As someone commented, yes, as explained in my note in chapter one, I've aged them all up a bit. With reasonably logical thoughts behind it, I hope, but if it bothers anyone, just consider this AU, then. : )

Here, you all may think I'm being harsh on Susan, but honestly—I'm going by clues given in the books. I remember Lewis at one point wrote in VODT that Susan "was no good at school work" and "otherwise she was very mature for her age," both of which aspects have good and bad points.

And the bits that we get about her in the Golden Age are… well, not much: she's beautiful, she's gentle, she nearly got Narnia embroiled in a tri-country war (albeit due to picking a bad boyfriend, which could happen to anyone easily dazzled by a smooth talker, I guess). And then in the Last Battle we learn she refuses to acknowledge anything not having to do with being popular and modern, to everyone's disappointment (though I feel sure she came back eventually... I hope so anyway).

*A note, the practice of sending a younger sib with an elder to a party or dance or date or whatever was very common practice in middle class "well brought up" families in the US from the 1910s through the early 1950s (and probably earlier). There are many many memoirs that make casual mention of this practice—indicating it was not an unusual thing. I have no idea if the same practice was used in Britain, but for dramatic purposes here, I'm saying (in this AU at least) it did : )

Later Note: So, this ended up being a good deal darker than I expected it to. I don't dislike how it turned out, but I was surprised at how it did. Anyway I'm just declaring this a near-AU and going forward. As always, let me know what you think!


Lucy waited on the platform, impatiently craning her neck, searching the crowd for her brothers. They were all on their way back home from school, and this was the transfer station at which they all met before catching the last train home. The wonderfully long summer break stretched ahead of them.

And what a summer it would be! Father had been hired to lecture in America for the next several months, through almost all of summer and extending even in to autumn.

Officially, the Pevensie parents were leaving both Peter and Susan in charge of the house while they were gone, although since Peter was due to leave for intensive tutoring with Professor Kirke within a month, really it meant Susan would be in charge.

Mr and Mrs Pevensie had decided, after much deliberation, that Mrs Pevensie should finally have a long holiday and go with Joseph on his trip. They knew that Susan was very mature, and very sensible, and Mr Pevensie had finally faced up to the fact that at least one of his children was just not suited to going to university, so expecting Susan to work on her lessons over the summer was rather a vain hope.

(Indeed, Mr Pevensie was hard-pressed to say just what Susan would be suited for, when she finished school. Perhaps she could be a shop girl—it was what Margaret had done when she finished school, herself. Margaret pointed out, rather wryly, that Susan would likely catch the eye of some young man or other, and be married within a few years. This rather discombobulated Joseph, and he had for a time some significant difficulty in reconciling the idea of Susan being of an age to work in a shop and of her being of an age to be married. Somehow, he'd never considered that a girl who was of an age to work was of an age to marry.)

But until Peter left, it would be just the four of them together, just like the old times in Narnia. And even when Peter was gone, it would still be very like when they reigned, since there had been numerous times when one or another of them was gone from Cair Paravel for one reason or another.

Only, Lucy had reason to worry about how things might go with Susan in charge, and no Peter to check her. She must speak to her brothers about it. Perhaps they could reassure her—or at least, advise her. She had seen very little of her sister at school this term, but what she'd seen made her uncomfortable.

And there had been that humiliating experience with Susan and her newest best friend, Diane—

She felt heat rush up her face, and pushed the memory aside.

Instead, she raised herself on tiptoe to give herself a slightly better view, but no luck—she saw no Pevensies other than Susan, who was scowling.

"Stop that," her sister hissed, jerking on Lucy's sleeve so she stumbled back on to flat feet. "For goodness' sake, Lucy, you're fourteen, not four. Why can't you behave normally for once?"

"Being normal is boring," Lucy replied lightly, smiling. "Why, in Nar—"

"Don't." Susan's tone was both frosty and superior. "Really. It's bad enough you were blabbing about those silly stories in front of my friends, but to do it on a crowded platform, really. People will think you've lost your wits."

"I didn't realize Diane was there!" Lucy protested. "And they're not silly stories, and you know it. We were just there before this school term started; why, we came back to this very station. Why wouldn't you want to remember your last trip to—"

"Take a hint, Lucy," Susan snapped. "My last time talking about Narnia was last autumn. I'm done. Don't you understand? I'm far too old to be talking about little-girl stories about being a princess and pretending to live in a magical land and all that rot. I've got more important things, things in the real world, to think about."

"Like what?" Lucy asked, stung.

Susan frowned at her. "Making my younger sister look and act her age, for one. Honestly. You'd be pretty if you just did something with your hair, instead of keeping it in little kid braids all the time."

Lucy felt suddenly awkward, and tugged one of her braids, eyeing Susan warily. "You—you don't think I look pretty?" It wasn't something she usually worried about, but hearing this opinion from her sister hurt.

"Well," Susan's face softened, and she reached out to gently move Lucy's hand off of the end of her braid. "It's not that you don't look cute, I guess, but it's little-girl cute. You look like you're ten. Then again," she said, as though to herself, "you act like you're ten, so what does it really matter?"

"…Oh," Lucy said, and then really couldn't find anything else to say.

So she settled down, still, beside Susan, shoulders slumped, keeping half an eye out for her brothers. Maybe she didn't have anything to discuss with them at all. Maybe Susan was just growing up faster than Lucy was prepared for, and it wasn't anything to worry about.

But if what Susan was becoming was what Lucy had to look forward to, she'd stay acting ten, thanks.

Eventually Peter and Edmund's train arrived, and there was a round of hugs and a hurried count of bags before the next train, the one taking them home, arrived.

Peter was largely engrossed in some book he was studying, but Edmund gave Lucy a concerned look. "Lu, you feeling all right? You're quiet." He said.

"I'm worried about Susan, Ed," she answered quietly, glancing over at Susan, who was sitting primly on a bench, back straight, hands in her lap, looking smooth and collected and not very much like a girl coming home from school. "She's been… well, different this term."

"Different how?"

"She's got a whole new set of friends from the form that just graduated," Lucy replied. "She won't even talk to her old friends, I don't think. She says she's outgrown them," and her nose wrinkled. "How can you outgrow a friend?"

"Well, it's no crime to make new friends," Edmund said. "Are they bad sorts of girls?"

"Well, no. I don't think. I don't really know any of them."

"All right. Anything else?"

"She hardly speaks to me in school now," Lucy said, looking at the pavement.

"What? Why?"

