A/N: This story, as with all my oneshots, takes place in an adjusted timeline which is explained more clearly on my profile. All that applies to this story is that I have closed the gap between the Silver Chair and the Last Battle from seven years to three years, making Eustace and Jill 13 in SC (instead of 9), and 16 in LB (just as they are on Lewis' timeline.) Thank you so much for reading!

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dedicated to: Tori

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PART 1: LOVE QUIZ

Rain pelted the single-pane window of Jill's bedroom, and Eustace Clarence Scrubb lay flat on his stomach, uneven floorboards digging into his ribs, the recent scrawl in his open journal already forgotten as he twirled the pen idly in his fingers.

Day 5 at the Poles'. More rain. Won at marbles, lost at chess. I think the cat hates me.

All in all the summer holiday hadn't been too bad so far, in spite of the fact that they'd spent half of it stuck inside. The house wasn't uncomfortably crisp and clean like his own. In fact it was rather the opposite: cluttered, surfaces un-dusted, the library ladder missing a rung that Mr Pole had been meaning to fix since last summer.

It wasn't the same kind of clutter as the Pevensies' house, either, where it felt like too many energies had collided and spilled over into each other, all alive and vibrant. This was more of a busy, absent-minded clutter, forgotten heaps of washing on the sofa, or a box of decorations unmoved since easter. But Eustace didn't mind.

He'd still commented on it enough to start a fight on his very first day, after which Jill had spitefully cleaned her room spotless, but the decorative pillows were already slipping off the bed again, a collection of teacups accumulated on the nightstand.

Now he lay spinning his pen and trying to figure out the little trick he'd caught Edmund doing on occasion, every few spins accidentally flicking it across the room where Jill would nudge it with her socked foot and send it rolling back to him.

"Five games to play in the park this hols," she read from the colorful magazine open over her face, head propped on a pink floral pillow.

"Well, that's no good." His finger slipped and the pen shot across the floor.

She didn't even look as she kicked it back, licking her finger to turn the page, and for a second Eustace caught a glimpse of the bright red and blue cover art, two impossibly skinny girls dressed in what he could only assume was the latest fashion.

"Oh, wait, this one's interesting. It's a compatibility quiz."

"A what? You mean for couples?" He spun the pen, catching it nearly as well as Edmund, but not quite.

"Yeah."

He scrunched his nose. "How positively exhilarating. Why do you even read those things?"

"It's not just me," said Jill primly, in the tone that said she was holding back her irritation. "They're very popular in America these days, you know."

"No, I don't."

She flipped the page, and then flipped back. "You should do it with me."

"Do what?"

"The quiz."

"The love quiz?"

"Come on, I don't have anyone else to do it with." She flopped the magazine down onto her lap and looked over it at him with big brown eyes.

Whatever effect she was aiming for, she achieved the opposite.

"Can't you do it on your own?"

She bent the page up. "This says it's better to get both sides and then average the answer."

"Well, somebody's taking it seriously." The pen flew from his fingers again, and this time she caught it under her foot and sat up.

"Hey, give that back."

"You're not using it." She picked it up and marked on the page, shaking it before marking again. "Come on, Scrubb, it's not like we've got anything better to do. I want to see how compatible we are."

Eustace rolled his eyes. "You realize we would make the worst couple."

"Prove it, then."

With a sigh, he hauled himself up, unsticking his face from the pages of his journal and settling back against the side of Jill's bed. "Fire away. If you must."

She finished marking out a little graph, and turned back to the questions. "If you could only bring one thing with you to a deserted island, what would it be?"

"What am I supposed to say, you?"

"You don't have to sound so disgusted about it."

"I'd bring a knife."

"Okay." She marked the page and moved promptly on. "Do you believe in true love?"

Eustace squinted at the magazine. "How would that determine our compatibility?" He cocked his head. "Are we supposed to agree? What happens if you don't believe in true love, you lose a point?"

"Just answer the question, Scrubb. It's a quiz, not a science experiment."

Her neat handwriting in two perfectly identical margins told him differently.

"You first."

"What?"

"Do you believe in true love?"

She looked up to meet his eyes and sucked on her lip in thought. "I mean, yeah, why not? There wouldn't be so many stories about it if it didn't exist."

He scoffed a silent laugh, eyes flicking to the stacks of romance novels she'd shoved haphazardly onto their shelves in the effort to clean, tomes upon tomes that Eustace couldn't imagine reading even if he was bored to death.

"Of course you think it's silly. You needn't say it."

"Well," he said, "In stories, sure, but just because there are fairy stories doesn't mean there are fairies, either."

He saw the flaw in his logic too late.

"Who says?"

