I finally updated! Yay! Apologies for the massive wait, but I've been very busy getting married! I would like to dedicate this chapter to Francienyc, not only for helping me with the editing and some of Lucy's characterisation, but also for being such a wonderful friend and flying several thousand miles to come and spend my special day with me! Not only a fantastic writer, but a girl in a million...

I hope you enjoy this after such a ridiculous length of time. It's classic Rooty-boots angst. I don't own this characters so please don't sue me, but please do R&R! Lotsa love x x

It was dark. The music had ended. People were saying goodbye and trailing off, one by one, two by two, arm in arm, lip to lip... but she was barely aware of them, the others seemed so far away, getting further away all the time as she walked with him... then, when he decided they were far enough away to be discreet, they stopped... his lips touched hers softly, tasting of sweet smoke and warm beer... his hands were stroking her hair, her shoulders, the small of her back, and his touch was almost tender... he kissed her neck and murmured - "I think I love you"... his tongue flicked against hers and she welcomed it, smiling against his mouth, letting him hold her close...

She did not respond to his words. She did not want to seem too eager, for it always paid to play coy and let the man do the chasing. But she could not deny that she liked him too, he was so handsome, so charming, so heroic-looking in his uniform... she could not restrain a little sigh, a little move towards him... he must have felt it because he moved towards her too... she felt the cold press of his pistol in her hip and its chill and its hardness brought her abruptly to her senses... she broke off the kiss and pulled her head away, laughing, her hand against his chest, pushing him gently away...

But he would not be pushed away. His head dipped to kiss her again, his mouth coming down on hers, hard this time... his hands clutched her to him, they tangled in her hair, they were gripping her neck and the small of her back, groping lower... he forced her head back, nibbling at her neck with sharp little teeth, and murmured - "Come on. You know you want to"... and before she could respond to his words his tongue was in her mouth again... this time she did not welcome it. Instead of a smile, a protest flew to her lips, but no sooner had she moved to speak than his hand was clamped over her mouth...

"Come on, baby. Take it easy now. I know you want me"... It wasn't true. Every nerve and sinew in her body screamed it, but she couldn't make a sound... She struggled, jerking sharply in his grip, her eyes angry... All at once, his knee came up and she felt a sharp blow to her belly, quickly followed by a jab to the back of her knees... her legs betrayed her in her surprise, collapsing underneath her... his weight came down on her hard and fast and only when she found herself pinned to the cold ground did she even think about screaming...but it was too late...too late... she knew this, and yet still she struggled... she thrashed under him like a fish on a riverbank that knows it is caught but still fights for life despite the hook in its mouth and the encroaching darkness...

He hit her then, a stinging blow to her temple... her head reeled and turned sharply on her neck... she cried out but the sound was muffled by his hard hand, her sobs retched in her throat... she felt the pain burn through her skull, the blood seeping down her cheek into the grass... through the dizziness, she registered cold steel at her temple and hot, foul words in her ear... "Don't make me kill you. Don't think I won't"... all pretence of affection was long gone now... a hard knee came down on her legs, parting them and bruising the flesh... through her haze, she heard the blue dress rip, and she worried for her sister's buttons... she could not bear to lose them... as he fumbled with her slip and pushed it up around her waist, she tried desperately to remember how many there had been... as he unbuttoned his fly she was counting - 'one, two...' and when the terrible, bursting pain finally came she felt strangely at peace, because she had remembered...

As he began to move in her, a lonely thought swam across Susan's mind... Four... there were four of them... that was good...

Then everything was black.

It was just starting to get light.

Edmund woke from a nightmare of crushing darkness, and reared up from the mattress with his heart pounding and his lungs screaming for air. Shaking, he clutched at his chest through his pyjama top, now clammy with sweat, and shut his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to block out the horrific images still cavorting in front of his eyes. He pressed his fists to his sockets until flaming colour burst across his vision, blocking the pictures out. It was just a dream. Just a silly nightmare, like the ones he used to have as a tiny child that had jolted him from sleep and sent him running to his big sister for comfort. Just a dream.

But it was no good. Perhaps nothing would ever be good again. He didn't know. But as he took his hands from his face and gazed around the dim, familiar room that was not his - at the tight line of worry on Peter's sleeping brow, at Lucy, curled up so unusually small on the mattress beside him, at his own shaking hands - he knew for sure that this was real.

Edmund got up from his makeshift bed, feeling the need to move; he did this carefully, not wanting to disturb Lucy. And there she was; Susan, lying in seeming peace, in her own bed, on her own pillows, as if nothing had ever happened. Without him realising it, Edmund's feet drew him towards her; without thought, he sat down on the bed and looked at his sister's sleeping face. The medicine the doctor had given her had worked its magic and she slept serenely, her face blank, her body lax and forgetful in its posture. Her head was turned to the side and the dark bruise at her temple was concealed in the pillow, so that her face appeared without flaw. She looked unchanged.

