Disclaimer: I don't own C.S. Lewis' books or Disney's movies.

The Pevensie house was quiet, for only two of the usual five occupants were actually there. Susan, Edmund, and the children's mother had left earlier that day to tend to their grandmother, who was ill. She lived quite a ways away, so the three of them planned on staying at least one night.

Peter was in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes from his and Lucy's dinner. Lucy was upstairs playing with her dolls. Quiet rang in their ears, and all they were thinking about was a nice, peaceful ending which would end with many good hours of shut eye.

But just as Peter dried off the last dish and put it back in the cabinet, the dreaded signal rang out: the air raid signal.

The first thing he thought of was what his mother had told him. She didn't want to leave two of her children behind, but the grandmother was so frail that it would not be a good sight for Lucy. Peter had to convince her, however, that he could look after her. Finally, Helen had agreed, and gone on to explain how important it was to get into the air raid shelter as quickly as possible if there was such an emergency.

"Lucy!" Peter shouted, running to the stairs. He listened to the hollow sound pounding underneath his feet. "Lucy, where are you?"

Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned to the right and ran into Lucy's room. She was cowering in the corner. "Peter!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"It's ok, Lu, just hurry!" Grabbing her hand in his, Peter pulled her up and together, they started for the stairs again. Halfway down, though, Lucy cried, "Oh, no! Peter, I forgot my teddy!"

Before he could stop her, she was running back upstairs. Lucy, no! he thought. Scared to death for her, Peter followed suit, shouting, "Lucy Pevensie, get back here right now!"

When he caught up to Lucy, she was already on her way back, the teddy bear clutched to her chest. Peter picked her up and ran, not stopping for one breath until they were safely in the shelter with the door shut securely. At this point, he put her down on the ground and threw his arms around her in unrestrained relief. "Lucy, what was that? What the bloody hell was that?"

"What was what?"

Peter took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead. "Going back for your stuffed animal? What if a bomb had hit the house, huh? You would have died, Lu, you would have died."

"Oh, dear," Lucy sighed. "I'm sorry, Peter. It's just… Daddy gave me this."

His face softening, Peter let her go and glanced at the beat up bear she held in her hands. Gently, he slipped it out of her grasp and took another long look at it. "You really miss him, don't you?"



There was a long silence, in which Peter didn't look up until he heard a sniff. Lucy was rapidly blinking back tears, but her face was flushed red. "Oh, Lulu, don't cry. Come here." He held his arms out, and she crawled into them, settling into his lap. "We all miss Dad, but he's fighting for us and for England, alright? It's a good thing he's doing. Do you understand that?"

"Yes."

"He's thinking about us, and we're thinking about him. As long as that's the truth, he will always be with us." Peter kissed her head and then rested his chin on top of it, staring at the wall and the picture of their father that had been hung there. He stared back at his oldest son, his eyes fierce and proud, sending the silent message that he'd once told Peter out loud: Lucy loves you. Look out for her.

"I will," murmured Peter as he felt Lucy begin to relax and her breathing begin to slow. "I wouldn't think of not doing it."

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