Rating: Teen(ish)

AN: Hello old friends. New ones too. It's been many years since I worked on this. This, and a few other stories, will be my last updates on FFN, due to various circumstances several years ago, I vowed to not post on here anymore. I'm only 'breaking' that vow because of the state of the Suspian fandom. Once the fics numbered in the reaches of many thousands for Suspian, we had beautiful archives, and websites dedicated to that. Now, everything is mostly defunct, the purges on FFN of various stories and such, wiped out many of the stories in Suspian as well. And the place I've moved everything over to, An Archive of Our Own (also known as AO3) holds less than sixty (as of this posting) Suspian stories, of which about twenty belong to me. Anyone reading this, I want you to know that the Suspian fandom does exist, or at least, once really did, and FFN shouldn't be the only place to find it (other fandoms on AO3 are very well represented, just the older, smaller, splinter ones like Suspian aren't as well, because many of us have left it - and for five years that included myself, it would be nice if there was enough interest to shift over, but unlikely).

Without further ado, however...

XXX

Six

XXX

Susan avoided him for days. Caspian quietly waited her out, in the interim he had put in a request for learning materials. He would start with Latin and Spanish, to compare and contrast. Undertaking Spanish may be for the sake of survival, for if he was to bear up under scrutiny, he would have to be able to back things up at least a little. Evenings, as usual, she would come by, his pills in hand, quietly pocketed for later discarding, and she would stand there for a few minutes so it would all 'look' the same from the outside as it always had. He would continue to wait her out, wait until she gave some indication that she wished to talk about being Susan Pevensie and not Susie Fisher.

It went like that for weeks.

Time was that fuzzy and useless repeating creature, and Caspian submitted to his continued visits with both doctors Carter and Anderson, biding his time. He found himself fabricating 'progress' that revolved around the name of Esther. A name, a possible wife, and Dr. Anderson was ever sopleased about Caspian throwing himself into Spanish and Latin. He suspected that by having taken those interests, forcing himself to fake such feelings of fascination with a language that may have rolled off his tongue in a strangely familiar fashion, in a way that almost sounded correct, may be purchasing him some leeway. However, Anderson's continued pressing upon Caspian about animal instincts, urges, and such, was increasingly disturbing. Of what import was a man's sexual activities?

His monthly electroshock session was the same as others, figments, intense ones, ghosts of meaning there and forgotten within moments of wakening. Caspian would go mad if it weren't for Susan's presence after those, however. It was in those moments that things had almost returned to normal. Whatever passed for normal in this mad and washed out place.

Weakly his hand reached for hers, the leather bindings keeping him from being able to lift his hand far from the gurney, "Please," Caspian's voice was dry and cracked to his ears, pathetic and needy. Susan didn't seem to mind, her fingers slipping to curl into his hand, squeezing, and he begged, "Do not forsake me, Susan."

The tiny notepad she kept out, waiting after his sessions, was tucked into her lap as she scooted the heavy chair closer as she kept her observational vigil, and the nurse made no reprimand over the misuse of her name. "I'm here, Caspian."

Body throbbing, his eyes closed, Caspian sighed. He didn't think he could take much more. The patience of the will and mind would outlast his body if things kept on as they were.

Thumb stroking Susan's index finger, testing the feel of the bone in its veil of flesh, tears pricked his closed lids, "I do not wish to die in this shadowed wasteland. Trapped, poked, prodded, tested and measured against some unit that I do not know or understand."

"Where would you be? What would you like to do?" Susan asked him, it was a question Dr. Anderson voiced frequently, and Caspian often deflected. But her voice was so gentle, trying to draw him to something hopeful, he couldn't resist. "If you closed your eyes and were to open them, and magically be anywhere else, right this instant, what would it be like?"

Because it was her asking, Caspian would answer. Eyes closed, he inhaled deeply, imagining, longing for something else other than antiseptic burning. Dim light, like from a lantern, wooden walls and stalls, the scent of hay and horse...

Taking a shuddering breath, "Stables, readying for a late evening ride, near sunset. That is where I would wish to be..." Her other hand came to hold his, and Caspian's fingers spasmodically threaded and wove together, desperate for that simple, human contact. "And you there, in an emerald brocade riding dress, checking over the saddlebags for a picnic or something similar, just an evening ride and a," a tear slid free in longing, "a chance at something pleasantly normal."