"I guess I embarrassed her," Lucy admitted. "It was an accident. I went to her room, I thought her roommate was gone, and wanted to ask her about one of those defensive moves they trained us in when we were in Narnia. Ed, she—she—laughed at me. Said I was so adorable, thinking up all these stories about a magical land, and wars and fighting and all. But I could tell she was annoyed at me. And then I heard someone else laughing. It was her friend Diane, sitting in the corner. She told Susan she pitied her, for having such a silly sister who still liked fairy stories." Her cheeks went red as she remembered the condescending voice again. "Then she asked Susan if she were going to egg me on, and Susan said, 'Certainly not, I'm far too sophisticated for that nonsense. And Lucy should know better at her age.' I went back to my room, and…" she shrugged helplessly. "She's hardly spoken to me since then."

Edmund's brow furrowed. "When was this?"

"Early February."

His eyebrows rose. "She hasn't spoken to you in three months?"

"No, it's not that she's not speaking to me," Lucy clarified. "We'll say hello, and she'll check on me at supper sometimes, but we don't talk about things like we used to. And don't bring up Narnia, it puts her in a fearful mood."

"Fearful mood," Edmund snorted. "She's a queen of Narnia, crowned by Aslan himself! Where does she come off trying to pretend it doesn't exist? I should go over and—"

"No, don't!" Lucy stepped in front of him. "If you cause a scene she'll never forgive you."

He rolled his eyes and subsided, instead pulling her toward him and giving her a quick hug. "If you ask me, she's the one acting silly. Forget her comments, she was just trying to impress her friend, I bet. We'll work on her over the summer hols, how's that?"

Lucy felt the first real smile she'd had in some time break over her face. "Thanks, Edmund!"

"And we'll get Peter in on this, too," Edmund said. "Get some real sense into her head."

But Edmund and Peter and Lucy quickly found they had little chance to get to Susan to talk her back into at least acknowledging Narnia was real. The reason for this was that practically as soon as her chores were done, Susan was off with one or another of her friends, reminding her parents that in just a couple of weeks, she certainly would be too busy to see any of them, so she had to get all of her visiting in now.

Mr and Mrs Pevensie didn't see the harm in this, and they were having Susan give up nearly her whole summer to look after her younger siblings, so they permitted it.

Joseph, however, drew the line at allowing her to go to parties at night. All the pleading in the world wouldn't move him on that point. "You are seventeen, Susan, and I know you think you're quite grown-up, but you really aren't. I simply cannot allow you to go somewhere at night, alone, to a party with a lot of other young people. It's just not prudent."

Susan huffed in anger, but didn't dare argue further, at the tone in his voice.

Instead of arguing, she adopted a guerilla tactic of ambushing her parents with introductions to the friends who would be at these parties; offers to telephone the parents who were letting their daughters go to these parties; offers of extra chores to be done, if they'd let her go to just one party.

Perhaps it was her persistence, or perhaps it was that the Pevensies were very occupied making all the necessary arrangements to be out of the country for nearly four months, but eventually Joseph allowed that Susan might go to one party.

"On a few conditions," he said, and her excited expression fell.

"What conditions?"

"You have to be home by ten-thirty," he said, and she shrugged her acceptance of that. She'd expected a curfew.

"It has to be close enough you can walk home safely," and she grimaced a little, but nodded. She had friends who lived within a mile or two, and could go to a party at one of their houses.

"And," Joseph added, pretty sure this last would get a reaction, "you have to take one of your brothers, or your sister, with you as a chaperon."

"What? Oh, Dad, really?" Susan complained. "Peter's all study, study, study. He's become a bore. And Ed's no fun, either. And Lucy's just a kid."

"Bore, no fun, or kid. If one of them doesn't go, you don't go."

"Oh, Dad, please—"

"No. That point is nonnegotiable."

She huffed a sigh. "Fine, Peter then. At least he's old enough to carry on an adult conversation."

But as it turned out, Peter wasn't available the night the party was scheduled. "I'm terribly sorry, Su," he answered. "I'm working with a friend on cramming for History, and we can't reschedule because he goes to the seashore the next day. I've already promised."

Edmund, too, was already obliged at Billy's, to finish a project they were working on.

Lucy it was, then, who was about as interested in going to the party as Susan was to have her tag along—which is to say, not much at all.

But Lucy did want her sister to be happy, and it seemed Susan really wanted to go to this party, so she agreed. After all, they'd be back home by ten-thirty, so at worst she'd be sitting bored for a few hours keeping an eye on her big sister.

Susan might deny it, but it was something Lucy had done several times in Narnia, after all, when they'd have some hopeful foreign price over for tea or a chat. She'd could always spend the time reminiscing and comparing Susan's Narnian beaux with her English ones.


The day of the party arrived, and for once it was Susan in the lead, eagerly charging down the road towards the house where the party was. (She was careful, however, not to muss her rolled and pinned hairdo.) When they were about halfway there, she suddenly turned on one heel and looked at Lucy.

"What? What is it?"

"Oh, you look like such a young kid," Susan groused. "Here. Hold still for a moment."

She stepped behind Lucy, and pulled the ribbon off of the end of Lucy's braids, unravelling them with her hands quickly. Then she swept the hair together in a loose tail, tied the ribbon around it in a bow, and pulled the tail to fall over her shoulders. She stepped back in front of the startled Lucy and eyed her critically. "That's a lot better. But first…" she considered. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close them." Confused, Lucy did. Then she felt Susan's fingertips tap something against her eyelids and scrub at her cheeks. She blinked her eyes, surprised, just in time to see Susan swoop in with a gleaming red lipstick toward her face.

She ducked. "Susan, no! Mother says I'm too young for make-up!"

"I'm not going to this party with a sister who looks like she's up past her bedtime," Susan replied, jabbing the lipstick at Lucy's mouth. "Now hold still so it doesn't look stupid."

Sighing, Lucy held still and Susan finished drawing the lipstick across her lips. Then she flipped open a compact and made her own lipstick darker, then turned the tiny mirror to Lucy. "There, don't you feel more grown-up?"

Lucy stared at herself in the silver square. Susan had dabbed eye makeup on her lids which somehow made her eyes look bigger, and her cheeks were as flushed as though she'd been running. Her mouth didn't look like her own at all, glistening red like a candied apple. And the long hair spilling around her shoulders made her look much older, too, by three or four years, perhaps.

Then, Susan looked a good deal older than her seventeen years, too, with those darker lips and kohl-darkened lashes fluttering.

