NOTES: This is set during the afternoon before the wedding day, after the boating incident and the discovery that Andrew's dad has invited Margaret's immigration officer to Sitka. It jumps forward to the night before the wedding as well. It's meant to fill in a couple gaps, just to expand on how Andrew came to realize that maybe marriage to Margaret isn't such a terrible thing. The title comes from Margaret's near-drowning experience and the fact that Andrew, at least in my point of view, feels like he's drowning in this crazy situation. I hope you enjoy it and I would love to hear any feedback you may have about it!

Effectively Drowning

He said, "Margaret," because there didn't really seem to be anything else to say. She looked up, sheepish, and tried to close the photo album before he realized what she was looking at. Andrew caught her hands. True, the pictures were upside down from this angle, but he would have known them anywhere. They were the pictures from his parents' wedding. He stared down at them and Margaret stared up at him, and her hands fluttered again, nervously this time. Had he been thinking straight, he might have been amused that, for the first time since he'd met her, she seemed human. But his mind wasn't operating like normal.

"She looks so young," Margaret said, and Andrew looked at her, uncomprehending for just a moment. Margaret clarified a second later. "Your mother."

"She was young." Andrew slid his hands into his pockets. "They both were. And poor."

Margaret tried a small smile. "They've really come a long way."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess so." He really wasn't comfortable with the subject, but their upcoming Immigration interviews loomed before him like a Nor'easter in his thoughts, and he knew the details couldn't hurt. "Mom came up here during school and ended up being a part of a PETA protest against some of the oil companies. After that dissolved, she backpacked for a while and ended up meeting my dad in Juneau. He was trying to get investors in order to start a small business here in Sitka."

"And she stayed?"

Andrew laughed, and he was looking out of the windows at the wild expanse of this bit of Alaskan coast. "Not at first. But dad…he was a persistent guy. I'm sure you've noticed. He lured her back and they started an empire. Presto."

"And you're the only child?"

"Yes." Andrew shrugged. "I'm sure they would have liked more kids. In fact, I know dad would have loved at least one more boy. But there's just me."

Margaret closed the photo album and stood, smoothing down her clothes. She always did that, ran her palms down her outfit to make sure it was still straight, to smooth out any wrinkles or irregularities. Andrew hardly noticed she did it anymore, although it had been one of those tics that had annoyed the hell out of him when they'd first begun working together.

"So. Tomorrow's the big day." She seemed unsettled by that, more anxious than he was, and it was him that was putting on the sham in front of his whole family. He might have told her not to worry, but the words wouldn't come.

"Yup. Tomorrow," he agreed. His hands were still in his pockets, so he shifted his feet. For a long moment they were silent, and Margaret thought that it was a shame that the still had no idea how to talk to one another. Not like this, anyway, when there was nothing work-related to discuss. She felt so tongue-tied in his presence, especially now, and she tried not to be envious of the apparent ease with which he and Gertrude fell into normal conversation. She remembering seeing them together from what passed as Sitka's internet café, and it had struck her in that moment how isolated she was, not just from her supposed fiancé, but from everyone.

The silence remained. Margaret took it as her cue to leave. She looked at him and realized again how handsome he was, his eyes not quite on her and his hands burrowed deep down in the pockets of his sweatshirt. She touched her hair, which was still in wild waves thanks to her quick dip in the ocean. Then she began walking toward the hallway that would lead to their bedroom. She turned at the door.

"Andrew?"

He turned to her, his eyebrows lifting. "Yeah?" he said quickly, obviously rousing himself from other thoughts.

"Thank you. For today, I mean. For saving my life." It was not the eloquent thanks she had wanted to say, but he surprised her by giving her just a hint, just the barest hint, of a smile.

"Sure," he said. "Any time."

She disappeared and he shook himself. Any time? That was the best response he could think of? He sighed. The things that woman does to me.

- - -

He was sleeping on the couch. On the couch. Sure, it was better than the floor, but still. The television droned on and on and Andrew wasn't listening. His mind kept going back to that afternoon, to the sight of Margaret flailing in the water. To her gripping the buoy so tight he could see all the tendons in her hand. She almost hadn't let go.

He squeezed his eyes shut but that made it worse. She'd almost drowned. He may have spent many a late night plotting her downfall in the past, but when faced with her actual death… It scared him. And not just because it meant he'd probably be out of a job. Or that it would have been his fault, since he'd turned the boat. Shouted warning or not, he'd jerked that wheel and sent her tumbling into the icy water. It scared him because, God help him, somewhere in the past two days he'd realized how vulnerable she was.

He hadn't noticed it before. Which was funny, because Andrew had been fairly certain that he knew just about everything there was to know about Margaret Tate. But she had done a phenomenal job pretending that there wasn't a chink in her armor, that she was cold and calculating and probably had a black cat as a familiar. If she hadn't neglected it to death, or tossed it off her flying broomstick.

