Day nine.
It was hard to not count the days. It was almost instinct at this point, this feeling of borrowed time. It governed her every day. Fifteen years, four months, and 23 days of the Golden Age. A year, two months and six days of England in between. Three months and a week of the Narnian Revolution and its New Age. Days counted and labelled. Susan knew Aslan gave His word. She knew that the Lion wouldn't break said word. She had the greatest assurance that, yes, she was staying.
Yes. The Lion, creator and redeemer, had given her His Word.
Nine days.
A small, but powerful part of her still doubted, and she let it stay. Doubt was her lifeline. It had given her, her greatest griefs, but it also kept her alive and aware. If only it carried on staying a small part of her at all times and not swallow her whole whenever it liked and had a chance, she would appreciate it more.
She would be delighted if it didn't fuel simple curiosities to nagging needs and undeniable momentary panic.
Yes. The Lion gave her His word, but in His vague norm. Vagueness that as always, had her mind raging, feeding on and twisting the presented and unpresented details for the loopholes she ever loved.
Loopholes she should be aware of. Loopholes she could exploit.
He never said anything about what would happen in between.
Two simple words that encompassed and defined her life, because she let it. England and Narnia. She accepted it as her place. England and America. She made it be so. The BSC and the MI6. The MI5 and the SSR. The MI5 and SHIELD. Look where she ended up. SHIELD and the Kingsman.
A strained chuckle forced its way from her throat and past her lips. She stomped down the amusement enough that nothing more followed that one. She was afraid she would descend to hysteria if she let the chuckles continue.
If only it was as easy as saying she was in between this and that.
Now, she's breathing in the air of a present she was never supposed to be in, while smelling the scent of her past. It wasn't even England's past of smoke, grime and gunpowder. It was wildflowers in spring, parchments and ink amid autumn, steel and a raging summer storm. She's mentally repeating a song that was of this time, while in a quiet that kept reminding her of times she and Peggy chatted over tea, in a room that was so close to one at St. Finbar's. It made her want to throw up, stomach twisting and throat clamping. To claw at her throat because she couldn't breathe out the wildflowers, the parchment and the summer storm.
She shouldn't be like this. This wasn't the first time. This was far from the first time. She should be better than this.
Edmund wasn't hunched over somewhere reviewing some diplomatic law to help Lucy's voyage across the sea. Peter wasn't looking over his shoulder collaborating on how large a retinue he could force their youngest to take as protection. Lucy's amusement at Peter that he would even dare think that his plan would work, was absent.
Of course they would be absent. This wasn't Narnia. This wasn't the England of her youth. This wasn't even the library of the Kingsman headquarters that she knew.
Yet here she was because this time of tangible gods and superheroes needed a Narnian.
The laughter got stuck in her chest and stabbed her lungs. A Narnian. The next laugh sounded like a strangled chirp. She hadn't felt like a Narnian in so long, hardly even considered herself one for longer. Here she was blaspheming by talking about cream walls, great columns and the most beautiful glass roof. A greater blasphemy was how she could do it all as a riddle and with a smile.
She shouldn't be here to experience a world that her comrades never got to see. She shouldn't be here acting as if knowing more would mean she would find her place faster in this reality. As if knowing more would make her existence valid.
Valid. Ha! Of all the people that deserved seeing this semblance of peace. Of all the people who had sacrificed so much for this future. Of all who did more and better. Dead while she's here because she's a Narnian.
She stopped being a Narnian when she broke Lu's heart and made her shed tears. She was no longer a Narnian when rage filled every fiber of Pete's being and she could still muster to raise her chin in defiance. She shed that title and all it meant when Ed's jaw stiffened and his dark eyes turned knowing of her—
She shed her Queendom the moment she dared smile and call it all a game.
"Susan!"
I'm fine! A layer of her mind already had a ready reply. Something it pushed to make into reality and it would've, usually it would, if not for the pain that erupted on her body. It didn't mean that said layer of mind gave up. Her heart was beating. She's alive. Beating. Breathing. I'm fine.
