The first thing Susan would tell anyone, if she would even speak of this event, would be the sounds. How the buzzing popped and everything cleared, only to be assaulted by a cacophony that was both familiar and not. Then, she would speak of the sights. How it took her more than a few moments to focus and for the blur to clear. The variety of colors and clothing styles were seen but not acknowledged. Her eyes followed the lines of the infrastructures, but they didn't click.
She would've told you of the taste in her mouth and what was happening in her chest after such.
She would tell you instead of how painful her head snapped when a car, too smooth and too sleek, sped through the street with a deafening zoom. Everything clicked then.
And she still couldn't breathe.
And the orange tabby was still there.
She forced herself to breathe, however ragged. Her mouth parting to gulp in air as she tried to find stability and focus. A constant.
The orange tabby.
The world that was horribly tilting forward slowly righted itself. Far from it should had been, but close enough to a semblance of rightness. This was the only should be, her subconscious also added. The bitter taste in her mouth only magnified. Her clammy hands tried to find purchase on whatever they were both holding.
The orange tabby.
"Miss?" Another snap. Wide eyes blinked and turned to whoever it was that owned the voice. A young woman stared at her with a frown, a crease on her forehead as her hand hovered. Susan would've examined more, if her eyes weren't immediately glued to her bright orange hair. "Are you alright?"
Susan stepped back and would've continued if she had released the knob she was still holding, but she didn't and stood there like a stretched out ragdoll. Staring. Trying to vocalize an answer.
No. She wasn't alright. She wasn't. She just did it again. She wouldn't be fine. Alone. She couldn't. Alone. How could she be fine when—
"Y-yes." The word came out breathless. "There's no need to worry."
"You sure? You look too pale."
Her chuckle sounded a bit mangled. "Natural coloring, I assure you. Thank you for asking."
"If you're sure." The woman motioned to the doorknob she was still gripping for life. "I'll be going in then."
She released it and mustered a smile, a bit shaky, but it would have to do. "Have a good day."
"Keep safe, Miss."
"You too."
When the door snapped shut, Susan stepped away and looked up. In her heart of hearts, she expected something familiar and was slightly disappointed at the jolly ice cream shop sign that welcomed her. Her mind didn't took it that big a surprise though. It was a minor detail amid the catching up. Catching up and laying truths.
She did it again, but this time she was able to at least say a semblance of goodbye.
At the very least.
A small smile touched her lips, only to change into a frown when she turned back to where the tabby cat was. Because her eyes didn't reach the tabby, even when she was sure he—He— was still there. It stopped at the familiar golden text against the store windows.
"By the mane."
A SIMPLE FACT THAT'S EVER KNOWN TO BOTH SUSAN PEVENSIE AND THE ORANGE TABBY CAT WITH TOO KNOWING EYES.
1. Susan will always doubt.
Another constant. Amid all the changes around her, Susan held on to that familiar typography, the word, and all it represented.
Susan found herself drowning, so she did as she always have done. She compartmentalized all the emotions and shoved it to the dark corner of her mind. Down in the dungeons of her mind palace.
The orange tabby gave a languid blink.
ANOTHER SIMPLE FACT KNOWN TO BOTH.
2. Susan will always move onward. She promised.
With her destination set, Susan straightened and gripped her luggage with every intent of having it ground her to reality. This reality. Looking to both sides, she stepped off the sidewalk and to the street. Was there anger? Yes. Was there confusion? Definitely. Was there pain? Staggering. Grief? Plain as day. With every step, her stomach untwisted and her lungs pumped air easier. Purpose, still vague but surely there's one, strengthened her limbs and lengthened her strides. The trek was too short for her liking, but it helped.
She sent a smile to the orange tabby, one with edge and promise. A bit more stable and sure.
This wasn't her first time, after all.
"I demand an explanation in the near future." The tone left no room for argument. "Very near future, preferably."
Another languid blink. Her smile softened then.
Among the Pevensies, it was known fact that Susan's relationship with Aslan was the most complicated. She never had Lucy's unwavering faith and belief. She would always have a question on her tongue and in her eyes. Through time and all eternity, Lucy would always follow the Lion and stand by his side as his prophetess. Susan wasn't such. She didn't have Peter's large heart or his eyes that flash with fierce love for his people. His ready trust to lead in the name of his land and liege. She definitely didn't have Edmund's wisdom or enlightenment. She didn't have his depth of understanding on justice and mercy.
Susan wasn't special, but she liked to think that whatever she had fits with what her siblings had. She was able to rule with them. She was—is— Queen Susan the Gentle and surely there's some truth in that.
SOMETHING THAT SUSAN DIDN'T BELIEVE BUT IS TRUE:
1. Aslan understood (even when her siblings couldn't).
With another steadying breath, Susan pushed open the door and stepped in.
A beat passed. Then another.
"Aren't you coming in?" For a split second, she tried to remember if there was ever a store rule against animals. She just wished that there was none when she came up blank. It seemed to hardly matter when He slipped in, settled by her feet, and a small relief blossomed in her chest.
She should know the feeling of being in familiar unfamiliarity. It didn't mean that she would always be prepared for it.
Joy. They flourished enough to still be standing. The atmosphere still the same and she knew, she could feel it in her bones, purpose still the same.
Wonder. Both changed and unchanged. How curious. The suits that lined the racks were so clear in memory and the contrast made her see the detailed differences. It was amazing to see this mold into an in between.
"How can we help you?" A man with graying head of hair and a ready smile stepped away from the counter.
Suddenly, anguish, for it was only, literally, a few minutes ago for her. Amid her memories and experience, she knew. She left them all behind again.
She felt agony standing here knowing that she shouldn't be. Did they think that she abandoned them? How long, how desperate did they look for her?
