Entry tags:
Fic - Those You've Known (1/5?)
Title: Those You’ve Known
Rating: T (For implied adult themes and mild language)
Pairing: Implied Susan/Caspian
Summary: Susan continues living life after the tragic events of The Last Battle, but begins seeing ghosts and memories of a former life. Spoilers for the movies and books.
Disclaimer: I am not the Mouse, whether you interpret that as Mickey or Reepicheep, so please don’t spear me. Title comes from the ‘Spring Awakening’ song of the same name.
A/N: Can be read as a sequel to The Handkerchief, but also as a stand-alone. Takes place around five years after The Last Battle. The character of Ryland Michaels is lovingly borrowed from![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yourstar202.
Rating: T (For implied adult themes and mild language)
Pairing: Implied Susan/Caspian
Summary: Susan continues living life after the tragic events of The Last Battle, but begins seeing ghosts and memories of a former life. Spoilers for the movies and books.
Disclaimer: I am not the Mouse, whether you interpret that as Mickey or Reepicheep, so please don’t spear me. Title comes from the ‘Spring Awakening’ song of the same name.
A/N: Can be read as a sequel to The Handkerchief, but also as a stand-alone. Takes place around five years after The Last Battle. The character of Ryland Michaels is lovingly borrowed from
yourstar202.Chapter 1: The Bitch of Living
Susan snuggled deeper under her warm covers, not wanting to move. Rays of sunlight passed through her window and warmed her face, beckoning her to rise and meet the day. She turned her face the other way and gazed at the man asleep beside her. She loved having this sight meet her every morning; it seemed to make the days better. Thinking about waking, Susan absently wondered why her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. It seemed awfully sunny for a quarter till eight…
Her eyes widened and searched desperately for the clock. It displayed in bold, red numbers, 8:37.
No.
“No, no, no!” She exclaimed, immediately ripping off her blankets and running around her flat, looking for her work uniform. Late didn’t even begin to describe the situation in which she found herself. She had to be at the café at nine and look presentable, at least.
Quickly running a brush through her hair and messily pinning it up, Susan studied her reflection in the mirror. Bags were under her eyes and her face had grown thin. She blamed it on long hours of work, but deep down she knew the real reason.
Satisfied with her hasty job, she ran back to the bedroom and threw on some clothes. Her bedmate groggily sat up and watched her dig through the mess on the closet floor for her work uniform. He particularly liked her round bottom sticking up in the air.
“You have less than half an hour to get to work, love,” the man said, voice thick with sleep.
Susan stood back up with her uniform draped over her arm. “Yes, I know, Ryland. George is going to kill me if I’m late again.” Her eyes shot daggers in his direction. “I can’t exactly give him the real reason, either.”
Ryland chuckled and got out of bed to help her on her way. She zoomed out of the bedroom and found her shoes by the door, slipping them on. She picked up her purse from off of the sofa and prepared to yank open the door.
“I think you’ll find these important.” Susan looked back at Ryland, who held out his hand, flat keys hanging from his fingers. Susan moaned and held out her hands, catching the keys as Ryland tossed them across the living room.
As she stuffed them in her bag, she asked, in a rush, “What time is it?”
Ryland peeked into the bedroom. “Sixteen minutes exactly till nine.”
“Shit.” Susan rushed out the door without so much as a look back at Ryland and hit the busy morning streets. She ran to the bus stop and hoped she’d catch one.
The people that morning all seemed to cause a flow against Susan as she swam upstream, feeling like a salmon. No one even apologized for hindering her travel and her mood only soured as the minutes ticked by in a mad frenzy.
She was sure time was against her that week. She had been late the morning before and her only saving grace was a nagging customer who would not leave anyone else alone in the café until he was served.
Out of breath and battered by the population of London, Susan arrived at the bus stop. She collapsed onto the bench and waited, her foot tapping impatiently. She looked around, noticing no one else waiting with her and saw out of the corner of her eye a red bus turning a corner.
“What?” she cried as she started running after the double-decker. “Oh, you’re having a laugh!” She ran across an alleyway, nearly causing the driver of an oncoming car to suffer whiplash, but she couldn’t worry about that, not right now. She saw the bus stop for a light and urged herself to run faster, still trying to defeat the opposing flow of people.