Smile. I'm sorry. Stand up. Keep smiling. How dare you keep smiling? Stand up. Focus. Who? Where? There's nothing to worry about. Vision swam. Body tilted suddenly. There were things to do and places to go. No right to sit around and wallow in emotions that she shouldn't be feeling. Where again? What was—supposed to be doing? Where? Where? Why here? Why still here? Why still breathing? Stop breathing. Stop. Stop. Stop. Shouldn't be here. Not here. Where? They're all dead. Dead. I'm fine. Who to even think Death would bless? Who—? Who—supposed to be? Who —I'm fine.—?
"Susan!" She gasped, lungs rejecting but needing the breath that it took. Wildflowers. Parchment. Summer storm. She scrambled for something to hold on to. Where? Where? She grasped at the closest but her hold slipped again and again. Wildflowers. Parchment. Storm.
"Breathe." She shouldn't. She couldn't! The ground under her slowed its undulating and there was something solid under her hands. "Listen to me. Listen."
She tried. She really did. A different layer of her conscious recognized the movement of air and the warmth as it puffed against her skin. She scrambled to hold on to the sound and the sensation. One. Two. WILDFLOWERS. PARCH— No. Nononono. How dare—
"Breathe in." The voice demanded no arguments, so amid the sudden warmth, she dared. She wheezed, throat struggling and lungs unraveling painfully. WILDFLOWE— "Breathe out."
WILD—"Breathe in." Wheeze. Struggle. Unravel. Warmth. "Breathe out."
At some point her lungs finished unraveling and at another, her throat stopped twisting. She was no longer wheezing when she recognized the exhaustion in her limbs. It shut up her raging conscious enough that when it faded, it was quick and painless.
That meant that, as expected, waking up would be the opposite.
"Don't move so much." The voice intruded from nowhere that she thought it could only be from two places. Her mind and the Cat. The latter was impossible, because it sounded different. It took the former some time to debunk, but it helped when she saw a man moving closer to her bedside with a cup of water. Harry. It was Harry. She mustered a smile and probably failed, but he smiled back and offered the cup. "Before we agitate your throat any further."
It took some maneuvering, but the water was warm and soothing. The warmth spread through her body with every sip and helped with her breathing. She felt real and grounded. She offered it back when it was empty. "...Thank you."
She then took inventory in the silence that followed. Exhausted and sluggish, a given. The back of her head and her right shoulder were throbbing in pain. She was back in her room, her coat folded neatly at the end of her bed, the rest of her clothes were still on and her shoes were placed neatly beside the bed too. The cat, rather Cat, was beside her on the bed and staring up at her, loving and calm. She reached out to soothe Him only to feel tension under his fur. She almost smiled at the confirmation. She might not know the Great Cat best, but she knew plenty of Cats throughout her many lifetimes. At least, to this degree, she knew Him. It's interesting to discover that the ever composed God would deem her worthy of worry.
He cared, even with all her sins. She wanted to ask why. She wondered if she would get the answer in the details she needed.
"Thank you." Then, she turned to Harry and found him sitting on the edge of his seat. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
Horror and guilt flickered on his face and unlike what she expected it wasn't hidden behind a stoic face. Harry was rattled and he was showing it to her. He was also looking at her with a gigantic why. "You are— We— I should be the one asking for forgiveness. I should've considered the situation without any bias."
No Kingsman was ever saved from a meeting with Death, whatever sort of meeting it might be. None of them was safe from the night terrors and the daymares. Each of them had their hands stained of blood and tears. Blood of people that they believed to be true villains. Blood of the innocent, too late to be saved. Blood of comrades and beloveds taken by Death before their eyes. Blood of those they would send Death's way as offerings for a longer survival. Blood they would shed that could never compare. Tears shed in secret and out in public. Theater tears and those that ripped their way past every possible defense. Knights were far from saints. Spies playing as knights were even farther.
She reached out to Harry this time. She felt old and tired, but she understood to a degree why. "You are the Arthur of the Kingsman and it is your duty to lead and protect it. This I know."
"You are a Kingsman."
"Yes, but am I a trustworthy one?" She wondered and hoped that at some point, they would be able to share what had happened in the recent past. An event that wrapped them all in grief that still permeated the air as an undercurrent. "I am a Kingsman. which is why I know I won't be welcomed with open arms. I wouldn't trust myself in these situations too."
"However, we've ignored common decency and acted inconsiderate." He didn't smile. "You were taken, kept somewhere for God knows how long, and forced to a place and time I doubt you would want to be. It is ungentlemanly to just ignore such fact."
