Chapter five

I took their ages off the movie in this story, if you hadn't already noticed. Peter is supposed to be 14, but judging from the envious look he gave the soldier in the train station during the movie, he (and his siblings) is /are a tad bit older.

And before anyone tries to correct me, I just made up integrated metaphysics.

"Tell me about your family." Margaret said, smiling at him through the profuse steam coming off of her cup of tea. They were sitting in the little campus pub The Twin Moon Taproom, a sedate little place that gave you funny looks if you didn't come in looking for a few pints and a place to do your integrated metaphysics homework.

Peter smiled, leaned back in his chair. "My family?" Margaret nodded enthusiastically, making Peter wonder if there wasn't something a little stronger than tea in that teapot.

"Well, I'm the oldest, and after me there's Susan, who's…16 now. She's taking up trumpet, I guess, and, ah, apparently she's getting really good. And she's a looker, is our Susan. Mum's threatening to make me come home so that I can keep the boys out of our house, but if I know Susan, she'll have them in check.

"Then there's Edmund, who's twelve. He's very serious for his age now, going out for president of his class and the chess team and the fencing club and God knows what else. He's a bit of a pain sometimes, but he's a good sort- you'd like him. And then there's Lucy, the youngest, who's nine now. and…well, she's Lucy. You have to meet her to understand her. Dreams up the wildest stuff- says she wants to be a painter when she grows up." Peter sipped his tea and smiled, staring off into the snow outside the window and wondering when he'd become such a consummate liar.

Margaret stirred her own cup, saying softly, "You miss them a lot, don't you?"

Peter nodded. "I nearly lost Edmund, once. Got in a horrid accident, almost died. I'd kind of…hated him before that. But your brother's your brother, right? I appreciate them a lot more, after all we've been through together."

"They sound like quite a bunch." Margaret complimented, blowing on her tea. "I'd like to meet them all some time."

"They're all coming down for the play. You could meet them then." Peter suggested, finishing his tea to the dregs and tapping his spoon on the saucer for a few distracted moments before stopping. "Margaret?" He asked, looking up at her from his saucer. She put down her cup to peer at him, gently expectant. "Do you… think we might be able to do this…again, some time?"

Margaret smiled. "Sure. I enjoyed it."

Peter smiled, blushing a little. "We should get going, we'll be late for practice."

Glancing at her watch, Margaret jumped. "Goodness, you're right! Where's my pocketbook?" she asked, shuffling through her coat.

"Don't worry about it, I've got it." Peter said, taking out his wallet to go pay the cashier.

"Free of charge." The old man at the counter said. "Was a pleasure watching you and your girlfriend there talking. A pretty pair, you are."

Peter smiled and blushed again, tipping him and pulling on his coat. Margaret looked at him with a suspicious smile as they walked out. "Peter, why are you laughing?"

"He…he thought we were dating." Peter said with a chuckle. Margaret stopped.

"Well, aren't we?" she questioned plainly. Peter stopped, too, turning around to look at her.

"Ah….Are we?" He asked, plainly very much confused as to what might be the right answer.

"Peter Pevensie, I would hope you would think we were, after I asked to meet your family and you took me out for tea. Besides, what would my friends think?" Margaret asked, smiling. Peter shrugged.

"I have no idea, Lady Agnes. What would they think?" Peter asked, mock serious. Margaret, mouth open, scooped up a bit of snow and threw it at him.

"They would think, King Balan, that I am being a little looser than I let on!" she said, throwing more snow at him. Peter laughed, holding up his arms to shield his face, kept going.

"Are you generally not loose?" This was the point when Peter started running and Margaret started chasing him, the former dodging snowballs all the way to play practice.

"Help, help, I'm being attacked!" Peter yelled, running into the theatre.

Margaret ran in a few moments later, her face red, nearly running into Sophie, who happened to be walking by the door at the time. The blonde actress gave her a patrician hair flip and went to brush the snow off of Peter's coat. "Here, it's all right, my darling husband. I'm sure my lady-in-waiting, " she threw the disdain on triple thick at Margaret's title, "will apologize shortly."

Peter gently shoved her hand away. "It's all right. We were just having a bit of fun. No need to take it so seriously."

Sophie did take it seriously; A can of bright blue paint found it's way mysteriously onto the front of Margaret's jumper, "And I'll be willing to bet my mother's pearls it was her that put it there and tipped it over, too." Margaret said, trudging home with the paint drenched sweater in a paper bag clenched tightly in her fist.

"I'm sorry about Sophie. She…seems to take this whole King/Queen thing very seriously. Maybe I should stop walking you home for a little while, while she calms down." Peter suggested, handing Margaret her book bag when they got to her front door. Margaret shook her head.

"If my sweaters have to suffer so I can get walked home by Peter Pevensie, so be it." She declared, setting down her things so she could grab the lapels of his coat and kiss him on the cheek. She smiled, picking up her bags and letting herself into the house.

And Peter stood outside in the snow, smiling like a fool. Then he skipped home, grinning broadly.

:holds breath and bites lip: You…liked it, no?