"I mean in this world," he amended, "Though, on second thought, I don't recall hearing of any fairies in Narnia, either. And that's beside the point. I mean stories don't make something real."

"But the idea has to come from somewhere, right? Maybe not everyone finds their true love, but it could still exist. Like fairies."

"Whatever you say," said Eustace. "I still don't think it's real."

Jill marked a sharp X in the margin, and Eustace thought she was crossing a name off a hitlist.

"Do you want kids someday?"

Eustace wrinkled his nose. "I'm fourteen."

"That's why it says someday."

He sighed, shrugged, leaned his head back, trying to imagine being grown up with kids of his own.

The image that came to mind was his own father, tight suits and shined shoes and knobby fingers clutching the morning newspaper, spectacles dangling idly in his hand as he squinted at the tiny words, barely old enough to be balding, soft words that were never gentle, musing over the day's injustices and their country's backwards ways while his mother tutted her reproof from the kitchen

In this picture he could not see himself.

Try as he might, he couldn't even imagine children. What would he do with them? What were you supposed to do with kids? The thought of his own younger self only made him grimace.

He racked his mind for another image, but what came up next was an old king, aged beyond recognition, beyond his years, standing on a gangplank, addressing a crowd in a voice almost too frail to hear.

He shook his head. "No."

"No, you don't want kids? Ever?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, not really. Why, do you?"

Her pout was enough of an answer as she scribbled it down next to his.

He rolled his eyes. He was too sensible to say just like a girl. Jill wasn't like most girls, but she was as predictable as any when it came to babies.

"Have you gone on holiday together?"

"We're on holiday together right now."

"Well, I think this means going somewhere nice. Not like my house."

"There was Narnia," he suggested, but he knew where that was going even before she spoke.

"Oh, that wasn't a holiday, that was awful. I mean, not all of it, but, you know, the cold and the hiking and the giants, not to mention all that horrid underground."

"And I didn't even get to enjoy the Cair," he added, unable to help agreeing with her on this one. "Not much of a holiday, I suppose."

Jill marked the page again. "How long have you known each other?"

Eustace glanced up.

They both knew the answer without saying it.

First day of seventh year, harsh daylight slanting into the classroom they would barely use as the teacher called out names.

He remembered his spotless, wrinkle free uniform, back when he cared, back before he'd fiddled the threads to death, his bookbag heavy on smaller shoulders, the bigger kids already laughing over the teacher to no hint of a reprimand. He'd laughed with them.

He remembered the name, Jill Pole, how he'd thought it sounded funny. She giggled when his name was read, too, and he made sure to tell her it wasn't nearly so bad as Pole. She'd cried on their first day of school.

He pushed the too-crisp memory out of his head. "Ages," he said. "That's got to count for something."

"Not really. Not really known each other, I mean. Not until last autumn and everything."

"But we've been in classes together for years!"

"No, you were always with Them, and I was always alone."

He sighed, but couldn't argue. The next question couldn't come quickly enough.

"Do you share secrets with each other?"

Secrets? He racked his brain, even for a single example of a time he'd kept a secret in the first place. "No, I mean, I don't think I have any."

"What? Not any?" She sounded scandalized, and then her expression shifted to one of distrust. "That's not possible."

"Besides Narnia. That was my biggest secret and I told you straight away."

She scoffed. "Doesn't sound like much of a secret, then."

"Would you rather I have kept that one to myself?"

That shut her up.

"What about you?" he prompted after a few moments.

"Certainly none I'm telling you, if you're going to be so tight-lipped."

"Hey, it's only the truth! How's that fair?"

"They wouldn't interest you anyway. They're just silly little things, you'd only make fun of me."

Privately he thought that was probably true. He didn't want to hear her girlish gossip, but for some reason it still annoyed him.

She marked the paper. "Blondes or brunettes?"

"What on earth has that got to do with love?"

"Come on, just answer it, or are you going to drag on every single one of these?"

"I just don't see why it matters."

"It doesn't hurt to be attracted to someone, you know," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder even though it was too short to stay. Soft brown locks glinted gold in the sunlight that had begun to peek through the window at some point he hadn't noticed, refracted by a kaleidoscope of raindrops. "Unless you've never fancied anyone, then I suppose you wouldn't know about that."

"Blondes," he snapped, and she filled it in. "What did you put?" he asked before she could move on to the next question.

"What?"

"Blondes or brunettes? I have to tell you my answer but you won't tell me yours?"

"Neither," she said. "I think black hair is prettiest. Satisfied?"

"Not really, but go on."

She moved sharply to the next one. "Have you ever fought?"

They glanced at each other.