"And it is human to want to protect one's own." She mustered a smile, this time succeeding. "And to err is human."
She added the last line as words of comfort. Words that each person needed to hear at some point of their lives. Words Susan used to tell to many but never really told herself, never really applied whether in this land or the other. The most fitting memory replayed.
"We are not just humans."
"We are not."
A realization made by the shadows as they watched the grieving light.
"Then, I hope that you forgive me and give us another chance."
"You have it." There was no need, but if it gives peace of mind, then Susan would never hold it back.
"Thank you"
"I should be the one thanking you, for finding me."
Because in truth, the fault was hers and the ones that could absolve her were long dead and gone.
"Merlin!" Eggsy. The name registered amid the scratching noise that he could still hear. He forced his teeth to stop gritting and for his jaw to relax. He knew that he succeeded when Eggsy's momentary confusion stayed momentary. "Sorry mate. Didn't expect you to be too busy."
The scratching was still there. The sound crescending before fading and hitching to a pause then continuing. He hissed a breath out. "How can I help ye?"
"Ah. Right." Eggsy squirmed. He would've smiled if he wasn't doing his best to keep his focus. "Where's Susan?"
He shoved back the image his mind pushed to the forefront. Not quick enough. Pale fingers like bones in their stiff tension. Already blunt nails clawing against hardcover. He gritted his teeth. "I haven't seen 'er."
"Figures." Eggsy nodded and turned to leave. "Just gonna check on her then."
"Don't."
She was curled up fetally on the window seat. Her body shuddered from each desperate breath before pausing and then restarting. The lines of her body poised in strain. Amid it all, his mind scrambled to hold onto the last word he said. "Don't."
"Why?"
The sound of her scraping nails against hardbound cover and her stuttered breathing filled his mind. He clutched the armrest and felt like he was gripping her stiff arm once more. "Harry's with her."
"Did something happen?"
"She's fine." That was what she said, while her blue eyes were wide, afraid, and unseeing. The smile on her face more of a grimace. "She's fine."
"Are you sure you're alright Merl?"
"I'm fine." The exact words she repeated when she tried to stand from the window seat and crashed kneeling on the floor. Words spilling from her lips when she scrambled for a hold on his arms, her sweaty hands slipping and her panic mounting with every failure. How she stopped only when he was the one gripping her hands.
"I'm going home then. If you need anythin' don't be a stranger."
He only realized that Eggsy was indeed gone when he became aware of his own breathing. Rapid. Stumbling. Echoing. He regulated it and let go of the armrest he'd been choking. His body sagging against the chair when that was done, gaze dropping to his hands.
She was so small and lost in his arms.
That would be impossible to be acting, right? Guilt replied by festering within him. Guilt called such thought a hypocrisy. He was a soldier. He's a Kingsman. He lived through horrors that could bring anyone to their knees. He was still living in it to some degree. He was familiar. She could still, if she's good enough. They do it for the screens.
He stomped at the thoughts. Thoughts that descended to a spiral of more suspicions luring him to feed. He threw his glasses on the desk and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He knew the suspicions, at this point, were possible but unneeded.
He saw her disconnect. Unseeing eyes and seeking hands. He saw her overload. Thoughts that fleeted and threatened to burst at the seams.
She was so small and lost in his arms.
He pulled his hands away from his face just in time for the door to open. The moment he saw Harry, the question spilled. "How's she?"
"Hamlet brought her food and Dr. Abernathy's now with her."
He put on his glasses just to have something to do. He kept his gaze away from Harry too, trying his hardest not to read his body language and know the little unsaid details. It was safer to stare at his hands.
Dr. Rovilyn Abernathy. Head Psychologist of the Kingsman. Thirty-three years old and mother to three children. She just came back from a month long vacation leave out of the country. A proclaimed break in between her psychiatry studies. She reported to Merlin the day Percival and Mordred came back. He was planning on introducing them to each other during the HQ tour. He just alerted Rovilyn of his plans before getting Pevensie from the library. It was less than 15 minutes. Of course it would be less than that. He should know. He should've thought that this would happen. He should've done something about it. He was familiar of it. They all were.
"Was this something you expected?"
