"I Think He Likes to be Asked"
"I Think He Likes to be Asked"
Almost, if not the entire inspiration for this pseudo-Narnia fanfic comes from this Magician's Nephew quote, along with my sudden fascination with extending the religious parallels; if Aslan "is" Jesus, can he become involved with happenings on Earth? (plus, I just enjoy these kinds of stories ) And yes, there's some reminiscence of A Walk to Remember. Good story. Don't hurt me if my medical info is off—keep in mind that I am busy and my main focus is writing an engaging story. I research what I can. Tut mir Leid.
"You're busy, Father, I know," Caity said pacifyingly. "I can get to King's Cross and back on my own just fine."
Dr. Miller drummed his fingers on his desk, checking that he didn't forget anything before leaving for work. "This isn't like before; half the city wasn't in ruins. It's not your decision to make."
"Yes, I'm familiar with that part." Caity leaned forward on the desk to meet her father at eye level. "You didn't ask my opinion at all when you said we could board a student for the school. I'm seventeen, Father—I want some say in my life! You're hurrying off to an extra shift at work, and someone has to meet this student at the station—"
"Alright, alright, fine, go! Just keep yourself in mind, remember?"
Caity snorted derisively. "I haven't forgotten, as if I had a choice in that matter, either. Neither am I going to keel over in the middle of the street. It might never happen at all, so stop worrying."
Her father waved her out.
We don't even know who this person is, Caity thought grumpily in the cab. How am I supposed to feel comfortable with this? She fidgeted nervously with the scarf reigning in her long hair. In what seemed like an entirely too short a time, they had arrived in front of King's Cross station.
"Could you wait here? I'm just fetching someone off the 5:40 train," she told the driver. Then she took a deep breath, and walked inside.
People were already disembarking and leaving the platform when she arrived. How in the world would she recognize this student? There was always waiting to see who was left, but that would be rude. She continued to search for an answer to her predicament as a teenaged boy walked passed to the attendant on duty.
"Excuse me, I'm supposed to be meeting a Dr. Herbert Miller. Do you know where I might find him?"
You've got to be joking.
"Here, actually," Caity piped up shyly. "He was called in to work at the last minute, so I came instead. Caitlyn Miller, his daughter." She offered a hand to shake.
The boy was taken by surprise. He was several inches taller than Caity, with dark blonde hair and kind, clear-blue eyes. "Oh, well I guess that solves my problem. Thank you for your time, sir. Miss Miller, is it? My name's Peter Pevensie."
"Pleasure to meet you, and Caity's just fine," Caity answered politely.
Peter smiled. "Caity, then. It suits you."
"Have you got everything? The cab's just outside." They gathered Peter's things and headed back to the Miller's house.
"So," Peter ventured after a few minutes' silence. "Do you have any siblings? Or is it just you and your parents?"
"It's just my father and I. My mother died when I was five. I learned early on that time is a precious gift."
"Oh. I'm sorry for that. I'm not sure where my mum is right now, haven't heard from her in a month or so. My brother, sisters, and I were evacuated, and Dad's fighting in the war. It's all become so complicated."
When they reached the house, Dr. Miller had already returned and was preparing dinner and a pot of tea. He struck up an immediate conversation with Peter, leaving Caity to keep her preferred silence. There was something about the boy she couldn't quite place. He was polite, charming, and simply at ease with himself. It was as if he had somehow captured the experience of a seasoned adult in his eighteen years.
Peter had the weekend to settle in, after which the secondary school they both attended was reopened. Surprisingly (and yet at the same time not really surprising), Peter and Caity had several courses together. Caity wasn't sure whether to mark this as good or bad; her father gave her privacy, as did nearly everyone else. She was not accustomed to sharing large portions of her days with someone so outgoing—or focused on including her.
"We're putting together an indoor cricket team for what's left of the winter. Want to join?" Peter asked after lessons one day.
Caity looked over the top of the book she was reading and walking with. "I usually keep to academia, a much more pressing matter than fun and games. But thank you for the invitation."
"Um, okay." Peter looked a little taken aback. "Well, if you ever change your mind…"
Time and again this happened, and although Caity declined each time, Peter seemed determined to draw her out of her self-imposed isolation. Was there something he saw that she didn't? The days turned to weeks, and she found even her hard resolve beginning to crumble.
"You can't spend all your time with your nose in books. A little fun is healthy, too," Peter argued two weeks later.
"Maybe I find books to be fun, Mr. I-Can't-Live-Without-Sports," Caity retorted, clutching her bag to her chest.
"I mean active fun. Playing cricket, taking a walk…going ice skating. They've still got the ice rink set up in Kensington Gardens, and it's only fifty pence for skates. What do you say?"
Caity faced him with a glare. "Have my answers meant nothing to you? I don't have any interest in your wild little games and adventures." The truth was that her legs had been feeling increasingly stiff for some time, a fact she neglected to tell her father and had no intention of sharing with Peter. "I just want to be left in peace and quiet with my books. Why should I need anything more?"
"I think a little fun would do you good. This is probably the last cold spell we'll get," Peter urged.
"Cold is right; I'm shivering something awful. And anyway, I don't know how to skate, and I should feel silly wobbling about in front of people who do know."
Peter bit his lip. "Well, I came across a couple pairs of old skates in the hall closet, that day we were searching for a spare electric bulb. They must've been your parents'. There's an old pond in the corner of the park, nice and private. I could teach you, if you like."
His hand brushed hers by accident at the last part, and Caity felt a great shift in her mind. Something about this boy's character made her want to trust him. He was honest and well-meaning—all in all, growing into a fine man.
"I suppose we could, for a little while," she finally relented.
Peter's face broke out into a very boyish grin. He started to lead the way to the Millers' house when a final thought occurred to Caity.
"Wait! What if Father finds out?" she asked, grabbing his coat sleeve. "He doesn't approve of such activities, especially for a girl like me."
"He doesn't have to find out, then," Peter replied.
He makes it sound so simple. A sudden reckless urge filled Caity. She found she didn't care, as long as she got to investigate this new thing. "Then what are we waiting for?"