As she finally caught up with the bus, it drove off and she found herself running like a fool behind it. She watched as a chubby boy made faces at her through the back window until they were out of each others’ sights.
Susan stopped running and stood panting on the sidewalk. She could feel her hair fall out of her pins and closed her eyes at her failure. In the distance, she could hear Big Ben toll the ninth hour. “No,” she complained to herself. Her life was over. There was nothing else she could do and yet she would not let herself break down in the middle of the sidewalk. So Susan trudged on to the café and awaited her doom.
Sneaking in the back door, her heart began to race. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, as if memorizing every shelf, every crack in the walls. She remembered happy times with other waitresses and arguments with George. But she almost didn’t regret anything.
Almost.
“Suzie Pevensie.” She turned to look at the voice and found herself looking at a tall, red-haired gentleman as he emerged from the dining room. George Bramhurst took one look at the disheveled sight that was Susan and shook his head. “You know what I’m going to say.”
Susan looked down, a frown creasing her forehead. “Yes, sir. But maybe you could-“
“No. I told you yesterday that if you came to work late one more time, then that would be it. Leave your uniform and best of luck to you.”
Susan closed her eyes. “Please, sir, hear me out.” George sighed and threw his head back. “It was five years ago when that horrid train wreck happened.”
“And I’m sorry you lost your family in it. But Suzie,” George looked at her again, “that was five years ago. No matter the anniversary, you need to focus on now. And you had your chance here. Then you lost it. Again, I’m sorry, but maybe someone else will have more sympathy for you.” And he swept past her to help out in the kitchens.
Susan sighed and threw her uniform into a hamper against one of the walls. She walked into the main room and made to leave through the visitor’s door when a sweet, older voice called out.
“Susan?”
She turned around and saw her favorite customer sitting in a booth, drinking her normal cup of tea. “Mrs. Peterson.” She smiled and walked over to the table. The elderly lady was rarely given a second glance, but Susan always saw a sparkle in her bright green eyes that kept her interest and, ultimately, led to their becoming friends.
“Dear child, how many times have I told you to call me Lydia?”
Susan gave a small chuckle. “Too many times, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Peterson looked at Susan’s appearance. “Sweetheart, whatever happened to you?”
“Life, I’m afraid. And it wasn’t very kind to me. I suppose now I’m off to find a new job.”
Mrs. Peterson gestured for Susan to sit across from her. “I’m so sorry, dear. If there’s anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to give me a ring.” She smiled warmly at Susan.
“Oh, now that’s too much, Mrs. Pe-“ She saw the other woman’s slightly amused expression. “Lydia. I’m still young yet, I can fend for myself.”
Mrs. Peterson patted Susan’s hands, which were folded on the table in front of her. “Of course, dear. Now, how is Mr. Michaels holding up with his band?” She said this with a mischievous look and Susan could only imagine how rebellious the older woman had been, or had wished to be, in her younger life.
“It’s been a good month, but the life of an artist is never easy. I’ve tried telling him over and over to find something that will bring in a steady paycheck, but he refuses to listen to reason.” She chuckled, and said in a quieter voice, “As do most men.”
“Indeed. Although I have found in my experience that reason sometimes hinders the soul to do as it truly wishes.” She took a sip of her tea and looked out the window at the passersby. Susan thought about her words before answering. She often had short philosophical discussions with Mrs. Peterson which proved to make her work hours that much more interesting.
“But without reason, there are no boundaries for the soul to keep. Otherwise it would run rampant and no one would be able to control it.”
“Hm,” Mrs. Peterson chuckled. “Is the soul controllable in the first place? I see it as a tiger that is locked in a cage of reason, that tries to claw his way out in each direction, but then sees the blue sky and leaps out of the cage, rolling around in the grass of freedom. You can try to tame it and make it do what your head thinks is right and acceptable, but deep down it just wants to run free and make choices that seem ridiculous on the outside, but make perfect sense when better examined.”
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
“Ah, but the unlived life is not worth examining.”
