A/N: so early on I got a review or two (which I still appreciate) on this story that the ending was a bit rushed/cramped. I've always wanted to address that, I just couldn't figure out how to do it for years. FINALLY it came together with a whole additional chapter; hopefully this version does it justice, and that people enjoy it.

She must have lost consciousness for some time, because everything felt different when she was next aware. The room around her was dark except for a few flickering candles. Her body didn't feel quite so heavy, though she was unsure whether to try moving yet. But most noticeably, two people had fallen asleep holding her hands—her father on the left, and Peter on the right.

Her father was the lighter sleeper, waking almost immediately. "Caitlyn? Oh, thank you God, Caity, darling, we thought we'd lost you. How are you feeling? You hadn't stirred in nearly three days now."

"Shh, Father, don't fuss," Caity chided softly. Peter was still fast asleep. "I'm feeling a little stronger than before. This may yet turn around. But how is he? You both look awfully pale."

"Well, it's worth it to see color in your cheeks again. Neither of us have slept much until now. Peter may have held out a little longer than I. Remarkable character, I must say. I'll admit I was beginning to hope you two would have a future."

"And we still can. I haven't died yet. It would be nice to see you both get some proper rest. Could you make up a bed for Peter over there in the corner? I promise I won't pop off while you're gone."

Her father cracked a genuine smile, and consented to go. Caity was left to gaze at the tousled mop on her other side. Peter really had kept his word, almost to where he'd overdone himself. When her father returned to move the young man, he didn't stir at all.

Things were different, however, when Caity next awoke.

"Wwha—oh no—no—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to fall—" Peter was beside himself, apparently not able to see her curled up on the far side of the bed.

Caity grimaced and rolled over. "Peter, what are you talking about?"

"—I swore I would stay with you until the end, and I couldn't hold out—" He finally reached the side of the bed, and realized Caity was looking straight at him. For a moment, he simply stared back. Then relief sent him to his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought…how are you feeling?"

"Mmm, tired, but not too bad," Caity whispered. She glanced around to be sure they were alone. "I spoke with Aslan, in his country."

Peter's mouth fell open. "He—you—really?"

"Yes. He showed me what Narnia looked like…I always imagined you were High King. It was wonderful, even though he said I couldn't stay."

"Why not?"

Because he sent me back here. Said I would live out the years before returning to stay for good. He's just as I imagined from your stories, maybe even better. It was amazing."

"I know, he is that way," croaked Peter. Tears were brimming in his eyes again. "And now he's granted you the chance to live."

Caity already knew in her heart Aslan's meaning, but it still filled her with excitement to hear it proclaimed out loud, if quietly. Only one thing lessened that happiness. "I suppose we'll have to leave Father out of the secret, won't we?"

"I'm afraid so. It's a cost we have to bear, believing in Narnia. Because not everyone is open what they can't necessarily see. Even I was that way at first. Lucy had the hardest time convincing us of Aslan, and Narnia. You two are a lot alike."

Caity fidgeted with the coverlet. "I've been thinking about that…that question you asked. At the stream? I confess I didn't think much of it at the time, what with the likelihood of it actually happening." She felt bad already as Peter's face fell.

"I suppose it was spur-of-the-moment. Don't feel pressured to keep to your answer if it's not really how you wanted to live. I'll understand."

"I just wonder how it would affect your future. For instance, have you thought about a career for yourself? Handling school, or establishing a career, or something while getting married is not a burden I'd want to place on you, that's all."

"Hey, I didn't say you'd have to marry me immediately. Call it a long engagement, until I get on my feet." Then his face darkened again. "Of course, I wouldn't want to make you wait for me, either. 'T wouldn't be fair."

Caity looked Peter straight in the eye. "Tell me something. All factors and choices aside, do you honestly want to marry me?" She started for a moment at the intensity with which he returned the gaze.

"If I could do anything to make it work, for both of us, I would, Caity."

A smile spread across Caity's face. "Then I'm willing to do the same. To stand by you as long as it takes, and maybe help in my own right." She paused, a curious thought entering her mind. "You know, with all the time you spent talking about Narnia, I don't think you ever mentioned what ambitions you had here, in this world."

"And to be honest," Peter told her, "I haven't really given it thought. Teaching struck my fancy for awhile. I've always been fascinated by history and culture, and the ways in which we share them. Eventually, if I can afford to, I would like to write stories of my own."

"I'd have to agree with that one. You're quite the talented storyteller, in my opinion." Caity squeezed his hand. Peter rose and kissed her forehead.

"I love you, Caity. More than anything."

"I know."

The first days were slow, almost maddening. The simplest things drained Caity's energy. Someone had to lift her shoulders in order to prop her up with pillows, or wanted to make any significant change in position. She had an appetite, but could only handle small, easy meals at a time. A spoon could be dauntingly heavy at times.

On the other hand, she had no shortage of people willing to help. Peter and her father, of course. The Professor continued to visit regularly. Mrs. MacReady helped with anything that required sensitivity. Every so often Caity had to convince them that she was truly okay having some peace and quiet to rest—and that she wouldn't go anywhere in the meantime. Although she suspected they frequently checked in on her anyway when she was sleeping. Peter's family stayed initially as well, but eventually they needed to return to London for school and rebuilding their home life. Peter insisted on staying.

Then there were the doctor's appointments. He made it clear that she should be monitored closely, as well as the need to remain pragmatic about her condition. How much she may or may not recover was far from certain, let alone the risk of a second downturn. And yet, the tedium gradually paid off. Her vitals remained stable. Sitting, on its own, became less taxing. Caity could spend time with a book in her lap, and not necessarily doze off. She began to handle heartier soups, bread, the occasional apple. The Professor organized everyone to move an armchair in from the sitting room so she could have a place to sit at her window.

One day a woman accompanied the doctor; he explained that she was a therapist to assist in beginning to work Caity's limbs after being so limited in strength. Warming up the muscles, getting them used to range of motion again. Getting them in the best shape possible for her to regain strength, if she continued to progress. The work was painful, similar to the process by which she had lost mobility in the first place. They had to pace the sessions so as not to exhaust her too much at once. But more than once Peter caught her trying to make extra effort on her own, stretching, reaching for things, shifting herself around where she was at that moment.

Her first true sense of renewed life came when they at last allowed her to have some time outside. Peter actually forgot the wheelchair altogether, carrying her wrapped in a light quilt to a bench on the terrace.

"Oh, the sweetness of fresh fall air!" Caity basked in the sunlight. She was very aware how small and anemic she felt next to him. The quilt kept her bundled like a vulnerable infant as she leaned on him just a bit for support. However, it was a start. The change of scenery was like being reborn in a way. It bolstered her, whetted her desire for more, to keep going.

"It's wonderful to see you in such good spirits again," Peter told her. He kissed her forehead, one strong arm wrapped around her shoulders.

"Good spirits are easier to come by when things finally take a turn for the better. I've missed this feeling so—the freedom of being surrounded by nature."

"How Narnian of you."

"There must have been some reason we were drawn to each other," quipped Caity with a smile.

"Which you resisted for quite some time, as I recall."

"Because I didn't think anyone deserved the fate of falling in love with a dying girl, much less want to once they learned the truth."

"Haven't I proven that wrong?"

Caity's smile widened. She straightened up to kiss Peter. "Yes you have, for which I'm grateful. Another source of strength for me to draw upon."

"I still don't regret my choice, either."

Caity burrowed into his embrace.