But something had changed, and though he knew it, Edmund felt a sharp urge to prove it to himself; a grim determination to remove all doubt from his mind; and so, with a moments hesitation, he flipped back the blanket and looked stonily down at Susan's small, bare foot. Yes. It was bandaged; blackened and bruised and bleeding, just as he had known it would be. There was no pretending it away now, even if Edmund had been the type to lie to himself, and he never had been. No matter how bad the situation, he had always taken comfort in knowing the truth. Not like Susan; not like her.

Everybody said he and Susan were alike. They shared the same soot-black hair, the same wary half-smile, the same realistic nature, just as Peter and Lucy were fair-haired and open and amusingly idealistic. He and Susan had often shared a secret roll of the eyes at Peter's insistent heroism or an indulgent smile at Lucy's blissfully innocent chatter. But this was one thing they could not share; that she could never explain and he would never understand, even though he had seen it with his own eyes.

Rubbing his face violently to threaten the tears away, he jumped up and stumbled across the room, across the landing, to the quiet, cool bathroom, wishing very much that he could shut the door tightly behind him. But he could not; there it was, leaning against the wall, mocking him, another unforgiving reminder that the nightmare of the last twenty four hours was his reality and it could not be denied. The sharp stink of bile and antiseptic still hung around the room. The screwdriver he and Peter had used to remove the door from its hinges lay on the windowsill. Even if he had been able to pretend to himself for a moment, the dark stains that remained on the linoleum in spite of Lucy's feverish scrubbing would have jolted him out of it. Edmund gazed around the bathroom in a blank haze of misery.

Two minutes later, he emerged, leaving the cistern hissing behind him, and he wondered what to do next. He could go into his own room, but there was nowhere to sit and nothing to do to occupy his mind; he could go downstairs and sit in the kitchen and make yet another pot of tea, but he knew that even that comforting little ritual would provide him with little solace now. When Edmund was sad or afraid or angry, his instinct was always to tuck himself away and be alone until he had worked things through. But there was nowhere to hide and no hope of finding an answer on his own. He may as well go back. In fact, he found he wanted to go back to them; to have Peter's solidly comforting presence nearby, to feel Lucy safe next to him, to be close to Susan, in case she needed him, in case... Edmund shook his head.

Softly, not wanting to wake anyone, he pushed open the door to Susan's room. Quietly, he moved across the carpet, not daring to look at the bed, though the black and whiteness of Susan's exposed foot caught him by the corner of his eye. Pressing his lips tightly together he lay himself stubbornly down on the mattress beside his younger sister and turned his back to the bed. He shut his eyes tight and sighed deeply. He was exhausted, but he knew there was little chance of him drifting off, and several long hours to get through before anyone else would wake up.

He had not been back in bed more than a minute before a small pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around his neck. He flinched, then relaxed into Lucy's confiding embrace, keeping his eyes closed even as she spoke to him, in a whisper:

"Edmund. Are you alright?"

These simple words caught him by surprise, winding him as badly as a knee to the stomach. He had thought he could be strong, but now, he found himself weak; his lips trembled and he screwed his eyes all the tighter shut, unconsciously coiling himself up into a protective ball, as if he really had been struck. It was all he could do to make a vague noise of assent:

"Mmm..."

He heard Lucy sigh, sensed her arms tightening around him, felt the warm drip of a tear on his cheek, a tear that was not his. His sister gave a little sniff and laid her head down on his arm.

"No you're not. I know you're not. Neither am I." Lucy bit back her tears for a moment and he could feel her chest against his back as she sought to control herself. "This is so awful, Ed. I can't believe it's really happened."

He nodded, and tentatively touched her hand, glad he did not have to look at her just at that moment. Lucy gave a soft little shudder and as he heard her gulp back her easy tears, a surge of tenderness welled up in Edmund's eyes and in his heart. He wanted to break down and cry. Instead, he opened his mouth and spoke:

"Please... I... promise me, when we're out, you'll stay close to me."

Lucy shifted and he knew she had sat up a little to look at him, but he didn't move. He couldn't look back at her for fear of breaking down into tears or rage. Because he had something he needed to say.

"And never... never walk home on your own."

"Why do you say that?" she asked weakly, confused.

"If you want to go anywhere, I'll take you. If you need to be anywhere, I'll wait for you. Alright?"

Lucy sighed a little, beginning to understand, and opened her mouth to speak, but when she did not immediately answer him, Edmund cut her off with a fierce whisper, asking again:

"Alright?"

She sighed again, and he felt her slump down onto the mattress, laying her head back on the pillow, but she kept her arms tightly around him, and though he would never admit it, Edmund was glad of it. He wanted to explain and he needed Lucy to understand.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not fair. But it's the way things are now. You can't trust anybody here. It's not like Narnia."

Lucy seemed to think about this for several long moments, before volunteering in an unwilling murmur: "People weren't always trustworthy in Narnia, either."

"No... but at least in Narnia, I could... I could... here I just have to stand by and watch... I was Edmund the Just. Where's the justice in this world?"

As he thought this statement over and let the truth of it sink into him, an unpalatable, almost unbearable bitterness welled up in both his heart and his throat, and Edmund gagged on his frustration. Even before his sister could move to speak, or to attempt to soothe him, he found himself crying at last, his head in his hands.

"I want to go home! I hate it here! I was just learning to let go..."

