A.N: Thank you all once again for being patient! I promise instead of once a week I'll try and post twice a week. This chapter is a little short, but completely necessary I think in furthering the story along, so I hope you enjoy it! Please leave a review and tell me what you think! The next chapter will focus on the other Pevensie's, so I'm looking forward to catching up with them!

Chapter Five

Come and Go With Me - The Del-Vikings

March 7th, 1944

Uncle Sal's Cafe, New York, America

"That looks an interesting book you have there, miss," said a cheery voice from behind Susan.

Susan was sat outside, dressed in a white blouse and a navy blue skirt, wrapped in a grey tweed coat that had once belonged to her mother. Her hair was pinned back at the front with little antique pins, and curled behind her. Her cheeks were rosy due to the cold air, and she was seemingly transfixed by the book she was clutching. In the other hand she stirred a small cup of tea, the steam rising in clouds.

She tilted her head to the side, and surveyed the waiter beaming down at her. Tall for his age, which she suspected to be a year or two younger than her, he had dark hair swept neatly off of his face, which was clean-shaven and youthful. He was clad in his uniform, which consisted of a white shirt, a black waistcoat and bowtie.

"'The Picture of Dorian Gray'," she read aloud, flipping to the cover. She then looked back at the boy, and smiled politely at him. "Yes, I suppose it is very interesting. Hard to put down once you start."

The boy chuckled. "I know what you mean, 'Of Mice and Men' is a bit like that."

Once again Susan smiled at him, out of manners, and began to start reading the book again, hoping he'd take the hint and leave her to her reading. Unfortunately, it appeared he did not. He stood in front of her, eager and acquisitive. Tightening her lip, she put the book down once more. "I'm not sure you'd like it," she told him, narrowing her eyes. He was a bit to keen for her liking.

"And why not?" he queried, amused.

"I saw you reading the cartoons in today's New York Times," she replied, rather nonchalantly. "Oscar Wilde hardly seems your kind of thing, does it?"

The waiter took the seat across from her, folding his hands over the table. He was observing her rather scrutinisingly, causing Susan to shift uncomfortably in her chair. "Why don't I take you out for coffee, and you can tell me all about Dorian Gray in that pretty, little accent of yours."

Raising an eyebrow, Susan couldn't believe the abrasiveness of this young man. Scoffing, she shook her head, and held up her cup of tea. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Alright, how about drinks then? There's a great bar further in the city," the man persevered, still managing to grin at her.

"I'm afraid I don't care much for alcohol," she sighed, wishing that he would leave her alone. "Besides, are you even old enough to drink it?"

His grin cracked a little, and as he suffered yet another rejection. Tugging on his bowtie, he chuckled again, this time with a hint of nervousness. Susan could tell that this was a man who rarely got no for an answer. "Well what about water? Surely you drink water?" the man tried one more time."

Susan considered getting up and leaving, but then remembered she was supposed to be meeting someone at the café, and had no way of telling him that she wanted to change the location, promptly. Instead, she placed the book down, and crossed her arms. "It appears I'm going to have to spell it out for you, seeing as though you are unable to read the signs," she said, rather matter-of-factly, irritable. "I'm not interested in you in any other way, besides you being my waiter and topping up my tea for me."

Holding his hands up, the waiter got up out of the chair, and nodded. "I get it, there's another guy," he sighed. "Isn't there?"

Susan thought about the question for a moment, and felt herself break out into a small smile. "Yes, there is."

/

Just when Susan reached the bottom of her teacup, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Groaning, she slammed the book down on the table, thinking that the waiter had returned to pester her further, chancing his luck. "Listen, I have no desire to discuss Oscar Wilde with you over any sort of beverage!" she cried, before turning around and feeling her world stop.

The waiter was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Johnny was stood behind her chair, bewildered. He looked almost unrecognisable out of his naval uniform, this time opting to wear a white polo shirt, brown trousers, and a thin, black jacket. His raven-coloured hair was combed back, though a few loose curls escaped. A wide grin adorned his face, despite his slight bemusement at Susan's outburst.

"Alright, how's Dickens sound?" he teased, in an accent that was only emphasised by the dramatic backdrop that was the New York skyline.