"Well?"

"Do I have to wear this?"

"It makes you look more grown up, don't you agree?"

"Erm. Yes, more grown up."

"Aren't you excited? I'm sure no other girls in your form will have gone to a house party over the summer hols."

Well, that was true, and it would be nice to finally have one small thing to have over the other girls, who always seemed to be going out and doing things that Lucy couldn't do. Or, in a few cases, wouldn't do.

She wasn't quite sure what category this party would fall into. Perhaps a new one: something she shouldn't do.

But Susan's excitement was infectious, and she found herself a little excited about attending this party, even if all she was going to do was sit and watch the older teen-agers talk and dance.

She pushed her misgivings aside. What can it hurt? She asked herself. Susan just doesn't want to look like she has a tagalong little sister. Maybe she wants to look like she brought… a friend?

Oh, certainly everyone would know Susan'd had to bring her younger sister, but she supposed Susan didn't want everyone's attention drawn to the fact.

Which Lucy couldn't blame her for, really. She'd just do her best to remain unobtrusive and out of the way, and keep an eye on Susan. She suspected the hardest part would be getting Susan to go at ten, so they were home by the curfew.

The party was in full swing when they arrived, and Lucy's eyes widened. When Susan had begged her parents to let her go, she'd described the parties as a close-knit group of friends, getting together at each other's houses to dance to the latest tunes, play a few games, and eat snacks.

This party was starting to spill outside of the generously-sized house and into the yard, there were so many people. A record player in one part of the house was warring with a radio in another. One young man strolled by holding a beer bottle, whispering to a girl tucked under his arm. Another staggered by, obviously having had something far stronger to drink.

It reminded Lucy just a little of the feast that Silenus had attended, the last time they were in Narnia. Lucy found that without the presence of the Lion, this felt more dangerous, though, for all it was only young men and not godlings. It reminded her of one dark time in Narnia, one she didn't often think on.

Perhaps—perhaps Susan was at the wrong house? It did seem that just about every one of her friends was hosting these get togethers, after all. Perhaps she had got the number wrong. "Susan," she felt compelled to ask, "are you sure this is the right place? I thought Annabeth lived in a row house?"

For a moment, her older sister looked doubtful. "Well, the party moved to Annabeth's cousin Matthew's house. He has more room, obviously." She said appraisingly, looking around at the spacious lawn that surrounded the decent-sized house. "It seems his father, Annabelle's uncle, is a well-respected judge, so usually people don't bother them too much about noise and such," she explained. "And the judge was all too happy to let Matthew have people over. Judge Bricker says having young people around makes him feel less old, you see. It's strange, though, Annabelle says Matthew told her he has trouble getting people to come over here. I can't think why. It's a lovely house, and it's not at all hard to get to... Erm. The house number is 1047, isn't it?"

Lucy peered at the front of the house. "Yes."

Susan's shoulders went back. "We're at the right place, then! Let's go inside. I'm sure things are more in control there."

They were, after a fashion. At least, no one was staggering, but Lucy saw many people with bottles or glasses in hands, or passing around heavy decanters whose amber contents were swiftly disappearing. But there were some of Susan's friends who weren't drinking, too. There were games; she saw one group in a corner apparently playing Blindman's Bluff, although the young women playing did not seem very adept at keeping away from the tall young man who was currently It.

Two rather studious looking young men about Peter's age were engrossed in a chess match on a tiny table in the corner, ignoring the tumult around them. Lucy suspected that if Peter had been the one to come, he'd have quickly joined them.

Through an adjoining doorway, she could see the next room was entirely convulsed in dancing to some fast modern song. An older man—she could tell by the gray in his hair—stood in the doorway with his back to Lucy, watching the dancers. The judge, she supposed.

She was distracted by Susan's tug on her arm. "Come on, there's a little bedroom over here where we can lay our coats and hats." When this had been done, they came out into the hallway and surveyed the room for a moment. Susan let out a little squeal and headed toward Annabelle, hands outstretched in greeting, abandoning Lucy.

Lucy watched them greet one another excitedly. She glanced around. Of course, there was no one she knew here—

And then she saw, to her surprise, someone she did know.

Edmund's friend Billy had two older sisters and two younger brothers. As Billy was Edmund's closest friend, she'd got to know all five over the years. It seemed one of the sisters, Fran, had come to the party, and much like Lucy herself, a younger sibling had been dispatched to serve as chaperon. It was the youngest Fletcher child.

"Hello, Sam," Lucy said, and the nine-year-old's face lit up.

"Lucy! Finally, someone normal has arrived. Mother sent me to keep an eye on Frannie, and Fran insists I stay fifty feet away from her," he said. "It's been boring. Can we sit together?"

"Sure," Lucy shrugged. At least now she'd have someone to talk to, even if it was just Billy's kid brother. As she scanned the room for available seats, she asked, "How did you end up coming here? Don't you live close by?"

"Yes, our house is only five blocks from here. Mother and Dad said Fran could go, but at some point Mother heard something she doesn't much like about Matthew Bricker, so she insisted I come with Fran. She'd have sent Billy, but he and Edmund are working on that soapbox car for this weekend, and Billy insisted they needed to try to finish it tonight. The race is Sunday, you know."

"Yes, I know. That's how I ended up here, too: To keep an eye on Susan, since Edmund is busy." Lucy made a mental note to keep away from Matthew Bricker, if Billy's mother was worried about him. "Which one's Matthew?"

Sam pointed him out, and Lucy nodded to herself. She'd have to try to keep Susan away from him, too, though as it was his house, she wasn't really sure how to do that. Perhaps this was one boy Susan didn't have a crush on—he wasn't as handsome as the boys Susan usually flirted with.

Lucy glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was seven thirty, so two and a half hours to go. That wasn't too bad. Maybe she and Sam could find a checkers set somewhere.

"What exactly are you supposed to do if something happens to your sister, and you need to intervene?" Lucy asked curiously. Sam was pretty young, and small for his age besides.

"Billy says I'm to run like the devil's after me and go get him," he replied. "Home is only a couple of minutes away if I run. But then he said if it wasn't important, I'd wish the devil was after me. I'm half tempted to go running home just to see what happens." Lucy laughed.

Eventually they ended up commandeering a small loveseat, where they could keep an eye on their respective sisters reasonably well. They got a couple of dirty looks from couples looking for a place to neck, which they ignored.