A short silence passed between them before the tension broke and she burst out laughing, the noise devolving into a giggle as a grin tugged at his own mouth and he drew his sleeve over it, wiping an invisible itch while Jill marked the page without another word.

"Okay." She took a deep breath to rein herself in, lips still twisting as mirth danced in her eyes. "How often do you see each other?"

"There, that's a point," he said, "What has it been, every day since last September?"

"Except for Christmas," said Jill.

"Oh, that's right, you couldn't come to the Pevensies', I almost forgot about that."

"I haven't," she sighed. "I did so want to go, too. It would be such a relief to talk to other people who know about Narnia."

"It is. I'm sure you can come this year, they all wanted to meet you, too. Even Edmund, which is saying something if you ask me."

"Is he handsome?"

"What?"

"Edmund."

"Why on earth would you want to know that?"

"Well, you always talk about him, and they're supposed to be kings and queens, right? I pictured him handsome."

Eustace shrugged, brows knitting together. "He's alright, I guess. Not sure why you'd notice."

Jill thought about it for a moment and then remembered the quiz, marking the list.

But Eustace was still thinking about Edmund's straight nose and stupid black hair. "If my cousins are kings and queens," he muttered, "that ought to at least make me a prince or something."

"A duke, actually," said Jill.

Eustace shot her a dry look. "And all dukes are ugly, I suppose."

She glanced up and laughed. "What?"

"I just mean, well, I've been on adventures, too." His indignance came out sounding rather silly and he looked away again.

"Yes, I know, I think I could quote the whole thing at this point. The Dawn Treader, and the dragon, and the duffers, and the lilies in the Silver Sea, and King Caspian, and—"

"There," said Eustace, "Now that's a real man."

"Caspian?" asked Jill, and looked thoughtful, sucking on her cheek for a moment. "I only saw him for a few minutes after he was… well, when he was young again. I can't recall his face perfectly anymore, but he was strong and handsome and all those kingly things."

"Yes," said Eustace, "And he's also dead, so don't get any ideas."

Jill snorted, but then took on an indignant look. "I'm not boy-crazy, it was just an observation."

"Good," said Eustace. "You'd be ten times more annoying if you were."

She shot him an ungrateful smile before turning back to the magazine.

"Last question, what do you like best about each other?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Best?"

"Yeah. You first, what do you like about me?"

He leaned back and looked at her, scrutinizing her face, so familiar to him now that it was almost hard to notice anything in particular. The slope of her nose, the angle of her cheekbones, the hard line of her lips pressed together. But mentioning her looks would sound weird. He tried to think of a characteristic he liked, anything, just anything about her, but his brain was suddenly filled with radio static, unable even to name a single trait, regardless of whether he liked it or not. "Ummm…"

The silence had stretched on too long now.

"Oh, you've got to be joking."

"What? It's hard!"

"Well I—"

"You do it, then, what do you like about me?"

"Well— um, uhh… you're… you're smart. See? It's not that hard."

"What am I smart about?"

"I— you know, just, in school, and— I mean… That's not fair, I answered the question! You still haven't."

"Fine, you're… not boring."

"That's it?"

"It's a compliment!"

"Barely."

"Says the one who can't even tell me when I was smart."

"Not right now, that's for sure."

"Yeah, well, maybe you're boring right now, too. This test is stupid."

"It's over, so there." She sighed before marking the last places on the sheet.

"What did we get?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to count." She scribbled something at the bottom, marked a couple of the lines, and then pursed her lips.

"Well?" he asked after another full minute. "What is it?"

"Ten percent."

"Ten percent?" He shot straight up. "How? There were only ten questions! We must have gotten more than one of them."

"Nope," she said, "Not according to the quiz."

"Let me see it."

"Hey!" She snatched it away from his grasp. "No, it's mine."

"Well then explain the ten percent. Which one did we get right?"

"Seeing each other all the time."

"Oh. Well, yeah, that makes sense. But what about knowing each other since last autumn?"

"It hasn't been a year yet."

"What does that matter?"

"This says add a point if you've known each other longer than one year. It won't be a year until we go back to school."

"That's stupid."

"Well I'm sorry their scoring system isn't up to your standards," she said dryly, and tossed the magazine off to the side.

He dove for it before she could stop him, dragging it over and flipping it open to the quiz page. His eyes fell to the rankings, every percentage group listed with a description. And at the very bottom:

0%—10%: This relationship is discordant and turbulent. You have very little in common, and don't seem to prioritize each other. It's best to move on from this one!

He scoffed and tossed it aside again. "See? I told you we'd make the worst couple."

"Well, you weren't supposed to try."

"I wasn't trying! I answered honestly!"

"Come on, how do you have no secrets. None? Ever?"