Susan didn't have time to respond, for she had jumped into his arms the second he finished talking. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she found herself cheek-to-cheek with Johnny. His hands were on her back, holding her close to him. The pair remained like that for a while, until Johnny pulled back, awestruck.

"You came," he said, breathless.

Susan looked up into his dark, chocolate-brown eyes. They staring deep into hers, and she felt enamoured. All the hustle and bustle of the city blurred into nothingness, just the presence of Johnny circling her senses. "I promised, didn't I?"

"What was that about Oscar Wilde?" he questioned, curious.

Blushing ever so slightly, Susan tried to dismiss the previous encounter. "Oh, nothing important. Just a persistent waiter, that's all."

Johnny tensed, and reached out to hold Susan's hand. "Did he make any advances towards you?"

Susan nodded. "Three." She didn't see any harm in telling Johnny the truth.

"Can you point him out to me, please?" he asked, in an oddly calm voice one would use to give the illusion they were nothing but calm.

Though a little wary, Susan nodded and gestured to the same waiter who had badgered her earlier. He was falsely laughing at a customer's joke, as he served him and his wife a coffee each. Johnny then began to approach the juvenile, still clutching onto Susan's hand. Hastily she picked her book and purse up, as she followed Johnny.

Johnny cleared his throat, catching the attention of the waiter. Turning around, the waiter smiled at Johnny, the smile then dropping suddenly when he spotted Susan beside him. Face as white as his uniform, the waiter gulped. "How may I help you, sir?" he managed, in a weary voice.

"Yeah, you can learn to take a hint, pal, and stop trying it on with other guys' girls, alright?"

Other guys' girls? What did Johnny mean by that? Did he consider Susan 'his girl'? If so, why didn't she know? Too many questions raced through her mind, as she and Johnny left the café, leaving the spluttering waiter to explain his actions to the manager and customers. Mulling things over in her brain, she accidentally elbowed a passing stranger, who grumbled and cursed at her as he continued on. Johnny shouted something back to the man, his New York accent as thick as ever.

"You know, if I was here with Peter he'd most likely have hit that waiter in there," Susan sighed, reminiscing. The image of her brother at eighteen scrapping with a group of other boys on the platform at King's Cross Station wasn't one she was particularly fond of.

"I can go back and give him a square one to the jaw, if you'd like?" Johnny suggested, gesturing to the building now a few metres behind them.

Susan quickly shook her head. "Oh no, definitely not," she explained, firmly. "I think that's why I like you so much; your natural reaction to something you don't like isn't to just hit it. You do the right thing."

Johnny beamed, somewhat sheepishly. "You make me want to do the right thing."

/

Over the course of that morning, Johnny successfully gave Susan the true New Yorker tour. Of course, whilst she had been studying there for three months she had visited the Empire State Building, the Rockefeller Centre, the Statue of Liberty, and Times Square. However, she hadn't had a local to show her this glorious city - properly.

Johnny showed her the gym his father boxed at, in the 20's. A large poster of a very handsome man, chiselled with a mischievous grin, adorned the back wall. Susan knew immediately that it was Johnny's father, due to the striking resemblance. Some of the men in there recognised Johnny from before he left to join the Navy, and an elderly gentleman called Donnie even invited him into the ring for one more chance to defend his father's title. The men were more than pleased to be introduced to Susan, few as impressed by her career and exploits abroad as they were by her beauty.

Next Johnny brought Susan to a record shop that he would frequent as a teenager. Reminiscing, Johnny happily pointed out the records that he would spend his pocket money on, rather frivolously he added. Susan laughed harder than she had in a while as she and Johnny held the album covers to their faces, the artists' faces aligning with their own.

After being thrown out of the record store by a red-faced and grumbling owner, Johnny and Susan holding hands as they ran out the door, giggling like schoolchildren, he took her to a local mechanics, explaining he had got his first job there, when he was fourteen. The owner of the shop heard the sound of Johnny's voice, and immediately bound out to engulf him, embracing him. Whilst getting his ribs crushed by the man half his size, coated in oil and grease though still managing to wear a beam the size of the Pontiac Streamliner he was working on, Johnny told Susan that they hadn't seen each other in over two years after Johnny had enlisted.

