He runs through the masses of bullets and bodies, gun held tightly in his hands as he shoots sporadically. There is fighting and chaos and blood everywhere, and there is no time for precision.
He holds her against the wall, their mouths pressed together in an open kiss. There is no movement and no tongue, just shared, ragged breaths. She moans deeply as he thrusts into her, he hands groping the wall in order to find some leverage. The hand that isn't clutching her hip finds one of hers, their fingers interlacing as they ride out the waves of their orgasm.
She rushes from station to station, blood staining her uniform. Noticing another nurse waving her over, she grabs the gauze on the table and bustles over. The two work meticulously, one soaking up the blood from the wound while the other prepares the bandage.
They're running through a field, laughing as they play their childish game of tag. She is quick, and manages to escape his outstretched hand that was mere inches from tagging her back. He chuckles as she laughs loudly, eyes dancing with happiness. When she turns her back and forgets their game, he charges at her, tackling her to the ground.
"Do you love me?" She asks, eyes curious and face glowing in the bright sun.
"Always." He says, bending his head down to kiss her softly on the lips.
He risks taking a peak from his hiding place in the ditch, trying to find a possible route to safety. He feels like a coward, running away and leaving his mates behind, but there is no possible chance of survival on this field. He looks around some more and then sees it, a clear path through the forest a couple hundred feet ahead of him. All he has to do is run and not get hit, and his chances of living increase ten fold.
He stares up at her face, finds he can't look away as her eyes close in pleasure. His hands are grasping her hips, which continue to roll up and down in a sensual rhythm. He can't hold out much longer, the warmth of her groin rocking against him too much. She opens her eyes and looks at him, gasping when she sees his dark eyes boring into hers. She begins to move faster, nearly crying now as she continues to force him to hit that sweet spot inside of her. She knows he is about to release when his hands grip her hips tighter, his nails digging almost painfully into her flesh. She shudders as she feels the hot liquid shooting inside of her, the knowledge of it sending her crashing over the edge.
Grabbing a small brillo pad, she scrubs her hands in the basin, careful to wash every inch of her skin. Her hands begin to turn pink, but the rough scrubbing and the scalding water hardly phase her anymore. She has gotten use to this life of disease and blood, of war and despair. Drying her hands on a towel, she blinks as she looks down to gently stroke the silver locket around her neck.
"You…you're going to war?" She asks, tears already spilling down her eyes.
"I have to," He can't bear to look at her, not while hot tears stream down her pretty face. "I've been drafted."
"You're only 17!" She yells, cursing as her hand hits the wall, the physical pain almost soothing her breaking heart.
Tears continue to shake her body, as she sinks down to the floor. She sits there, helpless and hopeless, rocking back and forth in despair.
"I'm sorry. If I had the choice, I've never, ever leave your side." He whispers as he sits beside her, wrapping his strong arms around her and bringing her close to him.
"I know." She mumbles, resting her head above his beating heart, finding comfort in the steady rhythm.
Everything is black and silent, but he knows he feels movement beneath his body. The air is crisp and smells strongly of vomit, blood, piss and iodine. He tries to open his eyes, but they're much too heavy with exhaustion. He tries to lift his arms and legs, tries to wiggle his fingers and toes, but realizes with a startle he can't feel them. Beginning to panic, he tries to get up, tries to move anything on his body. He can't though, his cry of shock the first sound coming out of his mouth. Weeping with his eyes closed, he can hear the sharp clap of shoes pounding their way in his direction.
"Promise me you'll come home."
"I can't make that promise, I-"
"Promise me. Please, for the love of God, promise me."
"Don't say that. If you have any love for me and this relationship, don't say that. You'll come back to me, promise me you'll come back."
"I love you."
"Promise me you'll come home."
He sighs, knowing he can't promise her a single thing, but so desperately wants to. Not answering her yet, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a simple, silver locket. There are no engravings of fancy design or words, just a simple, silver locket. He stares at it for a moment, ponders what to say.
Unclasping the chain, he loops it around her neck, clasping it back together. He lets go and takes a step back, watching her holding it in her palm and gazing at it.