Mostly in turn they were ignored by the party-goers, as well, although Lucy had one moment when a vaguely familiar young man walked past, and did a double take. "You're not Lucy, are you?" He asked her, apparently astonished.

"Why, yes, I am," she answered, surprised. "Do I know you?"

"We've met once. I'm Annabeth's brother, Charles. By Jove! When I looked over, I thought you were Susan's age before I recognized you. Did you do something with your hair?"

Lucy's hands flew to the locks curling down her shoulders. "Oh, Susan fixed my hair. Do you think it looks nice?"

His mouth flattened a little at Susan's name. "Ah. That explains it. No, it looks fine." He looked pained. "Look, do me a favor, and stay on this couch, will you? There's a—" A loud ruckus came from the next room, and he groaned. "It's very tiresome being the only eighteen-year-old who's willing to act like an adult," he muttered to himself, and headed toward the sound, which increased.

"Gee," Sam said, trying to see through the crowd. "What do you suppose is going on?"

"I don't know. Why don't you see if you can find out?" Lucy suggested. If it was anything dangerous, she would make Susan go home immediately. Sam ran off.

Lucy was momentarily left to her own devices. She checked that Susan was still where she'd last seen her, flirting with a college boy whose excessive cologne Lucy could almost smell from here. For good measure, she checked that Fran was where she and Sam had last seen her, as well: talking animatedly with another girl in the doorway to the kitchen. They were both craning their necks to see what was going on in the next room.

She settled back against the loveseat with a sigh, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when a middle-aged man plumped himself down beside her, two glasses in his hands, quite as though he owned the place.

"Hello," he said, smiling past thick glasses at her. "I'm Judge Bricker—Matthew the elder, not Junior."

Ah. He did own the place. "Hello." She smiled at him politely. "You have a lovely home, Judge Bricker."

He tilted his head, greying hair falling into his face. "Are you one of Annnabeth's friends? I don't think I've met you. Oh—here, have some punch." He offered her one of the glasses.

"Do you know Annabeth's friend Susan? I'm Susan's sister," she answered, taking the glass and sipping from it gratefully—the room was hot with so many people in it!

"Oh, Susan, yes, of course. And I see she's not the only pretty one in the family," he said, leaning toward her and smiling rather peculiarly, making her blush uncomfortably. "But why are you sitting here alone? Surely you know some of the other people here."

"No, there are a few years between Su and me," Lucy explained. "We don't really have a lot of friends in common, though Mother says that will change when we get older."

"A lot of things change when you get older," he agreed. "Friends, family, the world…" He raised one hand, and let it drop to the cushion between them, nearly on top of Lucy's hand. She pulled it back. "Though it would be nice if some people didn't. May I get you more punch?"

"Er, sure," Lucy said, surprised she'd finished the glass so fast. He took it from her and moved off, returning a moment later with another. He sat down again, handing her the drink, brushing her hand as he did so. Lucy felt ill at ease, as he was sitting rather close, and she wondered where Sam had got to. She leaned forward to see around Judge Bricker, looking for the boy.

"So, you're Susan's sister, then. You're, what? Sixteen?" he guessed, pulling her attention back to him.

His staring was getting a bit unsettling. "I'm fourteen, sir," she answered, a little nervous at his focus.

His hand tightened around his glass. "Fourteen. My. But—go on, drink your punch, I know you're thirsty. Good. But forgive me, my dear, but there's something about you… You seem much older than fourteen."

Wryly Lucy briefly considered the effect of telling him she was actually around thirty-five, having ruled in Narnia for decades, but dismissed the thought. Susan would kill her if she brought up Narnia in front of strangers. Although… she eyed Judge Bricker. Hadn't the Professor said, long ago, that others who had been to Narnia would be able to tell you'd been? You could see it in the Professor, certainly, and his friend Miss Plummer, too.

She did not see it in Judge Bricker, for certain. Which raised the question: what was he seeing in her, Lucy?

Perhaps the party and all was getting to be too much, for she became aware of a dull headache starting, and she started to feel just a little queasy. Or maybe that was just how close the judge was creeping.

Sam returned just then, excited and full of news of a fistfight breaking out. Judge Bricker exclaimed in dismay and moved toward the other room. Lucy let out a sigh of relief.

Sam eyed her closely. "Are you well?" he asked. "You look like you're not quite right."

"I'm …not feeling well," Lucy answered, uneasy. "I don't know what's come over me."

"And who was that you were talking to?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose.

"That is our host, Judge Bricker," she informed him. "Maybe he just made me nervous and upset my stomach, or something. He's a little …strange."

"I'll say," Sam said. "You're the first person he's talked to all night, I think."

She checked the clock. Quarter to ten; they'd have to leave in fifteen minutes to be home by Susan's curfew.

Lucy scanned the room again. There was Fran, but where was Susan? "Do you see Susan? I think I want to go home," she said to Sam.

He looked over the room and frowned. "No, I don't see her. Do you want me to help find her?"

"Please," Lucy said, and went to stand, only to sit abruptly as the room spun around her sickeningly. "I think I'll stay here," she corrected herself. "Just bring Susan here, please."

"All right." The boy gave her a worried look. "You'll be all right on your own?"

"So long as I don't try to walk, I suppose so," Lucy replied, huddling in on herself. She let her eyes slide closed for just a moment as Sam left on his hunt for Susan. She hoped he found her quickly; she really was feeling rather miserable.

Then there was an unpleasant shock of a damp hand closing around her upper arm. "Why, Miss Pevensie? Not feeling well?" It was Judge Bricker, looking concerned behind his thick lenses and the hair flopping in his face.

"No, I'm afraid not," she replied, trying to dredge up a smile. "Sam has gone to get Susan, and we'll go home."

"Oh, you'll want your coat and hat, then, my dear," he said. "Come with me and we'll fetch them." He put his arm around her shoulders to steady her and guided her to her feet.

It was the strangest thing. Lucy felt like she blinked and was suddenly across the room. What was wrong with her?

Judge Bricker had a glass of something fizzy that he was holding to her mouth. Reflexively she swallowed, then grimaced at the bitter taste. It wasn't bicarbonate of soda, though perhaps it was something similar, to settle her stomach? He tried to make her sip again, but she turned her head away.

"No." Her mouth felt thick. Where was Susan? For that matter, where had Sam got to?

"And here we are at the coat-room, my dear—" the judge was saying, but his voice was oddly distorted in her ears. He reached around her to work the door handle and she nearly fell into the room. She stumbled forward, hands outstretched; the room was dark.