Last up on their tour was Johnny's apartment in downtown Brooklyn. It was a cramped building, families practically living on top of one another. Susan tried not to appear surprised, but when a rather ragged looking woman started to yell at them in Italian from the doorway of her flat, a crowd of children all under the age of seven at her feet, Susan couldn't help but flinch a little.

"Ignore her, she's just rambling on about us making too much noise," Johnny informed her, before whispering something back to the woman in their native language. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she nodded, and closed the door.

Johnny's apartment was on the sixth floor. Despite the dingy conditions in the main building, his and his uncle's space was actually rather quaint, with a magnificent view of New York. Susan was transfixed for a minute or two, whilst Johnny called out for his uncle.

"It appears Uncle Paul has gone out," Johnny concluded, taking his jacket off and placing it on the back of the sofa. Susan watched his muscles work, then blushed a little.

"How could you walk around the city in a jacket that thin?" she asked him, tugging off her own coat, heavy and warm. "I'm English, and even I was freezing."

Johnny laughed. "The cold just doesn't affect me," he shrugged. He looked at Susan, standing in front of the window, the midday sun casting a glorious glow around her. "I don't know how it's possible, but I think you grow more beautiful every time I see you."

Looking away, Susan smiled, shaking her head. "It's because the only women you see when your at sea for months are mermaids," she retorted, modestly.

Chuckling once more, Johnny, ran a hand through his hair. "Trust me, the mermaids are nothing compared to you, Susan," he assured her. Then, he held a hand out to her. "Can I show you something?"

Without hesitation, Susan nodded, and took the outstretched hand. He led her down a short hallway, and into a room at the very end. Pushing the door to, Susan surveys the room, curiously. There are posters of baseball players unknown to Susan on the wall, and a pair of worn boxing gloves on the back of a chair. Smiling, she spots a stack of timeworn and tattered books piled high on a bedside table. A couple of aforementioned records can be seen protruding from a cardboard box in the corner of a room too. Susan clocked immediately that this was Johnny's room.

Turning around she finds him watching her, intently. "What was it you wanted to show me?" she asked him.

He gestured to another pile on his desk, this time of paper. Susan looked down at the paper, quickly realising that they were all letters. Picking one up she noticed that it was her handwriting. They were the letters that she had sent Johnny, over the span of their two-year friendship. She felt sentimental, all of a sudden, touched that he still had them.

"I kept every single letter you ever wrote me," he told her, sincerely. "I've reread them all a dozen times. I couldn't bear to throw any away. I just wanted you to see them - to know that you mean a lot to me."

"I can't believe you have them all," Susan breathed, rifling though the letters, some she couldn't even remember sending herself. She turned back around, and saw that Johnny was fiddling with his hands, looking down.

"You know, you're the first girl I've ever had in my room," he muttered. "I've always been too nervous to bring anyone back here."

Susan cocked her head, and slowly started to approach him. "Are you nervous now?"

Johnny nodded. Susan was now stood in front of him, barely a foot between them. She bit her lip, feeling somewhat anxious herself, then bit the bullet. She kissed Johnny, and immediately his lips were moving in sync with hers. This time it wasn't bittersweet, or heavy with hopelessness. It was electric, and thrilling. Whereas time seemingly stopped during their last kiss, everything felt heightened during this one, sped up almost. Johnny held her tight to his chest, stopping only when Susan's fingertips found their way under his shirt.

"Are you sure?" he asked, panting. "We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I've never been so sure of anything," Susan replied, as she pulled the shirt over his head. She had seen his muscles many times before, and yet she was still left astounded. Johnny then presses his forehead to hers, and beamed.

"I love you," he told her. "I've wanted to tell you for a year now, but I had to tell you face-to-face. I'm in love with you, Susan."

Butterflies soared in her stomach, and she grinned back. "I love you too," she said, the words coming as naturally as though she were asking him for the time, or for directions. All the nerves were gone. Everything she could have fretted about disappeared in a second. She unbuttoned her blouse, Johnny watching her every move, and dropped her skirt to the floor. Johnny reached out and pulled the pins out, her dark, inky black hair falling about her face. Smiling, Johnny placed a hand on her cheek, and another on her back as he laid her down on his bed, both of them staring into each other's eyes.

"You are the most beautiful girl I've ever met, Susan Pevensie," he whispered, kissing her again, blissfully.