The buckles of one restraint clanked and came loose, freeing his hand entirely, and Susan moved to kiss his knuckles as her elbows came to rest on the hospital bed, smiling sweetly, "Only you could make something so princely sound so mundane. But a picnic would be lovely. Oh, if only I still had my garden, then we could have fresh herbs and perhaps cucumber sandwiches, or maybe scones with clotted cream. I'd save up my ration cards, then maybe some nice cured ham or even a bit of mutton with rose water marmelade."

A bit of humour found him, "If it was a haunch of ham, salt and air cured for months and sliced thin, I would kill for a bit of that and tart, aged cheese with melon on the side. And a little basket of blackberries to share."

Susan laughed softly, lightly, the entire motion scrunching up her face, "Oh but, sir, that may ruin that fine brocade you're on about! I don't think I've even touched the stuff except - oh, no wait, Mum had a coat that was in the attic... A deep and far too bold mauveine. Cut down from one of Grandmother's dresses I think. Times were different then and she was a seamstress."

Fingers twitching to stroke her chin as she held his hand in hers and rested the dimpled round of it on his knuckles, Caspian released a quiet sigh rather than the admission that would slip free if he but gave it permission. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want any more of the therapies that were tortures, horrors that would destroy him as they sought to bring to the foreground a life that was over, gone, done and lost. Caspian wanted what was before him, a chance - no, there wasn't any chance. Imprisoned as he was, no skills and no prospects, he had nothing to offer Susan, though she was one of the only real lights in the ugly and bleak world that he had awakened in with no memory of who he was, where he was from. She was real, she was Other - but while he was also Other, and also real, or at least he supposed he was, that wasn't enough to give or share with another, no matter how he wished it was. Hunger and longing blended with the abiding shame that he could give her nothing that would provide what she gave to him.

Some of that must of shown in his expression, and the light in the nurse's dancing blue eyes, dimmed, darkened, deepened, her visage turning away from sweetness to empathy. "Oh Caspian...it's alright," Susan's words unmanning him completely, the momentary joy of an imagined bit of freedom had fled, supplanted by his tears.

Breaking down, bound and strapped to the gurney, cruel leather over stinging starched sheets and a patient's unkind pajamas, Caspian sobbed. Not even allowed the dignity of rolling to one side or another, he was worn down, and nothing would ever be right. Nothing would be 'alright', the hope and faith in his breast shaking and trembling as he cried like a babe in that hell. Not even Susan's angelic nature could do more than show him the light that couldn't be shared to someone like him.

XXX

Susan stopped avoiding him. That was good, but Caspian felt adrift again. Disconsolate. He still studied his Latin and Spanish, read any history book he could find - even if the contents of them seemed truly odd - and generally did his usual of keeping to himself. Seymour had been moved to a different ward, and he wasn't allowed to check on his friend, which further removed Caspian from day to day affairs. Susan did her best to counter that, he knew it, saw it, felt it in her hand tucking itself into the crook of his elbow when he went for his evening stroll through the sprawling hospital.

The midwinter holiday went on about him, about them, men receiving small gifts in their mail, some with families even came to fetch them for a day or two. Others at least received word, lining up in parts of the ward to speak on the strange handheld devices. Caspian took little note of it, uninterested. With everyone so distracted by the increased air of suppressed revelry, Caspian was free to be as silent as he chose.

Except Susan didn't leave him to it. Together, they would stand quietly on the patio, sometimes she would pluck one of his cigarettes from his grasp, lean against him and hug her red woolen cardigan to herself as she puffed. And he would eventually open his coat or take off his scarf, so it could be shared with her.

Going to his customary spot, his steps halted as the patio was occupied.

In a surprisingly brilliant purple coat that went to her knees, Susan was there, her hair down and there was some shimmery lavender colour over her full lips, and long slashes of dark black across the top of her lids that came to broad sweeping curves at the corners of her large blue eyes, making them enormous. Waving, barreled ringlets of robustly brown, shot with a bit of sun lightened blonde here and there, fell around her shoulders and face, several segments at the top pinned from her round forehead. The very look of her stole away Caspian's breath, she was colour, she was real and solid, and there was no shadow to dull her visage at all, nothing to wash her out and rob her of any substance at all.