The two women laughed. As she sipped her tea, Mrs. Peterson gurgled, “Oh!” She set the cup down. “I never gave you my number.” She quickly pulled out a scrap of paper conveniently living in her purse and a pen and scribbled the digits. “Really, do not hesitate to call for anything. It wouldn’t hurt a sweet old woman to have someone to share a cuppa with.” She smiled generously.
Susan accepted the scrap of paper, tucking it in her own purse, and smiled back. “Thank you, Lydia. And also for the discussion, as always. But I really must get going. Who knows what other bad luck I’ll run into this morning.” She got up from the booth and waved to Mrs. Peterson before leaving the café.
Taking a deep breath, Susan continued along the busy streets, this time with the flow of the crowds, and kept her eyes open for any job vacancies she could hopefully fill.
It was going to be a rough day.
Susan snuggled deeper under her warm covers, not wanting to move. Rays of sunlight passed through her window and warmed her face, beckoning her to rise and meet the day. She turned her face the other way and gazed at the man asleep beside her. She loved having this sight meet her every morning; it seemed to make the days better. Thinking about waking, Susan absently wondered why her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. It seemed awfully sunny for a quarter till eight…
Her eyes widened and searched desperately for the clock. It displayed in bold, red numbers, 8:37.
No.
“No, no, no!” She exclaimed, immediately ripping off her blankets and running around her flat, looking for her work uniform. Late didn’t even begin to describe the situation in which she found herself. She had to be at the café at nine and look presentable, at least.
Quickly running a brush through her hair and messily pinning it up, Susan studied her reflection in the mirror. Bags were under her eyes and her face had grown thin. She blamed it on long hours of work, but deep down she knew the real reason.
Satisfied with her hasty job, she ran back to the bedroom and threw on some clothes. Her bedmate groggily sat up and watched her dig through the mess on the closet floor for her work uniform. He particularly liked her round bottom sticking up in the air.
“You have less than half an hour to get to work, love,” the man said, voice thick with sleep.
Susan stood back up with her uniform draped over her arm. “Yes, I know, Ryland. George is going to kill me if I’m late again.” Her eyes shot daggers in his direction. “I can’t exactly give him the real reason, either.”
Ryland chuckled and got out of bed to help her on her way. She zoomed out of the bedroom and found her shoes by the door, slipping them on. She picked up her purse from off of the sofa and prepared to yank open the door.
“I think you’ll find these important.” Susan looked back at Ryland, who held out his hand, flat keys hanging from his fingers. Susan moaned and held out her hands, catching the keys as Ryland tossed them across the living room.
As she stuffed them in her bag, she asked, in a rush, “What time is it?”
Ryland peeked into the bedroom. “Sixteen minutes exactly till nine.”
“Shit.” Susan rushed out the door without so much as a look back at Ryland and hit the busy morning streets. She ran to the bus stop and hoped she’d catch one.
The people that morning all seemed to cause a flow against Susan as she swam upstream, feeling like a salmon. No one even apologized for hindering her travel and her mood only soured as the minutes ticked by in a mad frenzy.
She was sure time was against her that week. She had been late the morning before and her only saving grace was a nagging customer who would not leave anyone else alone in the café until he was served.
Out of breath and battered by the population of London, Susan arrived at the bus stop. She collapsed onto the bench and waited, her foot tapping impatiently. She looked around, noticing no one else waiting with her and saw out of the corner of her eye a red bus turning a corner.
“What?” she cried as she started running after the double-decker. “Oh, you’re having a laugh!” She ran across an alleyway, nearly causing the driver of an oncoming car to suffer whiplash, but she couldn’t worry about that, not right now. She saw the bus stop for a light and urged herself to run faster, still trying to defeat the opposing flow of people.
As she finally caught up with the bus, it drove off and she found herself running like a fool behind it. She watched as a chubby boy made faces at her through the back window until they were out of each others’ sights.
Susan stopped running and stood panting on the sidewalk. She could feel her hair fall out of her pins and closed her eyes at her failure. In the distance, she could hear Big Ben toll the ninth hour. “No,” she complained to herself. Her life was over. There was nothing else she could do and yet she would not let herself break down in the middle of the sidewalk. So Susan trudged on to the café and awaited her doom.
Sneaking in the back door, her heart began to race. Her eyes scanned the kitchen, as if memorizing every shelf, every crack in the walls. She remembered happy times with other waitresses and arguments with George. But she almost didn’t regret anything.