A sudden well of misgiving flowed over her, and cleared her head a little as she registered the sound of the door closing, the lock falling to, the door cutting off the light. She had half turned toward the sound when he was on her, wrapping his arms around her, his hot hands grasping at her skirt, his mouth on her neck, her cheek, her mouth. She froze for a moment in disbelief. "Oh, yes, you little tease, coming here with that shocking bright lipstick on your mouth—" He pressed his lips against hers, and at the sour taste of the liquor on his mouth she nearly vomited, violently wrenching her face away from his, his lips dragging across her face. "—I can see it, you are definitely not anyone's good little girl, are you? You have a woman's eyes, eyes with forbidden knowledge."

"No, please stop, Judge Bricker," she pleaded, twisting away from him. "I think you're drunk, and don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, I know just what to do with a fresh flower like yourself," he said. "Fourteen. How many boys have you kissed?" His hands roved.

Aslan, help me, she prayed desperately. "None!" She shoved at him. "Let me go, or I'll scream."

He laughed at her, and shoved her away from the door. She twisted, trying not to fall, and tripped toward the bed, finding herself leaning elbow-deep in the pile of coats and hats. Next second, he wrapped an arm around her middle, pulling her body back against his, his other hand pulling her face to turn toward him.

"Stop! Let me go!" She shouted, as loudly as she could manage.

He slapped her lightly, scoffing, "It's just a kiss, my dear. You'll like it." He pushed his lips against hers again, and she twisted and shoved and screamed in outrage.

She had no idea if anyone could hear her, over the music and dancing and all, but she'd try. She kept screaming. Had the sound outside dipped?

One of Orieus' training sessions on positively down and dirty fighting popped into her head just then, and shoved at him with one arm as she scrabbled among the coats and hats with her other hand, hoping to find—yes! A steel hatpin.

Against all odds, she was lucky. It was one of the older styles, long and most importantly, sharp. Without hesitating she fisted it and jabbed it into his side. He grunted in surprise. She gritted her teeth, pulled it out, jabbed again, pulled, jabbed. He uttered a hoarse cry, let her go, and clutched at his side: good, she'd hurt him, at least a little.

She twisted and kneed him in a rude place—tried her best to, anyway—and shoved him away from her. Stumbling, she scrambled for the door, hating the way the corners of the room still spun around her.

The door rattled, and someone knocked forcefully. "Hello? Did someone yell in here?"

Just as her fingertips were nearing the lock, she was jerked back by her skirt. "Yes, help!" She shouted back. From what she could see in the dark room, Judge Bricker was on his knees, one hand pressed to his side and the other grasping her hem. She pulled herself away, not caring that her skirt tore, and lashed out with one well-aimed kick at his belly. He fell forward on his hands and knees, gasping.

Lucy prayed for strength, and stabbed the hatpin through the thin place between two of his fingers, straight through into the wooden floor. She got very lucky: the tip rammed into a crack between the floorboards, wedging itself in tightly.

He howled with pain, but didn't get up, instead trying to pull the pin out of the floor with his other hand. She lurched over to the door, grabbing at the lock fretfully. Whoever was on the other side of it was slamming against the door.

"Wait, wait, I'm getting the lock," she called, feeling along the door til she caught the protruding handle for the lock, and threw it.

Charles burst into the room. "Lucy! I heard you yell, are you—" He stopped, looked at her standing dazed in the light, looked around, swore comprehensively, and swooped Lucy right off her feet, carrying her straight out of the house. He yelled for someone named Robert to 'clean up the mess, and get all these people out of here.'

Four steps down the walk, Lucy began to shake. Charles put her down and rather awkwardly patted her shoulder. "Look, don't go to pieces on me yet, Lucy, I've got a friend who has a car, she'll come and—"

But then they were interrupted by a yell. "Lucy?"

Edmund was somehow standing on the walk then, staring at her in shock, and she fairly flew to him. He wrapped her in a tight hug, narrowly avoiding clocking her in the head with the large wrench he had gripped in one hand. "What happened? Sam said you and Susan both disappeared, and…" A somewhat bewildered looking Billy and Mr Fletcher trailed up the street behind him, led by an extremely hyper Sam.

"…so I knew I just had to get extra help, so I ran and got you and now we're here, but I still don't know where Susan is! Or Frannie."

"We'll find Susan and Fran," Charles promised.

Mr Fletcher, Sam, Fran, and Billy's father, caught up with them and eyed the teenagers flooding out of the house with misgiving as he asked Edmund and Billy, "Now, boys, what's this all ab—" He broke off as he saw Lucy leaning on her brother. "Lucy? Lucy, are you all right?"

Edmund let her peel herself out of his grasp. This was not the time to fall apart. She took a breath. "I am. Or, will be."

Mr Fletcher stepped closer. "Are you sure? Are you bleed—no, that's lipstick. No, you are! Your nose!" He dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it to her nose, which was indeed bleeding. "But—" he took a second look at her, taking in the torn skirt and mussed blouse and tangled hair. His lips tightened. "What young idiot did this to you?"

"That's what I want to know," Edmund said lowly. "I want to have a talk with him."

"With that tone in your voice, you'll not do any 'talking' to anyone while you're holding my wrench," Mr. Fletcher said dryly. "Come, give me the wrench, or there'll be murder done. Good lad."

He turned to Lucy. "Now, Lucy, we do need to know who—"

"Oh, there's no doubt who," Charles said, on more solid footing now he didn't have a potentially hysterical girl to look after. "Lucy gave him what-for. With a knitting needle, or something."

Everyone stopped and looked at her. She tossed her hair. "It was a hatpin."

Edmund actually chuckled a little, and whispered to her, "Orieus?"

"Yes."

"Aslan bless that centaur."

The boy Charles had sent to 'clean up' stepped out of the flow of people departing the house. "All right, Charles, we've got that old bas—" he glanced at Lucy, and changed tacks. "We've got him tied to a chair in the kitchen. Most of the people have left, and we've called the Pevensies to say there's been an issue with Lucy. They're coming in their car. I guess we'll let them decide if they want to call the police. It seems rather an unbelievable situation, on the face of it. I mean, someone like him—"

At the word 'police,' Edmund made as though to go into the house, but Mr. Fletcher grabbed his collar and held him. "Don't go in there half cocked, Edmund. If your parents get here and you're beating the snot out of some lad, it won't go well for you, even if you do have reason."

"Erm—" Charles began to explain, a touch awkwardly, that it wasn't a 'lad'.