"Well, just don't stand there Caspian!" She gestured him over, fidgeting, but smiling, "Come here, the cider will get cold if we leave it too long!"

Taking a deep breath, Caspian forced himself forward, the door to the patio closing behind him. "Cider?"

"I managed to get a hold of some and someone owed me a favour in the cafeteria kitchen, so I was able to make us a little holiday dinner," the nurse looked ready to burst with excitement, but all Caspian could think of was how much he wanted nothing more than to hold her, smell her hair, kiss her, bask in that light.

Not sparing more than a glance at the thermos sitting in the basket atop the wide rail, Caspian's gaze was pulled back to her, "The colour is far from too bold on you. It is perfect," fingers reaching out to first touch her cheek, then the sleeve of the arabesque brocade coat, "you are perfect. More perfect than usual."

"Don't let Nurse Kerry hear you say that," she teased, stepping closer. "She'll do something awful and then I'd be put out, because I'd have to ruin her perfect red lipstick and get into trouble."

Making a face as he unbuttoned his coat enough so that she could worm closer if that was her desire, "Never, I do not wish to think of a harriden, when you are all I need, no other woman will ever claim the place you hold." After the words were out, he froze, both of them did, the ramifications of it dawning, and Caspian readied himself to beat a hasty retreat. "Susan, I -" giving himself a shake, "Nurse Fisher, let me -"

"Hush," arm slipping around his waist, her cheek came to rest on his chest. "Hush and just hold me, then we'll have some cider, maybe I'll even break out the bit of whiskey I've been saving for nasty dreary mornings, we'll have our potatoes with toppings - I've even managed a bit of bacon and cheese, you know - get tipsy perhaps, and then you'll kiss me, maybe we'll even walk in the garden, count stars. And then I'll walk you to your room, and I'll go clean up for my shift. In the afternoon when I'm off for the day, I'll finally go to my drafty, lonely little boarding house, have a lie down and think of the first nice holiday since my family died. Let me be just Susan for tonight, you'll be my family, and I'll be yours, so we're not alone."

Enfolding her in his arms, "I would rather not be in my cups at all when I kissed you, as it is a memory I wish to have indelibly marked in my mind so nothing could ever pry it out. And I would rather not take advantage of a woman who may not be aware of what she is doing. For I may beg more than a single kiss if we were too much unaware of ourselves."

He didn't press upon her statement about her family. She wanted something bright and happy, a moment of shared joy, and Caspian wished nothing more than to lift her up to touch the stars if only it would make her smile at him again. Her skin smelled different than usual, the touch of powdery honeysuckle was replaced by daubs of some flower water or other gently scented essence, something gentle and good, readily available. As Caspian held her, he wished the moment would end, depositing him back to dreary reality.

Finally they broke apart, and Susan patted the three, very thick, woolen blankets she had brought with her, "To keep our bums from getting cold upon the concrete."

Caspian leaned out over the rail, hitching up on it backwards, and leaned further. "Do you think there will be -"

"They wouldn't run on Christmas Eve, it's not wartime anymore," the weight of her hand on his knee, reassuring him.

Hopping back down, he scooped up both blankets and basket, presenting his arm, "Then perhaps we should go around to the doors, so that I can be very daring and risk the little park bench with its table?"

Both of her hands found their spot in the crook of his arm, "You could always just help me balance and pretend to not look at my knickers."

"I could, but I would never wish you to catch an icy draft to places that should remain warm," a chuckle at his own expense, and a rather daring statement, but it made her laugh, which was a lovely sound.

Even through two, double folded blankets, the concrete was cold if Susan's shivering was much to go by, and Caspian removed his own outer coat, draping and tucking it about her while they shared the third blanket. Huddled and sipping the amazingly warm drink from the thermos, Caspian listened to her tell of parties she had been to. Light, airy affairs, music, flowing drink, smoke heavy in the air. Dancing and sometimes the smoke was from something banned and considered rather illegal - hashish - made from a plant that was related to hemp. Or so she said. Caspian actually knew what that was, and thought it strange that a potent medicinal was banned, but, like many things of England and Great Britain, he viewed it as alien and strange, yet was left little recourse but to accept it.