"I told you, I can't think of any."

"Not even a single one?"

"No," he said. "You already know everything there is to know about me, you know what I was like before, you know all my adventures. What else is there?"

"I don't know. What about things you think but never say out loud?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why would I tell you that?"

"See! You do have secrets from me!"

"How is that a secret? Can't a man have his private thoughts?"

"Only if he has something to hide," she said, and crossed her arms.

"That's madness."

"Alright, then, tell me one."

"No!"

"I dare you."

"That doesn't work on me."

"It did last time with Headmistress and the peppermints."

"Only because you insulted my honor!"

"Well I'm insulting it again, tell me a private thought or you're a coward, Eustace Clarence Scrubb."

If she were a boy he might have socked her right then, but unfortunately, she was not a boy, and he could only glare daggers until at last he snapped.

"Fine, I think you're a bloody rotten cheat and I don't know why I'm friends with you."

She glared back. "Failed, it has to be something you've never said before."

He rolled his eyes and flopped back against the bed.

Then an idea struck him, and he sat up again. "Alright, how about this. If I tell you a secret, you have to tell me one, too."

"Fine," she said indignantly. "Bet I can tell more than you can."

"Bet you can't. I bet your only secret is that you fancy George Turner."

Jill spluttered. "I do not! I haven't fancied Turner since he ratted me out to Them last October, the two-faced worm."

Eustace had to stifle a sudden grin at the venom in her tone. "Well, if that's how you feel."

"It is," she snapped. "And you still haven't told me a secret."

"Alright, alright." He sat back and thought, racking his mind for anything he hadn't told her, anything at all, from this week, or from school, or before that. Any thought that was even remotely worth saying. Yet each one he bumped into he moved past just as quickly, and nearly half of them he realized he'd said already anyway.

I miss Caspian. As if that wasn't obvious, and didn't make him sound like a lovesick schoolgirl.

I didn't actually care that your room was messy. Why would he tell her that? Just to make himself sound like more of a jerk? But that thought struck another, and at last he spoke.

"I like it here better than at my house."

She looked at him. "Really?"

He nodded.

"But it's so dull, and Mum and Dad are never home, I mean they've barely spoken to you, it's not like there's anything exciting to do."

He shrugged. "Still better than…"

It was better than his father asking after his marks while forgetting Jill's name every time Eustace tried to bring her up. Better than his mother telling him to get a haircut, knowing he could never explain why he wanted to grow it out. Better than the looks of stifled surprise every time he called her mother instead of Alberta.

"Better than all that nagging," was what he said aloud. "At least your parents let you do what you like." He motioned to the bookshelf. "Read what you like."

"Why on earth should your parents care what you read?"

He shrugged again. "I guess I'm just not what they expected. Now it's your turn," he added. "I told you a secret."

She sighed, and scrunched up her face.

"See?" he said, "You can't think of one either."

"Give me a moment, I gave you a good long while— oh!"

"What?"

"I haven't shown you my creek!"

"You have a creek?"

"Well, it's not actually on our property, but it's not too far. I've played there since I was a girl, it's my secret place, I've never taken anyone there."

"Well, that's a jolly good secret, Pole," he said, "Why've we been cooped up in here all this time then?"

"It was raining so much I hadn't thought of it." She sat up to peer out the window. "Not anymore, though, want to go?"

"Beats this," he said, and closed his journal as he stood.

"Hey, I thought you said you liked it here."

"Better than at my house," he corrected. "The bar is low."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, then. And, hey, we both shared a secret, doesn't that mean we get another point?"

"Nope, too late, you should've told me about the creek earlier. It doesn't count if you're trying to get the point."

She humphed.

He opened the bedroom door and tucked his journal and pen into his pocket. "After you, ten percent."

For a moment she looked like she wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but checked herself at the very last second. "It wasn't my fault," she said primly. "And I'll still think of more secrets than you."

"You do that," he said, closing the door behind them and taking the stairs in doubles after Jill's little sprint.

She pulled on her rain shoes so fast he barely had time to follow, and then they burst out into the cloudy summer day, pinpricks of yellow sunlight dancing in Jill Pole's hair as they sloshed through rain-fresh dew and raced up the sleepy suburban road, Eustace bolting past her the second he had a good shot out in the open.

"Hey, no fair!" shouted Jill, "We didn't all have freakish growth spurts this year!"

"Maybe you had ten percent of a growth spurt," he shouted back, ignoring the fact that he had no idea where he was going and would have to slow down eventually.

For now he was just content to grin as Jill spluttered behind him, thinking to himself how much he liked her voice when she was angry, and adding a new entry to the list in his head.

Maybe he had a few more secrets than he was willing to share.