"You said she was tired?"

"…Not exactly."

"Perhaps we shouldn't bother her. She may not like it."

Snort. "Who likes being bothered, Lu?"

They were certain she was unwell. Susan could tell by the awkward footsteps outside her bedroom, the quiet, worried whispering that she shouldn't have heard, but did. They didn't knock on the door, tiptoed away, as if she would be cured by prolonged solitude. The rustling faded away into silence, punctured only by wind humming against the windowpane, the heave of her own breathing, the stagnant muddle that her thoughts had become.

She would be left alone, then. This was not an ideal resolution, but Susan couldn't bring herself to do anything to change the fact, had already embarrassed herself by accosting Ed in a surge of emotionality, blurting nonsensical things.

A door swung shut down the hall, on the left side. That would be the boys' bedroom. No doubt the threesome had sequestered themselves within it, shutting out the tension, laughing softly beneath their breaths. This made Susan angry, because she needed to laugh too, hadn't forgotten how it good it made her feel. Still, she didn't throw back the covers, stayed beneath them out of her own cowardice. It was easier to stay hidden, to not see the inevitable disappointment in their eyes.

In the end, it was a basic, rather embarrassing need that urged her to the bathroom, which (of course) was occupied. Susan leaned up against the wall, knees weak and heart pounding (when had a simple walk down the hallway become so exhausting?)

"Come on," she grumbled under her breath after nearly five minutes, hearing a page turn. She knocked hard on the door.

"Just a moment!" It was Peter. How ironic. Susan had enough presence of mind not to laugh in his face when he threw open the door and gaped at her, taking in the lackluster, weary visage with loose jaw and confounded eyes. Sure enough, he looked disappointed.

"What," she croaked, tilting her head back to look fully into his face. "No 'hello, Su?'"

He blinked, mouth moving wordlessly. She brushed past him into the bathroom, shut the door on his fingers, wincing when he yelped (that hadn't been on purpose).

"Susan," he murmured against the wooden frame, regaining his composure, "Are you…are you alright?"

"Yes." She sat down on the loo with sigh of frustration, unwilling to relieve herself with him nearby.

"Are you quite certain?"

"Peter."

"What?"

"Go away."

There was blessed quiet, which she perceived as acquiescence. However, he was still there when she emerged, his shoulders tense, eyes narrowed. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Why do you care?" She walked away, back towards her bedroom.

He caught her wrist, stopped her movement with surprising gentleness. "Susan, you look absolutely awful," he announced firmly, somewhat mockingly, as if she should already know. (She did.)

"I do not," she huffed, yanking out of his grasp, detesting his touch and careless words.

He reached for her again, sighed when she evaded his hand. "Susan…Susan! Stop it."

"Mind your own business, Peter," Susan hissed, resisting the urge to smack his face. The desire must have shown in her eyes, however, because he sighed, backed away.

"I just want to help you." Stony, purposeful silence on her part, meant to deter. "Please, Su?"

"You've helped enough," Susan said coldly to the floor. "Just leave me alone, Peter."

"Fine. Alright," he replied simply, but with an astringent undertone that made Susan cringe. He turned heel and walked away, seemingly unconcerned with her dismissal, save for the tense set of his shoulders. This sudden indifference was in itself an insult, and Susan bristled indignantly. (She hadn't thought he'd actually obey her.) Against her better judgement, she followed him into the boys' bedroom.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The words were out of her mouth before she'd analyzed them, bitter and petulant, when they should have been proud and inquisitive. Not that it mattered. The results were the same, would have been the same whatever her tone: Peter ignored her completely, sat down beside Lucy on his bed, leaning in towards the book she was reading with a faint smile of contentment. Susan didn't even exist.

This wouldn't do. "Peter." No response. Perhaps Lucy would help. Susan cast pleading eyes in her sister's direction.

Lucy glanced up at her, eyes widening in shock. Then, just as quickly, her gaze turned sour, narrowing and growing cold. There was no trace of pity, no softness in their depths, only the merest touch of the guilt and concern that once would have overwhelmed, sent her running into Susan's arms in a flood of tears and kisses.

"Peter," Lucy inquired softly, leaning into her brother's side, eyes leaving Susan in favor of their brother, "Maybe we could go out for an ice cream? It's dreadfully hot."