Their baked and roasted potatoes were good, filling, little packs of vegetable bits and gravy or margarine (a strange product that tasted like it wanted to be butter but wasn't that he had grown accustomed to), and even the mentioned bacon. Beans were on hers, and they traded bites as how he assembled his was different from hers. Several large potatoes later and shared between them, the last was saved, because he had finally nerved up to ask what the rationing was about. For him, food was available at the hospital, not particularly good tasting food, granted, but readily available, and most importantly, free. Besides, he wasn't hungry, had eaten plenty, and was more interested in just simply listening to Susan as she snuggled up against him.

From some inside pocket a flask was withdrawn, given a shake, the metal kept warm from proximity to her, "Are you quite sure you don't want a few nips for nerves?"

"My nerves are steady, I assure you," as he wrapped his hand around hers holding the flask. "You keep mine far steadier and muster my courage without the need of drink. Even if I shall be bold and rude to voice the fact that the idea of pressing lips to something that had been so close to you would likely fulfill most any fantasy a man may daydream of."

The flush that burst across her cheeks was worrying and he thought he had overstepped one time too many, or at least much too far. "Sometimes I don't know what to make of you, Caspian," she finally said, her free hand pressed to the center of his chest. "You're nothing like anyone I've ever known, and can say positively the most unseemly things in such a way it's difficult to take offense and is even, somehow..." Her cheeks darkened, the sapphire of her eyes revealed in the garden's lamplight gone to a deeper midnight, sparkling, "Somehow thrilling for all the impropriety. You make a girl say silly things she'd never say to another."

"Never have the words 'silly', 'improper', let alone 'unseemly' ever crossed my mind as adjectives for you," as he finally took the flask for a sip. It was coarse, poorly made, and bitterly burned down his gullet, but it was strong, he would give it that. Probably better in a cup of tea. Repressing the urge to 'gah' after he was done with the swig, Caspian continued. "Rather the words 'kind', 'gentle', 'intelligent', 'incomparable', and a few others including 'lovely', come to mind. Light, a source of joy, and the only thing true and good. Those are the words and thoughts I associate with you." They were quiet again, trading the flask, not that they took many sips, more often, it was held in hand for a long while, before a sip was had. She was half in his lap, tucked over his leg as he had made it into another barrier between her and the cold, his face almost in her hair. "For all your talk about your parties, you did not sound like you were very happy, Susan," holding her close.

She shifted, uncomfortable, but her hands wove together with his over her stomach, "Keith was from that time. Him...and...and..." She huffed out a very sad sigh, "I was very different. Like...like Nurse Kerry, I was..."

"I sincerely doubt you were anything like Nurse Kerry," Caspian squeezed her closer. "Sharing pleasurable pursuits with another person does not make you, or anyone, anything but human, seeking warmth, connection, and in some cases more, some cases, just fun. There is nothing in that, that could make a person be like Nurse Kerry. She is spiteful, and, to be uncommonly, rudely, utterly crude in my bluntness, and if it gives offense, please blame it upon drink loosened tongue - her number of men she has shared her body with, has absolutely nothing to do with why her personality is so deplorable. You are nothing like that. It takes a broken soul filled with hate to be that way, not numbers of partners." Mouth close to her ear, "We have all had our pasts, some good, some leaving us scarred, but in the end, you will always be yourself, Susan, and that is a woman of deep and abiding kindness, no matter what mask may have been worn, what name you have been called. I know that, just as surely as you say you know I have managed to retain my own self, no matter what is wrong with my mind."

Susan twisted enough to look at him, searchingly. "You don't care, do you?" He couldn't help but raise a brow, because he did care about many things, but she amended her statement before he could counter her, "I mean, you don't judge me for having been...having been of loose character. It doesn't make you see me any differently at all, does it?"

Rubbing his cheek atop his shoulder briefly, he picked over his words. "And I suppose I shall be even more blunt. People need people, we are made that way. Our bodies are meant to give and share pleasure or joy. Between lovers, that is lovemaking. Between dalliances, it is sex. In the end, it does not change who those people are, it does not make them different from how they were before bodies came into contact. So why should I judge that you have lain with someone? Would you judge me for not being a virgin? So why should I judge you for the same?"