Disbelief and denial filled him, demanding that he express such emotions more than the poker face he was clinging to. More than whatever answer Harry found in his body language. He heard his sigh and could see, from the corner of his gaze, him move closer to the desk. He focused at his hands once more before his mind could interpret the unease he found in Harry's own body language to be guilt. He focused harder before it could add said guilt to his own. It was easier, because it was still replaying the scene over and over.
Merlin could be cruel, but she didn't deserve such from him.
"Did you watch the feed?"
"I wouldn't need to." He heard a poor attempt of a chuckle. Realized it came from his throat. It was true though. At this point, he's wondering how long the process of his mind letting it go would take. How many times would he review the memory? How many changes would he make with every review?
The door slammed open and admitted Rovilyn in. Her dark hair now sported a bright red ombre, something he was still getting used to. The violently swishing ponytail was the biggest sign that she was furious. Everything that would follow was just confirmation. She threw her eyeglasses to the nearest flat surface then whirled to face them. Dark eyes ablaze. "Not one. Not one of the psych's in my department ever met her. You didn't even send her to someone—anyone when you had plenty of time to do so. Did you just remember because I came home?"
"Rovi—"
"Harry." Her glare was enough to shut whatever was coming. She took a deep breath and it hissed out between her gritted teeth. She leveled her gaze at Merlin once that moment finished. Chocolate eyes disappointed first and foremost. "I couldn't finish reading the report. I was on my way here to have you explain when I got the call. True or not, I cannot believe that you didn't have her meet any of us, at all."
Another deep breath. She muttered under her breath. "How does one psychoanalyze and help a time displaced person?"
The silence that followed was stifling. The years of knowing each other making up for whatever was unspoken. Nightmares addressed. Lies found out because they're desperately made. Little things that everyone thought could be dismissed but were like the little pills some rely on for sanity.
Rovi picked up her glasses and put it back on, then pulled out a phone. "Time displacement aside, I need to confirm a few things. Did she pass out?"
"No. She fell asleep." Amid the slight panic of the increasing dead weight, Merlin was relieved when he heard the light snores. "She was still mumbling when I carried her."
A nod. A few taps. "Lack of sleep due to bad dreams and adjustment. Exhaustion because of spent out adrenaline. Intrusive and racing thoughts. These, she admitted to."
"Dreams?"
"Dreams. That's the word she used, which is interesting. I didn't ask for details, but if her bad dreams are your nightmares, then I can only wonder what her nightmares are about." She slipped the phone back to her pocket. "I prescribed her some sleeping pills and a week rest. Not bed rest, since she asked me to specify. A week of proper meals and proper sleep. No strenuous activities. I also advised her to try to find a normal everyday routine. This I need you to be most conscious about. Her capture surely disrupted her previous normal routine and asking her to completely return to the previous one is not only unwise because of the new setting, but also because of the possible triggers."
"What we can expect is a mishmash of old and new. I need you to be there when she needs help in the translation of the old routines to this era and the new activities."
"What do you advise?"
Was it wrong to find comfort at the way Rovi smiled? Merlin found comfort because her smile reached her eyes and they twinkled. It meant something good. Amid the pain that permeated and stayed, it meant hope.
"A complete physical after the week. I already sent a quick word to Luther about it. Then, regular check-ups with us until advised. She said that there's a tour on schedule. Merlin?"
He straightened a bit at that. That would be something he could contribute to. "Yes. It was supposed to be today."
"I encourage it."
He blinked.
"I know you want to protect everyone and there's still a question of her loyalties. But she's one person and everyone down under know their positions. This isn't the first time we dealt with things like this. Give us some credit." She rolled her eyes and grinned. "She's a woman who would die in boredom when exposed to it too much, so meeting people and doing something would help. You can even start her training, the non-physical ones of course. Pace it properly too."
She was right. He was discrediting all the members of the Kingsman by thinking they couldn't protect themselves. They've dealt with more dangerous beings before Susan Pevensie. Smugglers, traitors, and infiltrators. They would pull through.
"I can do that." He did promise Hamlet that he would try.
"She's honest to a degree and in a very roundabout way, but she is honest. Even if she's not, she is alone here. Keep that in mind."
"We will."
Rovi started for the door with an lighter gait. "Now that we have that settled, feel free to come along. I have bottles of lambanog fresh from the home across the sea."
They definitely needed the drink.