"This is a locket, and inside this locket is something very special. When I come home, only then can you open it. Promise me you won't open it until I am home."
Too bad his idea of returning home is drastically different than hers.
She sat by the bed, her face itchy with dried tears. She felt numb inside, felt completely dead just like the body next to her.
She looked at him again, finding no comfort in his corpse. To say his injuries were catastrophic would be an understatement, and even the most professional of doctors had needed to excuse themselves for a breath of fresh air.
It wasn't fair.
None of this was fair.
He shouldn't have been drafted in the first place. He shouldn't be lying here, motionless beside her. Shouldn't have felt the effects of a nearby bomb, causing his skin to burn and blister, causing his limbs so much damage that they needed to be amputated for any chance of survival.
She was the one who had convinced the doctors to stop administering care for him, only giving him enough painkillers in order to help him sleep without pain. Knowing it would only take a few hours for him to die, she felt it was far too unfair to keep him alive in such a state. Yes, she loved him dearly, but it was that love that helped her make such a difficult decision. She didn't want his last years of life in pain, and misery.
He was too special, too amazing to be seen without proper skin and limbs.
She pulls his shirt apart, smirking as the buttons pop off one by one. He pushes her collar off her shoulder, kissing the exposed skin of her collar bone. She breaths into his ear as his hand steadily creeps up her thigh, massaging the pale skin along the way. When his finger enters her, she gasps. And then another, and another, all done with quick thrusts. She grabs his zipper and pulls down, helping him shimmy out of his pants. Replacing his fingers with his aching erection, he leaves all mercy behind as he roughly pushes her onto the bed, then into her. Her nails are scratching down his back, and he can feel it even through his thick coat.
He continues to thrust into her as she begins to thrust back, both of them crying out in pleasure at each meeting.
"Edmund!" She cries out, tears leaking from her eyes as her toes curl.
"Lucy!" He grunts, biting his lip until it bleeds.
She dialed the number, nervously waiting for the other line to pick up.
"Hello, Pevensie residence?"
She wondered why she heard laughter in the background, till she remembered that today was Peter's birthday. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach, not wanting to make the call anymore.
"Hello? Hello, is anyone there?"
"Mum." She managed to choke out, rapidly blinking her tears away.
"Lucy? Oh my, Lucy, is that you?"
"Yes Mum." She took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.
"Everyone, listen up! It's Lucy!"
She could hear shouts of "Oh Lucy" in the background, the phone too statically to really make out who was saying what.
"Lucy, want to say Happy Birthday to Peter?"
"Mum, I can't. I have terri-"
"Peter, come here!"
"Mum, please listen-"
"MUM!" She finally shouted, her resolve completely breaking as she collapsed into tears.
"Lucy? What's wrong?"
At this point, Lucy can't stop crying. She feels the past couple of years really catching up to her.
It's not fair.
It's not fair that she has to live without him now, that she has to make a new identity for herself. It's always been them, even when they were children and didn't know what love was.
She should be lying on that steel beside him, skin pale and cold, no heart beat thumping beneath her bosom.
"Edmund is dead." She finally manages to whisper, her voice shaky as she continues to cry.
Her heart clenches painfully in her chest as she hears her mother's cry of anguish, and then the sobs of her siblings and father.
"I'll always love you, forever and ever." He whispered against her bare shoulder, his arms wrapped around her naked waist.
She turned in his arms till she faced him, bringing her hand to rest upon his cheek.
"I'll always love you, forever and ever."
After her call, she goes back into the hospital to sit with him.
Saying a quick, "I love you," she reaches behind her neck and unclasps the chain, letting it fall to her lap.
Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she opens the locket.
Another deep breath, she opens her eyes and peers down into the locket.
There is no picture, just an engraved message.
"Remember me and smile, for it's better to forget than remember me and cry."
"What would you like engraved in the locket, Sir?"
Edmund smiled, then said the quote to the jeweler. The man looked at him curiously, clearly wondering the meaning for such a message.
"I'm going to war," He began to say, still smiling, "and I'm leaving my girl behind. I don't think I'll make it out alive, but that doesn't mean she has to die along with me."
Lucy smiled, the quote so very Edmund as tears flow down her face.