They walked, their arms linked in the slow London twilight. They didn't speak, they didn't even truly look at each other; but it was clear to anyone near them that there was something loving about the way their arms were linked. The way she kept stealing glances at the tall man on her arm. The way his eyes shifted ever so slightly, admiring her beauty. He missed her. He missed the way she felt next to him, the way she always smelt of roses and lavender. The way her lips always tasted as if she had just eaten a sweet before kissing him.

Susan's hands were shaking by the time she was at her door, the keys in her hand missing the lock at least four times. He heard her curse under her breath, almost too quiet to hear. But he had spent his life hearing all the things Susan said too softly for the others to hear, and she couldn't hide from him.

A moment later, his hand was over hers, sliding the key in the door easily. His touch was different now. His has were always warm, soft...but now they were cold and calloused. She closed her eyes, biting her lip. What has the world done to you, Peter Pevensie?
She walked in, hanging her coat and his, shocked at the way his sweater hung from him like a bag. Peter had always been a healthy man, on the muscular side due to his adoration of sports. But in the past year, something had changed in him. She ran her hand over his back, wincing at the feeling of his spine beneath the threadbare jumper. He hand felt so good, such and innocent gesture warming him up like a cup of tea after a day in the cold rain. He let out a chest rattling sigh, his shoulders sinking so hard he swore he heard his back crack.

"Peter," she said softly, taking his hand as she pulled him into the sitting room, "Are you dying?"
He blinked, a bit surprised. Was he dying? His friend Cornelius had asked that very question when they had met up for a few beers a week or so back. He aske if had cancer, that he was wasting away. Peter had dismissed it, thinking his friend was being overdramatic for effect.
"No," he said, his shock and amusement clear, "That would make yours and Mum's life too easy." He regretted the statement as soon as it had come out of his mouth, seeing the hurt in her eyes. She reached out and landed a resounding slap on his cheek, her eyes filled with tears.
"It's not funny!" she cried, "Peter, you look like your dying. Like...you have cancer. What's happened to you?" she demanded. He shrugged carelessly, his cheek red. How could he explain to his perfect sister what it was like to be so broken that his own mother wanted nothing to do with him? How could he explain what it was like, being told he was crazy by everyone, including her. How did he tell her you began to believe the whispers after so long?

"I'm mad, Susan," he said softly, "They have me on chemicals that no person should put in their body. I have no appetite, I have no desire to do anything I used to. All because I won't let go of Narnia." He touched her face gently, his thumb stroking her cheek, "He's calling me, Su. He wants me to come to his land."
Susan leapt out of her chair, staring at him.
"My god," she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth, "You're going to kill yourself, aren't you? That will not get you back to him!" she cried, "And what about us? What about Ed and Lucy! What about me!"

What about Susan? Most of his life had centered around that. His first day to kindergarten, he looked at his mother, concern in his eyes. "

What about Susan?" he demanded.
"Susan will be fine with me, Peter. Now go, or you'll be late!" she scolded gently, pushing him out the door.

His first year at boarding school, it was the same.

"What about Susan?" he demanded, tears in his eyes, "Who's going to take care of Susan?"
"She's going to the girl's boarding school just across the way!" Helen said, exasperated, "Really Peter, your sister will be fine."

He stood as well, pulling her gently into his arms.
"It's alright," he said, "I'm okay. Me and Lucy talked about it not so long ago. She said her and Edmund would be fine."
"I won't be," Susan cried, "Peter, I-"

He silenced her with his lips, kissing her chastely. He had only wanted to comfort her, to keep her from saying something she couldn't handle admitting right then. But feeling her lips again, it ignited something in him. In both of them. They parted, and suddenly his hands wer holding her face tightly as she gripped his forearms, their tongues battling and their breathing heavy and loud; and there was a loud shatter behind them and Peter could swear it was real, not just in his head.

"Susan!"

They parted, and Susan stared at her mother wide-eyed.

Oh god, no.

Helen ran over, grabbing her arm tightly and dragging her away from him. He couldn't move, he couldn't even breath. He could see how he looked; the mad older brother who had just forced himself onto his defenseless sister, how the fear in his mother's eyes burned tiny holes in his heart.
"I should have known!" she exclaimed, "This is what Susan has tried to tell me all these years, that you've been..." she hissed, "molesting her...all these years." He swallowed, he had always feared this moment. He hadn't been molesting her...he never forced her to do anything! No, his mother was wrong.
"It's always been a victimless crime," Peter replied, "The first time we kissed she was 18 in Narnia. And when we came back, we never touched that way again until she was an adult."
"Narnia!" Helen spat, "That's where this all started, isn't it? In that imaginary land in your head. I knew you were sick. Lucy and Edmund tried to convince me you weren't, but I know you are," she grabbed his jacket, throwing it at him, "Is this why Lucy is how she is? Did you abuse her too?"
How dare she...ever accuse him of doing anything so heinous! He hadn't abused either of them! He'd never even hit Lucy before- even when they were children, he'd never laid a finger on her that could be harmful to her. He want to hit her, it was the first time in his life that he felt the overwhelming urge to hit a woman, and he moved forward with the intention of doing so. Or at least he would have, if it hadn't been for Susan.

Susan had to fling herself in front of her mother as Peter approached, looking fit to do something truly mad.
"I've never hurt Lucy," he bellowed, "I've never hurt any of them! But never, ever Lucy." He looked at Susan, "Tell her!"
Susan was silent for a moment, biting her lip as she considered her choices until she heard his broken voice.
"Susan...Please. Tell her the truth!" he pleaded. How could she stand there and say nothing?! She had to know...she had to that he had ever only touched her with loving hands.

"Mother, he's not lying," she said, "He's never hurt Lucy or me. He never touched me until I was 18...and then, I was the one who started it." Helen stared at her daughter, pulling her away from Peter once more. He wanted to grab her, hold her to his chest, scream at their mother to get the fuck out and never come back; but he was rooted in place.
"You're saying that because you're afraid," she said, dragging her to the door, "Go get in the car. Now." Susan gave Peter a tearful glance before running out the door and to the car. He watched her go, turning slowly to face Helen.
The only people who remained were him and his mother, staring each other down.