"Of course, Lu," he replied, kissing the top of her hair solicitously. They rose as one from the bed. Susan stepped aside, letting them pass in stunned silence.

"Oh." Lucy paused in the doorway, turning towards Susan with a forced smile. "You're welcome to come along if you'd like, Susan." Her voice was that of a stranger.

"No thanks," Susan said automatically.

"Ed," Lucy went on in a warmer tone, straining her eyes towards the back of the room. (Only then did Susan become aware of Edmund seated at his desk, body bent forward over one of his many puzzles, eyes trained on the proceedings with an unreadable expression). He shook his head, clicked a tile into place.

And just like that, Peter and Lucy were gone. It was as if they'd never been there, the luggage propped up against the door and the book lying on the bed ghost-like and disturbing to look upon. Susan left the suitcase where it was, but confiscated the latter, tucking it neatly back into it's proper place between Dickens and Darwin on Peter's book shelf.

"They'll come around," Edmund said calmly, searching for a green piece to complete the grassy border. "They're angry with you, but they'll come around."

"Why didn't you go with them?" Susan sat gingerly on the edge of Ed's bed, scratched her itchy scalp.

"Didn't want to," was the understated reply, followed by a hum of appreciation as he connected a yellow flower into the growing picture.

"Hmm," Susan replied just as eloquently, scooting up against the pillows and crossing her ankles.

Snap. Another piece fell into place.

"Peter?"

He was used to people calling his name. Superiors, subjects, enemies, friends. Over time, he'd learned to be diligent and come to attention in spite of reluctance, warranted or otherwise. He took a certain amount of pride from his self-sacrifice, that he was always available, never isolated…until today, when he'd spurned family. Now Lucy's voice, her incessant tugging on his arm, only served to bring his personal remorse to greater heights. She was starting to sound like a younger version of Susan again.

He looked down into her hazelnut eyes, saw his error reflected and absorbed in them. That was another thing. Usually when he messed up, Lucy would scold him, patiently scorch his soul with her doleful innocence, her gentle ways. Now she was just as guilt-ridden as he was, for they had both sinned, in mutual agreement.

"Yes, Lu?"

"I'm actually not very hungry," she whispered, and he could understand why. "Can't we just walk around for a bit?"

He nodded in agreement, clasped her small, warm hand in his own. They veered away from the vendor stands and circled the park slowly, twin heads bowed in melancholy, though the sun shone as brightly as it ever had in Narnia.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as they passed by the swing sets, occupied by squealing children and their watchful parents.

"Me too," Lucy sighed, pouting. Peter shook his head. She didn't understand.

"No. I'm apologizing to you, Lucy."

Now she looked up at him in surprise, squeezing his fingertips. "Why?"

Peter shook his head, mouth pursed. "I haven't been a good example to you and Edmund, lately. I've been cruel, and jealous, and I'm sorry." They stopped walking.

"Don't do that, Peter." She stepped in front of him, grabbed his other hand and chafed both of them between her own. Queen Lucy the Valiant glinted in her eyes. "Don't take it all on yourself. I won't allow it."

"It's my fault," he whispered, suddenly heartsick.

"It's 'our' fault," Lucy countered quietly, looking down at her frayed shoelaces. "All of us."

"You don't understand, Lu." This was proving to be surprisingly difficult. "Susan and I…we've been quarreling since this summer past. Well," he admitted when she gave him a probing look, "More than quarreling. Waging silent war."

"I know," she said simply, smiled when he blinked incredulously. "You called me, you told me, remember?"

"I told you that we'd had a fight. I…I didn't want to worry you with the rest."

"Do you really think I'm that stupid, Peter?" Coming from Susan, that would have made his defenses fly up. From Lucy, who said it with such gentility, a teasing smile on her lips, it made him chuckle mirthlessly. "I'm not oblivious, nor fragile."

"I know you're not," he agreed, and in a sudden surge of emotion clasped her against his chest, laid his cheek atop her cheery-scented hair. "But I'm sorry all the same."

"I forgive you." She closed her eyes and listened to his heart beat a steady rhythm.

He got antsy after a moment, and pulled away, ruffling her hair with a nervous laugh. "Good."

"Come on," she giggled, biting her lower lip and tugging on his hands. "I want that ice cream now."