"We are yet to make suits for pets, Madam, but we do have a wide selection that you can choose from."
A thousand questions demanded they be asked. They pushed against her clenched teeth and wrung her tongue. They bled and spread their woe. They wailed, calling her coward.
She could feel His eyes on her.
She smiled. "I am here for a pickup. A set of suits made by Mr. Gregory Damien."
A deep breath. Some shuffling. A part of her found twisted amusement at how her brain could still process observations, when her heart felt like giving out.
She left so much responsibility behind.
A new member. In a sense that he's not that intimately attached to the name.
"Apologies. You are eight years late. That delivery was the last set Mr. Damien made before he died. However, I can consult our records for your order. If there is one, we can make a new set as replacement." He motioned that she follow him to the counter.
Tell us—
"D-david Hollander."
—about your trip—
The man paused, turning to her with the question in his eyes. His mouth pressed in consideration of voicing out the question or just letting it hang between them.
—when you get back.
"Mr. Hollander would know of such set. I would like to speak with him." No questions. She didn't need questions when she's sure she's close to collapsing. Her mind a scramble of an attempt to organize too many truths.
She was back and they were gone.
Suspicion blessed the man's face, but there was also confusion. She could think of a few trains of thought he might be having. She added, "Please. Tell him it's Pevensie."
He gave her a slight bow then stepped back to the counter and the into the back rooms.
"Please." She pleaded under her breath. "Please, let this be the last. Please, promise me this would be the last."
The tabby looked up to her with soft eyes. Susan met His eyes and tried—failed to give a smile. "I don't think my heart can take it anymore."
As instinct dictated, her heart was already cycling through the names of those she left behind this time around. The sins she was now tainted of.
"Impossible." A voice soft with disbelief and rough with emotion. "Susan."
"I—," A shudder. "I'm back."
David Hollander stood before her with a head full of silver hair and his hands shaking. So far from the bright young man with a cheeky smile that saluted her goodbye a few minutes ago. A few minutes ago. He shuffled closer, hands reaching out for hers.
"We saw you hail a cab and leave, but here you are." Tears gathered around his eyes, lighter now with age. She didn't deny him her hands and grasped back with every ounce of her longing. "Oh, my lady, we saw you and we couldn't believe when they said you never reached the train station."
"I'm sorry."
"But here you are, looking like you never left." He stepped back to look at her from head to toe. His hand cupped her cheek and wiped the tears she never thought already fell. "Down to this errant curl of your hair."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left."
Sobs tore through her throat and her shoulders quaked. She was engulfed in a warm hug and it only served to cement the fact that this was now her reality.
She wasn't jesting when she said her heart might not take well with another one of these meddlings.
Half-finished apologies spilled from her lips, cut off by struggling gasps or sobs. In the arms of an old friend Susan tried her best to ask forgiveness to all that she left behind. She really tried.
Just a few minutes ago, circled nonstop in her head.
"Whatever happened," He whispered to her ear as they swayed in the middle of the store. Her sobs still pained but subsiding. His arms still tight around her and unwavering. "You're here, my Queen Guinevere. You're home."
But was it really? This wasn't the first time, after all.
Oliver Underhill had been working with the Kingsman for almost 20 years, and it would be impossible to not pick up some espionage skills from the agents they cater to. These were the skills he defaulted to as he tried to figure out just what happened and was still happening. He got a decent lot of information, he couldn't deny that. However, they weren't adding up.
Simply because he had never heard of a Guinevere in active duty. No Kingsman exam. No report. No gossip or rumor. None.
Whatever speculations he had in mind, which were a lot, he would always hit the same dead end.
She looked too young. Too young to be in a long term mission that would miss any news of Mr. Damien's death. Too young to match any immediate record of a recently recruited Guinevere, if there even was one.
It was giving him a headache and before it could even evolve into a migraine, he stopped. If the explanation for this was logical, then he would wait for it. If it was an impossibility, then he would do the same. Who knows what the science labs were experimenting? V-day was still fresh in everyone's mind. Harry Hart's so called resurrection was even fresher. Superheroes, mutants, and even more once impossibilities already littered every form of media in daily doses. If the existence of a Guinevere was an impossibility, what's new about it in a world already experiencing its wonders?
"David. Miss Pevensie." He nodded to the occupants of the shop's meeting room. He set down the tea set and mugs before pouring a generous helping of hot chocolate for Miss Pevensie. "I followed David's instructions to the T, Miss. I hope it would be to your liking."
"Thank you, Oliver." The smile he received was a whole lot different from the ones she gave David. Those were so full of grief and struggle. It was a relief to see this smile that was a bit brighter even if it was exhausted.
David brought Miss Pevensie to the meeting room once her sobs had quieted completely. Oliver caught a few whispers of comfort from his senior before he was asked to prepare some tea and hot chocolate. He also caught the haunted look in her eyes.
"A pleasure, my lady." He carried on pouring tea for the rest of them and then took a seat across David. His senior's every movement portrayed concern for the young woman. From the tilt of his body to the way he kept looking at her. "Is there anything we can do for your cat? Food? I am sure we can arrange a quick delivery."
She took a sip of her hot chocolate and the smile that she gave this time was of relief. It was beautiful like the rest of her smiles, even the grieving ones. This one was better just because it was brighter. Once she set the mug back her hand went to the tabby cat that was curled up on her lap. It hadn't left her or lost contact of her ever since they came into the shop. "He's fine."
That was that. They drank in comfortable silence with few words spoken but between David and Miss Pevensie, aplenty understood. There was a calm, reminiscent to the one before she came, but quite different as well.
He would be positive and believe it was better.
A SPLIT SECOND HOPE FROM OLIVER UNDERHILL:
1. To see Susan Pevensie without her haunted eyes.