called_lioness | (no subject)

(no subject)

Susan's nagging her.

Well, not nagging, Lucy admits as she climbs out of the bath and grabs her robe. Not nagging, but asking questions, like "rings" and "dress" and "WHEN are you getting married, Lu?" and Lucy's rather decided she should probably find out the answer to at least some of those questions.

So, she decides as she slips on nightgown and finger-combs through wet hair, she will just have to, when Caspian returns.

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"But if we don't," she mutters, making a face, "it still has to be decided."

And she rather dislikes that idea.

"I do like the idea of the end of the month," she adds, quietly.

"Aye," also quietly, and he shifts and pulls her up against his chest.

"Then the end of the month it is."

"31st?"

She's content, really, to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, and it's enough that she can't help smiling as she asks the question.

"Think I'll figure out a gift for you by then. Unless you've got an idea?"

"There's nothing I could want more than to be your husband," he says, and although his smile is very warm, mayhap there is something.

One thing.

One impossible thing.

But he just runs a hand up her back, and smiles still.

"What about you, my Lucy? What could I give you?"

"You make it difficult, my lord," she sighs, mournfully, and reaches out to touch the smile after a moment.

Because it's warm, but there's something to it that makes her quirk an eyebrow, a little.

"I've you," she says back, lightly, and a little bit teasing, "so what more could I want?"

Except there is the one thing, and while Lucy smiles well enough her eyes show it.

Because it's easier, really, if they don't say it, or she's thought it would be.

"I know," he says to what she doesn't say, and his eyes are earnest, because there's no use in lying, no use in trying to pretend. So he presses a kiss to her cheek, and lets himself think, just briefly, about it, and how sweet it could be, before he pushes it once more to the back of his mind.

She closes her eyes for a few moments and doesn't say anything, because it's sweet to think about, yes. "It's never going to go away, is it?" Lucy asks, finally.

"No," he answers, his voice soft. "I don't think it ever will, Lu."

He almost adds an "I'm sorry," but thinks better of it, and kisses her shoulder again instead.

"I can't--" think of a way, she means to say, and finds that's not truthful. Not entirely.

So instead she tilts her head back to look at him and brushes at his hair.

"If I could give you a child, I would," she says, finally.

It hurts a little more, really, to say it out like that.

"We can't," he tells her, almost a whisper.

"Lu, it's impossible. If there were a way--"

But he stops himself short, because it hurts, and he's always known this, and what's hurting the most, really, is the fact that he still hopes. Hopes for the impossible.

He almost hates this place for giving him that hope.

"I just...I still want it. Because it's you, and me, and--"

She shrugs, a little, and looks away.

She doesn't agree that it's impossible.

She knows.

But she won't say it.

"So do I," gently. "I've not even married you yet, but I still wish there were some way."

"If there was," quietly, "even now--" And she stops, and bites her lip, and shrugs a little.

"If I'd imagined this before, it wouldn't have been--not much, I suppose, like how it is," she says, running a hand along his arm. "I think I would've thought a lot of it was impossible or silly. But it happened."

"I thought it was impossible even to see you again," he tells her, lifting her hand to kiss her palm.

"And here we are."

"So what if it's not impossible?"

There.

Now it's not just hope in her head.

He's quiet for a long while, stroking a hand over her hair.

"That is my hope, as well." Finally.

She sighs and moves her head to kiss him, softly, if for a long while, before she pulls away and looks at him.

"It doesn't hurt to hope."

Well, not exactly. It does hurt, a bit, to have that hope.

But it does no harm.

"It does."

But it's said gently, and Caspian shakes his head.

"But we hope anyway. And we'll--we'll think of something."

"But not as much as it hurts not to."

It's strange, because.

If she wanted a child, she could have had one. But that's not it. It's not a child, it's your and my child and our child that matters to her.

Maybe, she admits, she just wants too much, but it doesn't feel like it should be too much.

"And if we don't--if we don't, I've you."

Which is a way of saying, if we don't--I have all I need, still.

"And Adam and Alanna's child," he points out, with a small smile, "whom I'm certain we will be seeing much of."

"And spoil rotten," she nods, and laughs, and if her eyes are a little bright, it's Caspian.

It's all right for them to be so with him, she thinks, and she's still grinning as she pushes him from his side to his back and leans over him.

"We decided quite a bit tonight, then."

"I'm terribly impressed," he says, sincerely, and straight-faced. "We'll be done with plenty of time to spare before we even take stock."

This is a lie.

"You know what we have time to do, then?"

Very seriously indeed, as she leans over to rest her forehead against his.

"Design flower arrangements...?" Innocently.

"Nope," she beams, and brushes her lips against his forehead.

"Try again."