailed off. "I suppose they meant well. They thought it would be best if I started anew someplace, so the strain wouldn't be so great."
Something inside of Peter clicked. "Wait, parents?"
"Yes..."
"Both of them? Both of your parents are alive?"
Now it was her turn to crinkle her forehead. "Yes, of course they are. Why do you ask?"
Peter suddenly remembered something Uncle Kirke had told him about other worlds. Some universes were very close, even having the same people in both, only with different lives because of different choices and circumstances. He wasn't sure why Susan was in his, if she had always been here, unbeknownst to him, or if it was their Entanglement which had, by some strange means, caused the worlds to collapse over each other so that she unwittingly had become part of this world, this timeline, same as if she'd belonged for ever. But that was all right. What mattered was that she was there to begin with, and if they could fall in love once, it could surely happen again. And goodness knew their meeting in this world was much more friendly than their initial meeting in Narnia; Peter was hard-pressed to imagined this Susan almost accidentally killing him from exposure by forcing him to travel on a cold day. This Susan hadn't been raised as a queen.
The only sad part was that, if her mother was still alive, it meant there was no Edmund or Lucy in this world. Then again, perhaps that was for the best. People in this world wouldn't have understood the way the twins were with each other; they'd be sent to a psychiatrist for not speaking proper English, which could be detrimental to their development; Susan's separating them when they were small had done damage enough, and it was nothing to what people in his world might inflict upon them 'for their own good'. They were safer existing sorely in Narnia's world, universe, and timeline.
"I'm Peter." He stuck out his hand. "Peter Pevensie."
"Susan." She took his hand and shook it, feeling a strange blush rising to her cheeks upon contact. He had such a firm yet gentle grip for a thirteen-year-old boy. She didn't know him, but even so she could feel there was something between them, like they were old friends-if not anything more-who had met before in some past life.
But of course that was all stuff and nonsense; she didn't believe in that sort of thing.
"After school," Peter asked, a mite bashfully, "would you like to come over my house? I mean, well, it's not my house, actually, it's my great, great uncle's... But my Mum's going to be there, she has the day off for what feels like the first time since we got to this country, and... If you wanted to come and maybe meet her, and we could go over some homework together, if you wanted."
Susan nodded. "I would like that."
"Can I carry your books for you?"
"I don't think we have the same classes."
"I can be a little late," he said recklessly.
"Don't be silly," she laughed, shaking her head. "I can carry my own books. I'll see you after school."
"Wait."
She turned. "Yes?"
"It's just..." He looked at his feet and then back up at her. "It's just really nice meeting you, Susan."
"You, too, Peter." She let out a little sigh of contentment, beaming as she walked to class.
And so, my great, great nephew discovered that while being a hero in another world was wonderful in its place, sometimes the most seemingly ordinary exchanges are the greatest adventures of all.
-The End-