But he'd been wrong. Margaret was fragile, she was self-conscious about anything intimate and she was lonely. He could feel it coming off of her in waves now, he could see it in the wary way she responded to his family's genuine warmth. She was scared to death of them because they wanted to tuck her into their familial fold. Into his familial fold.

She'd all but screamed it at him on the boat.

He'd had a sense of doom since the moment she had grasped his hand and he'd pulled her out of the water this afternoon. Something was changing, it was rolling downhill and gaining speed as it went, and he shifted uncomfortably. Kevin wriggled, momentarily dislodged by the movement, and his tongue lolled out happily as Andrew reached down and stroked his fur absent-mindedly.

Then the dog yipped. After a moment, he followed that up with a bark. And as Andrew sat up a little to see what was disturbing him, he caught sight of Margaret. She was in another set of those ridiculous pajamas, and her hair was loose and wild, and she offered an apologetic smile when she realized he was awake and looking right at her.

"Sorry. Seems I've got the munchies," she said.

"Yeah. No. Sure." He seemed a little unsure. He shifted the dog to the couch and sat up for real. "I don't think we're supposed to, you know…"

He actually wasn't too clear on that bit. His grandmother had separated them for the night and this encounter seemed somehow forbidden. Margaret gave him a smirk.

"Just keep that blanket away from me."

He laughed. Sort of. He was still a little thrown.

She wandered into the kitchen and out of sight, but he could still hear her. She got herself a glass of water and an apple, which she sliced. Then she came back into the living room. Her eyes rested on the TV, and it was an old black and white movie he didn't know the name of. He was too busy thinking that Margaret was usually so minimalist, and her choice of midnight snack was no exception. They both pretended to watch the TV for a few moments, sitting side by side on the couch, and then Margaret shifted.

"Andrew," she said softly.

Never Andy or Drew. He tried to picture her calling him Andy and just couldn't. Even now. "Yeah, Margaret?"

"How would you have proposed? I mean, if you had done it for real."

"Hm?" Caught off guard, he turned to study her face, waiting for her to spring some sort of a trap on him. But she was still looking at the TV, her face serious and her mouth soft as she waited for his answer. She was genuinely curious, and embarrassed by it.

"What, you mean if…"

"If I were that special someone you mentioned you were waiting for. I mean--" she laughed here, but it was a little forced, he could tell-- "not that I was saving myself. But you know. If…"

"I got ya," he said, lifting his hand and motioning for her to slow down, saving them both from her rather painfully awkward explanation.

"So…how?" Obviously, she wasn't going to let the subject drop.

Andrew thought about it. The first time he'd proposed, and that seemed like a whole different lifetime in a whole different universe now, he had simply gotten down on one knee and asked. But looking at Margaret, and knowing she was a minimalist, he thought that kneeling before her in her very tidy Central Park West apartment simply wouldn't do. It would have to be a simple gesture, but more meaningful than simply dropping down and thrusting a ring at her. He thought of the books she used to publish and the ones he knew she still snuck to the office to read on her lunch break, and he thought of all the things he'd learned about her over the past two days, and he said,

"I would have left you that note, the one with the hotel and the time." He paused again, picturing it. "But not in a decoupage box. Just on your desk. I probably would have waited in the hotel's courtyard in a suit. Not a tux, that's overkill. Just a black suit. And when you got there, I would have taken your hands, and told you how crazy you make me, and how I thought I was getting by okay and then you showed up and I realized I wasn't, and then in front of anyone who might be watching, I would have pulled the ring out and put it on your finger before you had the chance to say no. And then I would have asked you."

It was a little too close to the mark. He was able to picture it a little too clearly. She was staring at him now and he was staring back, and her lips were just barely parted, as if she was afraid to trust the sincerity in his voice, and he broke her gaze because he was being slightly too honest with them both.

"Then dinner at the hotel and…" He shrugged. "Probably a trip like this one, without the blatant lying."

"Oh," she said. There was a long silence, and she added, "That sounds…very nice."

Andrew was not used to compliments from her and found himself feeling strangely restless. He squirmed on the couch for a minute and then stood. "I think I need a glass of water."

"Oh. Right, yes. And I should get back to bed before your grandma catches us breaking the rules." Margaret was smiling again, but her eyes were still confused, and she followed him in the kitchen to put what was left of her apple slices into the fridge. Andrew got his glass of water and avoided her eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on with him lately, but it was a strange mix of anticipation and nausea and it was lingering in the area of his stomach.

"Goodnight, Andrew," Margaret said at last.

"Goodnight, Margaret," he replied, for the second time that night, and she disappeared. He set his glass down on the counter and took a deep, steadying breath. He had to get a hold of himself, he had to get his head in the game. After all, tomorrow was his wedding day. There was just one problem:

He was in love with his bride.