"And where is Susan?" Mr Fletcher asked.

"Oh, she and Fran are sitting in the living room sobbing their eyes out," Robert replied. "They were out back sneaking a smoke with some boys, and—"

"Smoking?" Edmund and Lucy said together, shocked.

"I know, nasty habit," Charles said. "Can't think why some girls pick it up. Pipe tobacco's all right, for your granddad or father or something, but these cigarettes—"

"That's really rather beside the point, isn't it?" Edmund said, giving him a nasty look.

"Right. Right. Sorry. I don't—I really don't quite know how to handle all this. Sorry."

There was the growl of an engine, and the Pevensies' auto came to a screeching halt near the curb.

Peter was at the wheel, and he was out the door as soon as the auto had stopped moving. His parents were not too far behind. He crossed the lawn in a few long strides and wrapped Lucy tight in his arms. "God, Lucy, we'd heard you'd been hurt—I thought you'd been killed—what happened?"

"I—I—" How to say it? Lucy's face twisted in disgust, as what Judge Bricker had done to her, maybe had intended to do to her, crept over her. "Someone wanted to kiss me. I … objected." She colored as she said it, but raised her chin defiantly.

"He didn't only want to kiss you, Lucy. I saw him," Charles said grimly.

The coin dropped. Mrs Pevensie let out a low wail and headed toward her daughter, arms outstretched. Mr Pevensie looked stunned. Peter's jaw tightened, and he started to head determinedly toward the house. Mr Fletcher looked alarmed, and tried to grab him, but Lucy reached out from the circle of her mother's arms and caught Peter's arm, stopping him. "No." she said. "No. He's not going anywhere, and, well—"

"You boys both need to calm down," Mr Fletcher said, maintaining his hold on Edmund. "Look, your sister is banged up a little, sure, but it sounds like she showed this fellow what's what."

"Your sister skewered him," Robert put in, sounding quite satisfied. "We had to chip up a bit of the floor to be able to move his hand. Well done, Lucy."

"Thank you, Robert."

Mr Pevensie shook himself out of his stupor. "But who is it? Was it one of Susan's friends? Some stranger who showed up?"

"Noo-o-o," Lucy said slowly. "It's not …a boy. Perhaps you'd just better go see who it is."

They all filed into the house. Matthew Bricker, the younger one, was sitting with his head in his hands on the bottom step. He looked up as they came in. "I—I don't know what to say, Mr. Pevensie," he gasped. Tears streaked his face. "I had no idea—but I guess I should have known, when my girlfriends stopped wanting to come over…"

Mr Pevensie's brow knit, and Peter looked impatient. "What are you talking about?"

"They don't know, Matthew," Lucy said softly. "Not yet."

"Oh, God." He dropped his face back into his hands, and without looking back up at them, said, "Go into the kitchen, then. I called the police myself."

Edmund and Peter exchanged a worried look at this, and deposited Lucy and her mother (who hadn't let go of her) on chairs in the hall before heading after their father into the kitchen, where, it seemed, another of Charles' friends was standing guard.

They heard a brief scuffle, and then Mr Pevensie's voice, sounding very studiously calm, and—a little amused? "Thank you, Edmund. No, leave him be, Peter. It looks like your sister has already taught him some kind of a lesson. Goodness, that's quite a bit of blood."

"He is four times her age," came Peter's growl. "At least. But even if he weren't, he can't be allowed to get away with—"

"And he won't," Mr Pevensie promised, and ushered them back into the hall, where he looked at his daughter sharply. "Lucy. Sweetheart. Are you all right?"

She looked up, and what she saw in her father's face, something like despair, made her own face crumple at last. "Oh, Dad," she said on a sob, and then he was kneeling in front of her chair, hugging her against his shoulder, like she'd wished he could do so many times in the War years. But this was for a far more serious hurt than the banged knees she'd wished she could take to him, and she didn't think a kiss would make this better.

And she saw, in her father's face, that he knew she would never again have a childlike trust in adults again: She would not be able to assume that strange adults would care for her. She knew now that her father was far from the godlike being she'd known; he was a man like any other, and there were some things he was powerless to fix. And she wept.

After a while, she calmed down a little. She had to, or she suspected her mother at least would entirely go to pieces. And really, what had happened? He'd kissed her, yes, and grabbed her, but she'd gotten herself away. There was a lot to be proud of, in that. And look at how many people had come running to help her—people she hardly knew! There was a lot to be grateful for in that.

She looked at her family around her, loving them intensely in that moment. But—"Where's Susan?"

"Here," came a watery, miserable sounding voice. They all turned toward the doorway to the living room, where Susan hung back hesitantly. "Oh, Lucy, I'm so sorry." Her eyes were red and swollen, and she looked shrunken in. Her lipstick was entirely gone, and her eyes and her handkerchief were stained with sooty marks from the kohl she'd used to darken her lashes. Now, the smeared makeup made her look ill.

"It's all right," Lucy said. Well, it wasn't, but what else was she going to say? "You didn't know." That, she could say with a deal more solidity. Susan might have been foolish for not turning around the moment they saw how large this party was, but Lucy knew if she'd thought the party was actually dangerous, she'd have turned around and gone home.

Margaret finally let Lucy go, and stood. "Susan, come here. Are you all right?" She closed her eldest daughter in her arms.

"Oh, I'm fine," Susan said, dashing more tears from her eyes. "I just feel so miserable about—about—"

A throat cleared, and the Pevensies turned. "Sorry to interrupt," Matthew said. "The police are here."

An older man in a uniform, with greying hair, stood behind him. He looked toward Susan. "Is this the young lady who was, er—?"

"No," Mr Pevensie said tightly. He put an arm around Lucy, who stood. "This is."

A look of deep dismay came over the officer's face when he realized how young she was, and he was very gentle as he asked her about the incident. He took her a few steps away from her family, for which she was grateful.

"Do you need to know all the details?" She asked him softly, glancing toward her mother.

"Not… specifically," he replied kindly, flicking a glance at her hovering, worried parents. "We'll go through it quick as we can. Did you know Judge Bricker before?"

"No, I met him tonight."

"Did he say or do anything when he met you?"

"He gave me a glass of punch."

"Why?"

"I was sitting alone at the moment—Sam had gone to check something—and I just thought he was being a considerate host."

He gave her a shrewd look. "D'you think he might've doctored the punch a bit?"

"It's certainly possible. It was after I drank it I started to feel unwell."