Almost.
“Suzie Pevensie.” She turned to look at the voice and found herself looking at a tall, red-haired gentleman as he emerged from the dining room. George Bramhurst took one look at the disheveled sight that was Susan and shook his head. “You know what I’m going to say.”
Susan looked down, a frown creasing her forehead. “Yes, sir. But maybe you could-“
“No. I told you yesterday that if you came to work late one more time, then that would be it. Leave your uniform and best of luck to you.”
Susan closed her eyes. “Please, sir, hear me out.” George sighed and threw his head back. “It was five years ago when that horrid train wreck happened.”
“And I’m sorry you lost your family in it. But Suzie,” George looked at her again, “that was five years ago. No matter the anniversary, you need to focus on now. And you had your chance here. Then you lost it. Again, I’m sorry, but maybe someone else will have more sympathy for you.” And he swept past her to help out in the kitchens.
Susan sighed and threw her uniform into a hamper against one of the walls. She walked into the main room and made to leave through the visitor’s door when a sweet, older voice called out.
“Susan?”
She turned around and saw her favorite customer sitting in a booth, drinking her normal cup of tea. “Mrs. Peterson.” She smiled and walked over to the table. The elderly lady was rarely given a second glance, but Susan always saw a sparkle in her bright green eyes that kept her interest and, ultimately, led to their becoming friends.
“Dear child, how many times have I told you to call me Lydia?”
Susan gave a small chuckle. “Too many times, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Peterson looked at Susan’s appearance. “Sweetheart, whatever happened to you?”
“Life, I’m afraid. And it wasn’t very kind to me. I suppose now I’m off to find a new job.”
Mrs. Peterson gestured for Susan to sit across from her. “I’m so sorry, dear. If there’s anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to give me a ring.” She smiled warmly at Susan.
“Oh, now that’s too much, Mrs. Pe-“ She saw the other woman’s slightly amused expression. “Lydia. I’m still young yet, I can fend for myself.”
Mrs. Peterson patted Susan’s hands, which were folded on the table in front of her. “Of course, dear. Now, how is Mr. Michaels holding up with his band?” She said this with a mischievous look and Susan could only imagine how rebellious the older woman had been, or had wished to be, in her younger life.
“It’s been a good month, but the life of an artist is never easy. I’ve tried telling him over and over to find something that will bring in a steady paycheck, but he refuses to listen to reason.” She chuckled, and said in a quieter voice, “As do most men.”
“Indeed. Although I have found in my experience that reason sometimes hinders the soul to do as it truly wishes.” She took a sip of her tea and looked out the window at the passersby. Susan thought about her words before answering. She often had short philosophical discussions with Mrs. Peterson which proved to make her work hours that much more interesting.
“But without reason, there are no boundaries for the soul to keep. Otherwise it would run rampant and no one would be able to control it.”
“Hm,” Mrs. Peterson chuckled. “Is the soul controllable in the first place? I see it as a tiger that is locked in a cage of reason, that tries to claw his way out in each direction, but then sees the blue sky and leaps out of the cage, rolling around in the grass of freedom. You can try to tame it and make it do what your head thinks is right and acceptable, but deep down it just wants to run free and make choices that seem ridiculous on the outside, but make perfect sense when better examined.”
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
“Ah, but the unlived life is not worth examining.”
The two women laughed. As she sipped her tea, Mrs. Peterson gurgled, “Oh!” She set the cup down. “I never gave you my number.” She quickly pulled out a scrap of paper conveniently living in her purse and a pen and scribbled the digits. “Really, do not hesitate to call for anything. It wouldn’t hurt a sweet old woman to have someone to share a cuppa with.” She smiled generously.
Susan accepted the scrap of paper, tucking it in her own purse, and smiled back. “Thank you, Lydia. And also for the discussion, as always. But I really must get going. Who knows what other bad luck I’ll run into this morning.” She got up from the booth and waved to Mrs. Peterson before leaving the café.
Taking a deep breath, Susan continued along the busy streets, this time with the flow of the crowds, and kept her eyes open for any job vacancies she could hopefully fill.
It was going to be a rough day.