"Men don't want a wife who's had more experience than him," she pointed out in a way that made it sound like she believed that she had had more than him. And it was perfectly possible she had, for he didn't have the memories to say one way or the other. If the woman named Esther that he couldn't remember had been his only partner, Susan certainly no doubt had far more partners and experience than himself - and so what?

Making a face as he mulled it over, he came up with a problem. "Honestly? I would not want a wife who had no idea what to do. She would lay there like a board, probably worried over something or other, rather than how it could be best for both, and sometimes a man wishes to lay back and enjoy, let her take the reins, and if she has no idea what..." Caspian paused after trailing off as he realized she was staring at him, mouth agape, and looking completely mortified. Then he realized just how - probably deemed rather disgustingly frank - he had been. Clearing his throat, "Ah...I just mean to say, that the inexperienced tend to not do very good jobs at things in life, and to gain experience, one must practice if they wish to be any...good at it... There is this saying, and I cannot for the, oh flaming, I cannot remember where I heard it. It is just a saying amongst men being honest in their cups!"

She looked a bit like a landed fish, mouth opening and closing, and he was glad for his dark complexion, because he was probably pinker than her lips were under normal conditions otherwise. Squeaking the question, "I'll no doubt regret this, but what's the saying?"

"That heaven is two fire breathing," he paused, "for some reason I think the word has different connotations where I come from, but, two fire breathing wenches who know their way around a man and each other," mumbling.

A hand clapped over her mouth, horrified and scandalized, but he thought he may detect a hint of a smile being covered up, no matter that it didn't occur to him that the covering of the smile meant she was likely ashamed for having thought it funny at all, "Caspian!"

Defensively, embarrassed, but also trying ever so hard not to fall over laughing, "It is a saying! I did not say that it was one I entirely subscribed to. Two women is one too many at a time, thank you, I am mortal, I have limits." Earnestly, "I only want one woman, I have but one heart, and it is very much filled and that is all I need or want. There is barely enough of me worth sharing, why would I wish to divide what little bit of me there is by being greedy? It would not be fair to the poor woman who should choose to have anything to do with me at all."

"Goodness, I'm entirely too sober," Susan pulled the flask from where it had been tucked back in and he was amazed at how easily she chugged at the contents for a good long pull. "Oh that's foul, what I wouldn't give for some decent stuff from under the counter..."

"On my worst day, I could probably make better," Caspian agreed.

"You know how to brew?" the thermos of cider was checked, mostly empty by now, and definitely cold, the cannister halting part way to her mouth.

Caspian blinked a few times, thinking it over. "Yes. Beer, mead, wine, some spirits, yes," recipes popped into his head, information, things he would need, a long list of things to aid clear fermentation... "Cheese, only the principles of it. Dyeing with the use of vegetable, plant, or animal matter, with or without earthen or metal based addatives, the growth and application of medicines, stabilizing and caring for the injured, both catastrophically and minor. Animal birthing, and once..." He halted, blinking a few more times, the memory fleeing before he could grasp it. "I think I have delivered a baby or two. Maybe three. Care of goats, sheep - shearing too, horses, chickens, and other regular farm animals. Slaughter and health...ah...gardening. Carpentry, give me a hammer, saw, some nails and wood, and I can build most things with a bit of trial and error...I think. No good at spinning or weaving, do not mind carding wool in winter..." The list was muttered out in a long, unthinking string. "Blacksmithing, know what to do with ingots for horseshoes, armour repairs, weapon repairs... Can design and build siege weapons... Umn, repair sailing vessels, and am not too bad at mending my own clothes. I like fishing and hunting...I think."

The thermos made a soft sound as it was set back on the table, Susan shifting within the tent of blanket and his coat, both her hands coming to take hold of his face, "Caspian? Are you...is that a memory?"

Gaze refocusing on her, "I - I do not know. Ah, I only know what I need to do those things, and my hands seem to recall, as does my nose, just...information. The particulars are not present."