"Anything else he did was odd, when he was talking with you?"

"He'd seemed oddly fixed on my age, I suppose. And he kept saying I was pretty."

"You said you felt unwell after drinking the punch. When did you realize it?"

"At first I didn't, but after about an hour, I just started to feel a bit unwell. Then when I went to get up, I lost my balance and he took me to the coat room."

"Did he force you to go there?"

"No, I don't think so. I don't remember little bits. I did want to get my coat. But then he closed the door and—" she gasped a breath "—and grabbed at me, and—"

He waved before she could continue. "You don't need to say it. So, you fought him off? And stabbed him with a hatpin? Why?"

"I wasn't just going to be quiet and sit still and let him—let him—" she said. "Well, I wasn't going to let him keep kissing me, for one thing. And if – if it had been anything more, I was going to stab him in the eye, not his hand." She said this last firmly.

"And I wouldn't blame you in the least." The officer said, surprising her. "I've got a daughter around your age, and gosh! I wish she had a tenth of the fire you've got. Now, I'm going to have a word with your brothers and father, there, and then we'll take Judge Bricker away. You and your mother and sister will probably want to be in your auto, so you don't have to run into him, all right?"

Taking that as a thinly veiled order, Lucy, Susan, and Mrs Pevensie all went and sat in the back seat of the car, Mrs Pevensie wrapping her coat around Lucy. Certainly none of them wanted to go find Lucy's coat now.

A few moments later, two policemen and the officer Lucy had spoken with came out, Judge Bricker secured amongst them. They shoved him in their vehicle none too gently, and one of them muttered loud enough they could hear it, "Filthy old bastid."

The Pevensie men came out on the porch with Matthew Bricker, who still looked dejected. Mr Fletcher, who'd sent his children home but stayed to see the Pevensies were all right, stepped up and said something to Matthew, whose wrung his hand gratefully, then disappeared into the house.

Peter slid in behind the wheel, looking slightly satisfied and his father took the other front seat. Edmund squeezed in the back, reaching over to grip Lucy's hand.

"You know, Judge Bricker slipped in the kitchen when they were leading him out," Mr Pevensie said blandly. "Three times."

"I do believe he broke one of his teeth in one of them," Peter responded smugly.

"And had the wind knocked out of him, at least," Edmund said, sounding self-satisfied. Lucy realized the hand she was holding was starting to swell. She gave Edmund a look, and he winked at her. "But I think your count is off. Remember, he 'fell' again when that older officer came in. He must've been startled."

"Dear," Margaret said to Joseph suspiciously. "You didn't do anything rash, did you?"

"Certainly not!" Joseph replied. "All the policemen will attest that they never had their eyes off of him for a second."

"They even picked him up every time he fell down," Edmund put in.

"And dusted him off." Peter said. "Very thoroughly."

"Though I'd never seen someone's clothes beaten of dust while they were still wearing them." Edmund replied, thoughtfully.


They arrived home and headed in to the house. Lucy looked at the clock when they went in, and was surprised: It was barely past eleven PM. Somehow, with all that had happened, it seemed that much more time should have passed.

She was jolted out of her thoughts when, as soon as they were all in the door, Peter grabbed Susan by the arms and hissed in her face, "What were you thinking, Susan? Do you know what he could have done to our little sister? She may have been sent to keep an eye on you, but you're her sister! You should have been looking out for her, too."

Susan burst into tears, and covered her face with her hands. Joseph gently pried Peter's hands off her arms and steered her into a seat in the living room. "Susan," he said quietly. "I want you to look at me, and answer your brother's question, forcefully though he put it. What happened? How did Lucy come to be in – in such a situation?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Susan wailed. "She spent most of the time sitting in the corner, talking to that little Fletcher boy, and every time I looked for her, she was there. She hadn't moved. So, I thought that it would be all right to step outside for just five minutes or so—"

"Why were you outside? What did you need to go outside for?" Joseph's temper started to slip.

"I—I—" Susan looked around frantically.

"Apparently, she's taken up smoking," Edmund said, crossing his arms.

"Smoking? Oh, Susan." This was from Margaret, who crossed to sit with Joseph. "So, you went outside to smoke."

"I was only gone for a minute or two! But then someone told me that the Fletcher boy was looking for me, that Lucy was sick. I ran straight back into the house, I swear! And then someone said they'd heard Judge Fletcher was taking care of Lucy, and I thought, well that's all right then." She swallowed. "But then—then—" tears started again. "Charles heard that, and he told me we had to find Lucy now, that he'd heard things... So we went looking." She shrugged.

"The next I knew, I heard Charles yelling and thumping against a door, and I heard Lucy scream, and then I heard a—a yelp, and then Charles was barreling past everyone with Lucy under his arm." She lifted her tearstained face. "I swear, I swear, I never ever thought anyone there would hurt anyone—"

"There was liquor being drunk," Joseph snapped. "I could understand some of the upper form lads passing around a beer bottle, maybe, but liquor? At your age?"

"I didn't drink any!" Susan protested.

"But the other attendees, who are your age, were. And the mere fact that some of them were drunk should have led you to turn around and come home. Where is your sense? Where is your judgment?" He huffed out a breath. "And that's not everything. Lucy, come here."

Lucy, who'd been hanging back in the doorway with Peter and Edmund, walked over. Joseph eyed her critically, going from tangled hair to dirty face to torn skirt. "Susan."

"Yes, sir?" Her voice had gone hoarse.

"This is not the state in which your sister left this house." He said. "Is it."

Miserably, Susan shook her head.

"Maybe—maybe—Lucy took down her braids at some point. But the makeup? That's all you, isn't it."

A nod.

"Entirely inappropriate for a girl her age, for one, and for two—again, where is your judgement? Did you not think about how she would look to some of those young men?"

"But they're my friends!" Susan protested. "They would never—"

"You're personal friends of everyone who was there?" Joseph asked skeptically.

"No," Susan admitted. "Not everyone."

"I had permitted you to go to a party because you assured me it would be small, and you knew everyone who was going," Joseph reminded her. "You just admitted you didn't know everyone, and that was no small, close-knit party."

Susan looked even more downtrodden and on the verge of tears again.

The sound of a throat clearing came from the doorway. Edmund stepped forward. "Sir? If I may speak?"

His father nodded tightly.

"All of what you are upset with Susan for, is true," Edmund said. "However, in the interest of being fair and just to Susan, I need to point out that it was not a young, drunk man who tried to hurt Lucy. It was a judge, someone whom I think anyone would probably just place trust in without thinking about it much. Is that fair?"

