for once, it is soccer on tv instead of football or baseball. it's not any of the teams corin usually supports, but it is soccer, and he watches it with a third of his brain and the other two-thirds goes walkabout through his thoughts. his battle strategy for the next few weeks, for example. aslan's ear is difficult to get a hold of, and his sympathy even more so. the thing is to not seek him out.

"he hates feeling like he is at the beck and call of all and sundry," his father had explained to him before he left.

"what?" corin frowned. "isn't he a priest? isn't that what priests do? i mean, tending to his flock, or whatever?"

"he is a bishop," lune corrected, "and he is not a tame bishop."

"what."

the sports bar is the only place in the detroit terminal you can smoke a cigarette. every time, corin steps through sliding doors that take him from the drudgery of immigration and customs checks, and his feet automatically take him to the heart of the terminal. on his way to the bar he would pass two mcdonalds, two starbucks, a chili's, like he is back in the suburbs of his youngest years, memories of which have quickly become apocryphal after lune's business took him to the philippines. frost on fallen leaves at the end of november traded in for endless summer.

"come with me," he had said to cor over the phone. "it'll be like the old days."

"i can't," cor replied. "i've got a nutrition education program to run."

"you owe the pevensies from the--"

"no, we called it even, what with the whole japan thing."

corin said, "it'll be like the old days."

and cor said, with a touch of wariness, "i don't want it to be like the old days."

"you're whipped," corin had scoffed merrily. "you're pussy-whipped, you motherfucker. you've gone soft in the head."

"if that's what you call caring for aravis and having her best interests at heart, then yes. i am, as you so charmingly put it, pussy-whipped."

"she doesn't need you to protect of her, you know."

"i know. but i want to." cor said, "look, we're all family here. we do what we can for each other, but aravis and i have a nice set-up going on up here and you, on the other hand, are involving yourself in a blood vendetta with the mafia. and the pevensies."

"yeah, so come along and make sure i stay alive."

cor laughed. "i have done that so often, i think you owe me at this point."

"well, i can't repay you if you never put yourself in situations i can save you from."

"i'm fine with that. i enjoyed saving your ass. well, no that i enjoyed it, but the outcome was always worthwhile."

and corin never really expected to convince his brother to come along with him to boston anyway, but it had been nice to talk. they were twins born 20 minutes apart but they never even knew each other existed until they were like, what, ten or something? so occasionally (and more frequently now with peter and edmund being around) corin still finds himself wondering what it would have been like to have grown up at each other's side, to have developed the fierce love and unquestioning loyalty the pevensies obviously have for each other. the pevensies don't seem to fear overinvesting themselves like lune does, or being divested of something precious like cor. the pevensies would go into a war with each other's names as battle-cries.

"you want another one?" the waitress asks, gesturing at his empty glass of sprite where previously a full glass of sprite had been.

"how about a rum and coke?"

"you got it."