Maybe something else would have been said. Maybe he shouldn't have had so much to drink. Maybe he shouldn't have been holding her so close. But the sticky softness of Susan's mouth was there, whatever the lip cosmetic she had been wearing mostly rubbed and faded away by the time they were kissing. Caspian could still feel a bit of the tacky substance and he didn't care, the idea of it being on him, marking him, sending a bolt of need through his body. Who kissed who first, Caspian wished he could find a moment of regret for that, it was lost, unknowable, but for the taste of her mouth as his own lips parted, searching for more. The hungry groan as slick tongue brushed and stroked against his, broke free, and Susan was in his lap, it was so easy to pull her closer, to lay himself back along the bench, to feel her weight along him. Fingers were in his hair, her soft body pressed tight, and Caspian found that there was no resolve left in his veins, his pulse only beat to her touch, to the sensation of her filling his world and every sense.

A roll of hips had him growling, hands roving over her waist and back, but she whimpered over him, breaking free, her words barely convincing, "Not out here."

"Not out here," he echoed, agreeing, voice rough as he waited for her to give him the breathing space he needed to keep from going for another kiss.

Signs of their meal were gathered up, Caspian yanking and tugging his coat on, wishing to leave it wrapped around Susan as protection from the cold. But they settled themselves some with quick checks, just no touching, otherwise they may both go mad. At least he would, feared he would. Each step back to his room, Caspian fought, struggled with himself. If he thought it would do much good, he would drop to his knees and pray to whomever would listen, that what they both wished to do would cause no harm to others, no dishonour to a woman who may or may not have been real, that he couldn't remember at all. That Susan forgive him his failings and amnesia, and wouldn't care that he was so incomplete. For however brief or lengthy a time, so long as she would take him as he was, he would do anything she asked of him, for as much time as she would allow, he would beg to remain in her light. He also pleaded with himself for strength, because Caspian didn't want to take what she was offering while they were both tipsy, not quite in their right minds. It must have been a very long time since he last consumed fermented drink for his control to be so shattered, yet perhaps it was just a convenient excuse.

The door to his small room opened and closed, clicking, and he stared for long moments at the lock. He wasn't even supposed to have that little bit of metal, yet, because of how much he unsettled the other patients, and due to a few, insignificant to him, but distressing according to his doctors, scuffles and attacks, Caspian had been given the modified little lock. It wasn't much of one, just enough to slow down or deter an intruder...or keep the nosey from entering while he was in flagrante with Susan. A deep breath and his fingers twisted the lock, something to keep the outside, out, and the inside, in.

A strange hissing, clicking screech, and Caspian jolted, "What?" turning around to see Susan, the coat gone, and a soft blue dress under it as she bent over a strange box sitting atop his nightstand.

"Hmn?" Susan sounded distracted, unconcerned, touching and fiddling with a protruding knob as the crackling, hissing, slurring whisper came.

Then voices, and Caspian pressed his back to the door, staring around his room, strains of music. It didn't come from outside, it came from insidehis room, "Susan - can...can you hear that?"

Finally, flushed with drink and arousal, she looked at him from over her rounded shoulder, the capped sleeves of her dress not hiding how the pink of her mood and state traveled down her arms. "Hear what?"

"That -" waving a hand frantically as the song got louder, "- music? Words? Am I going mad?" Shaking, sweating, Caspian's gaze skipped over the familiar, washed out confines of his room, but couldn't see anything or anyone else. A desperate edge crept and cut through his vocal cords, "Susan? Am I going mad?"

Suddenly the noise stopped, Susan touching the box, "It's just the radio, Caspian."

"Radio? Like...like calling in troops, saying airstrikes come?" the word wasn't entirely unfamiliar, he had heard it spoken of, described as a wartime thing, some device that could cause death to fall from the sky upon the defenseless.

"Well, radios can do that, but, it's just the evening shows," Susan came to him, her hands smoothing over his forehead. Like other times, her touch renewed and broke him simultaneously, and he crumpled to his knees, arms going around her waist, as he buried his face in her belly. "Caspian, you're not going mad, it's just the radio to...to cover any noise," fingers in his hair, and he could only nod, gasping in great lungfuls of air. The explanation helped, "I brought it from my place, sometimes there's amusing shows on, or music, things that talk about outside..."

Caspian nodded again, his heated blood having chilled with the fear and worry, robbing the urgency that had fired his body and mind. "Susan...I...I do not think I can..."

There was strength in her hands as they tugged and tipped his head back so she could look at him, "It's alright, you don't have to."

Thank you for reading, and your interest, I appreciate it, and it means a great deal to me.