Joseph nodded, calming slightly. "I suppose so. But—"

"And there's something else," Edmund said. "You must also admit that all of the young men we have heard of, behaved decently, drink or no drink. Even Matthew called the police."

"That's true," Joseph agreed reluctantly. "So?"

"So Susan should have come home right as soon as she realized the party was either too large, or had too many people drinking liquors, or whatever reason. Right?"

"Yes."

"But she didn't. She misjudged. She made a mistake." He added, in case his father missed the point, "It wasn't deliberate. I feel certain that the moment she'd had an inkling Lucy might be endangered, she would have left, even if it did make her a laughingstock. You heard her, she knew where Lucy was nearly the whole time!"

"She did," Lucy said. "I checked on her, she checked on me. I only didn't know where Susan was for those few minutes."

"And," Peter said, coming fully into the room too, "Susan knew, too, that there were other people who knew and liked Lucy, who had a reason to keep an eye on her. Charles, and Sam, for example."

"And a good thing there was!" Joseph exploded. "If Sam hadn't run off for help, who knows what would have happened?"

"But nothing did happen, Father," Lucy said, gently catching one of his flailing arms. "I got away, and I'm safe. Susan used bad judgement, but I could have insisted we go home, too. I didn't. So we both learned a lesson, here. And, look, Su obviously feels awful." She turned to her sister, who was huddled in on herself looking inconsolable. Lucy knelt on the ground, and put an arm around Susan. "But I'm fine. And if there's anything even to forgive, I forgive her."

"R-really?" Susan blinked at her. "I can't imagine what you're feeling, what you've been through—"

"Very little." Lucy informed her stoutly. "I've come away hurt worse from—from falling off a horse." She adjusted what she was going to say, which was 'arms practice', at the sudden remembrance that her parents would not be able to take that idea calmly. Especially not right now.

"So what I propose," she said, "is that we all go to bed, and get some rest, since no one is in a good place to make good decisions right now. And we can talk about it all tomorrow."

"That's a very good suggestion," Margaret said. "I think we should take it."

Joseph reluctantly agreed, and they all dispersed.


Peter caught Lucy before she went into her and Susan's room, and whisked her into the boys' room. "Really, Lucy, are you all right?" His eyes searched hers, and Edmund, sitting across the room, sat upright.

"I'm fine," she said.

His face darkened. "That's what you said when something similar happened in Narnia, and it wasn't really true. Is it true now?"

"I knew you would be remembering that," she sighed. "It is true," she assured him. "I'm fine. Or, I will be. It's—different, here. For one, you hear about such things happening here, you... well you don't expect it, exactly, but it's not unheard of. It's very, very rare in Narnia or Archenland or those places. For another, I got away. I hurt him worse than he hurt me. He's in jail, which helps a lot, I think. And… it wasn't personal, if that makes any sense. He only kissed me, and then I got away. The other…" she sighed. "I think it affected me so much because it was a personal betrayal, not just" she swallowed, "attempted rape."

"Don't," Edmund said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. "Please don't say that word in front of Father. He was on the verge of throttling Susan earlier for your being kissed. If he had any idea that worse has nearly happened—"

"As if he wouldn't be equally upset at the news of your dying half a dozen times," she flashed back. "Poor Father. I think somewhere he supposed that once the War was over, we'd all be safe."

"No where is really ever totally safe," Peter observed. "But we can watch one another's backs. Which is what burns me about this whole thing, Lu. Why on Earth didn't you and Susan come straight home when you saw how wild things were?"

She flushed. "I guess I was excited to be going to a real, more grown-up, sort of party," she admitted. "It seemed like fun. And Susan wanted to go so terribly, I hated to disappoint her on the very doorstep."

"I guess we all learned something today, then," Edmund said.

"Well, Susan, hopefully, has started learn to make better decisions; Father has learned we're not safe everywhere; I've learned that Lucy's spirit is as strong here as it is in Narnia," Peter smiled at Lucy. "What did you learn, though, Ed?"

"That one can put a hatpin straight through a man's hand. I had no idea that was even possible!" Edmund half-crowed. "If I haven't said it, great job, Lu."

"Thanks," she beamed at them. "And I really should be off to bed, now."

She crossed the hall and eased the door open, not wanting to wake Susan if she'd already fallen asleep. She had just slid under the covers when her sister's voice came in the dark.

"Lucy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you really all right?"

"Yes."

"And…"

"What?"

"Do you really forgive me?"

"I don't think there's anything to forgive you for," she answered, surprised.

"You're a better person than I. Does it ever get tiring, being so good?" Susan sounded forlorn.

"I suppose sometimes it might seem that way, but you're just as good as I am. Remember, Asl—" she broke off before she could finish speaking the Name. "Never mind. I'm no better than you. We just have different things to offer one another. Don't beat yourself up."

There was a pause. "Thanks. Good night."

"Good night," Lucy answered, and thought that, given the other potential outcomes of the evening, ending it home and safe and loved, if slightly bruised, was a pretty good night at that.

The short term repercussions of this whole incident were that the Pevensie parents declared that they couldn't trust Susan's judgment, and certainly weren't going to leave her younger siblings in her care the whole summer. So they made arrangements to park Peter with Professor Kirke, and tried to get Alberta to take all three of the others, but she refused. She reluctantly allowed herself to be talked into taking at least Edmund and Lucy, though.

Which left them still with Susan to find a place for, and after the whole debacle with her younger sister, and the judge, and everything, most of her acquaintance were steering clear of her. Eventually Joseph managed to persuade someone at the university to pay for half of Susan's fare, if she would do some writing for the university from a young person's perspective during his lecture tour in America.

While a trip to America sounded like quite a lot of fun, Joseph was determined to make most of it a penance for her slip-up. He knew Susan hated writing, but she'd do it out of a sense of obligation and guilt. And he and Margaret conferred, and pared down the number of permitted outings in America to the absolute minimum; the rest of the time, Susan would be expected to be helpful, gracious, patient, and she should either be working on her writing, or waiting patiently with a book in the hotel room. And Joseph was assigning the books she'd read.

For Susan, at least, it was going to be an awfully long and somewhat lonely summer.

That's another story, though.


So.. this is REALLY not how I envisioned this chapter going AT ALL, but there it is. So, I guess this is pretty definitely an AU sort of story, tho I suppose there's some room in the background of the books for a story like this. Perrrrrlease review and let me know what you think!