"I know, Ed. It's so awful." Lucy rubbed his arm and held him tight, wiping his tears on the sheet, and for once Edmund didn't mind being held and fussed over by his little sister, he didn't shrug her off. He needed it, because the only person in his life that he had ever allowed to comfort and coddle him was seemingly lost to him, and he didn't know if he would ever get her back. And even Edmund needed to be held sometimes.

"And she... she's forgotten! That's what hurts the most. She doesn't even have the memories left. How I'm feeling, right now... at least I have my memories, of when things were good, and beautiful. But what does she have? And I'm so angry with her for letting it all go..."

And he was. He realised that now. Susan had been slipping away for so long now that he had almost forgotten how close they had once been. All of them. But now the sting of her self-imposed isolation came back to him and all at once he was sadder and more angry than he had ever allowed himself to be before. He loved Susan so much, yet he found himself wanting to shake her almost as much as he wanted to protect her, avenge her. Guilt stabbed him in the chest. How could he feel this way, after everything Susan had been through? Where was the justice in that? He didn't know who he was anymore.

But then, Lucy said: "So am I, sometimes."

She spoke in a quiet, flat voice, and Edmund could imagine her face though his back was to her – the bitten lip, the lowered eyes - but he could not have been more surprised if she had yelled. Lucy never blamed. She never seemed to see the point of getting angry. Both of his sisters were like that. But of course, almost as soon as she had voiced the thought, Lucy, being who she was, had moved through it and come out the other side to a place of good-natured sense – a hopeful place. Barely drawing a breath, she continued:

"But right now... There's no room to be angry. We have to help her. I mean, I understand why you are, Ed. But maybe...oh, I don't know. Maybe this will let her open up? That's the only reason I can come up with."

A reason? The sound of the word made Edmund clench his fists in impotent fury. The idea that there may be some plan behind all of this made him feel both hopeful and humbled and yet also unspeakably angry. All their lives, at least, their other lives, the four Pevensies had lived only in part for themselves. There had always been one eye kept on the greater good; the grand plan that had tugged them out of England in the first place to reign as kings and queens of the most beautiful country he had ever known. The same plan that had thrown them out again when they had outlived their usefulness, then pulled them back in whenever they were needed. It had always been about Narnia - never themselves. And that was something that Edmund, along with his siblings, had long since come to terms with. But the idea that Susan could have been made to suffer so badly simply to force her back into herself and bring her back into the fold... that was one step too far, even for Edmund, who had always been the most aggressive in his attempts to get Susan to remember their other life - to the extent that Peter had taken him aside and ordered him to let the matter drop.

Seemingly sensing his resistance, Lucy loosened her grip a little and sat up to look at her brother, questioning softly: "Why else, how else could this have happened to her?"

Edmund frowned deeply, and wrestled with himself, wondering whether he could bring himself to say what he had inside him to say. But Lucy could always be relied upon to listen without prejudice, and so he tried her out:

"He spoke to me, you know. Just then, when Susan was really... ill. When she was bleeding. When I ran out of the house to get the doctor. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know where to go. And he spoke to me. He helped me to think clearly."

Lucy knew immediately who Edmund was speaking of. Aslan. The Great Lion. Her eyes widened and seemed to shine, even in the dim light of the dull grey morning.

"He did?" she asked, eagerly, forgetting her sadness and confusion in that moment. Edmund nodded, but his own face was grim.

"Now, I feel like he's abandoned us."

Lucy's face fell, and she regarded her brother with an almost fearful expression. He could see she was trying so hard not to believe it, not to give up hope. Her chin shook a little, and she began:

" He really hasn't. I can see why you feel like that, but..."

Edmund interrupted, needing to know.

"Has he spoken to you? You know, recently?"

" No...not spoken to me, exactly. But I feel him. I know he's there. I just know it, Edmund. He'd never leave us alone. I mean, he let Narnia fall to the White Witch... There's hope. There will be spring. He's coming. He's here, even. "

At this, Edmund finally turned over to face his sister. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her neck.

"I wish I could have your faith. I wish you could give some of it to Susan..."

And he did. But even if his own faith was shaken, even if his other sister had all but forgotten their shared past, it was somehow enough that Lucy remembered, and that she still believed. As she squeezed him tight, he felt a wave of gratitude for his Valiant little sister.

"Thanks, Lu. I mean it," he sniffed, wiping his eyes. He felt more cheerful. Stronger. Lighter. He knew he could go on, and be as strong as Susan needed him to be. Because no matter what happened, whether she came back to them or not, she was their sister, and they all loved her. And perhaps Lucy was right, and spring was just around the corner. In any case, there was no good to come from giving up hope. They had to hold fast.

"I feel a bit better now."

Lucy stroked his hair a little and smiled, but her eyes were tired.

"Are you really alright?" she questioned him, concerned.

"No," Edmund answered honestly. "But I will be. And so will you. And so will Peter... and Susan. Eventually."

Lucy smiled then, and yawned, cuddling close to her brother and closing her eyes. Edmund closed his too, and before he knew it, he had drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep, Lucy's hopeful words covering him like a blanket.