A/N: Thank you all so very much for your continued interest! Thank you to Joel Shell and Kymby, and Lillepus, Elena, and BJMccoy! Believe it or not, there should only be a couple of chapters left!
After closing the patient, Charles slowly removed his surgical cap, gloves, mask and surgical gown, depositing them in their proper receptacles as he strode glumly toward his office, hands already shoved deep into his pockets, his back rounded and head down.
"Charles. Wait up."
He did not turn around to acknowledge Margaret's calling his name, and instead strode dejectedly into his office. If she really wanted to speak with him, she could at least afford him a bit of privacy by entering his office, an act that she'd neglected to do all week.
There was the knock, plain as day, a rather demanding knock.
"Come in," Charles muttered, taking his seat behind his desk as he swallowed.
Margaret opened the door and shut it behind her now, her face full of concern. Charles remained seated behind his desk, peering up at her, his eyes still glassy.
"Please tell me what's wrong, Charles. This isn't like you."
"I can't," he said, shaking his head, his voice nasal. "Not here. Not now."
"Where then? Name a place and we can talk about it."
"It's of no further interest to you, Margaret. You are clearly far happier now and you needn't concern yourself with my problems."
"What's that supposed to mean, that I'm happier? Since when?"
He shut his eyes briefly, disappointed that the subject had shifted away from him so easily, and yet, he'd predicted it would be so. All he could do in reply was slowly shake his head. Shockingly, Margaret didn't push the subject, and let the tension lie thick in the air between them until it was more than he could bear.
"I appreciate your keeping your word," Margaret said in a low voice, stepping toward his desk. "I don't know how you fixed everything so quickly, and yet somehow you did."
"Fixed. Of course," he muttered, his eyes locked on his desk.
"Do you realize what tomorrow is?" she asked, trying to get him to make eye contact with her. "Charles."
After a couple of seconds, he peered up at her, wincing.
"Tomorrow will be exactly a month since I came to Boston."
Charles took a deep breath, floored by the information. How had so much changed in that short span of time? When Margaret had arrived in Boston, he'd been utterly despondent, a shell of himself, wreaked with guilt over his interactions with the Chinese musicians in Korea and his innate unworthiness to be chief surgeon. With her arrival, Margaret had immediately begun to turn his life around, showing him what paradise could truly be. And it was then that his jealousy took over, causing him to abuse his power in an attempt to control Margaret from afar. The decision he'd made was certainly fitting in regards to his many iniquities this past month.
"Congratulations, Margaret," Charles murmured, making a poor attempt to smile.
"I want to take us out to eat—my treat. Perhaps you can tell me there what's eating you."
Now he was gawking at her in disbelief. What in the world would cause her to extend an olive branch to him after what he'd done to her?
"I think it better you celebrate this milestone with Dr. O'Rourke," he replied. "He's far more deserving of your company."
"That may very well be so," she began, "but I want to be with you."
"You shouldn't feel obligated to reward me for correcting my misdeeds, Margaret," Charles murmured, keeping his head low, his eyes peering up at her subserviently. "In fact, I would argue that I deserve to lose your friendship over everything's that happened this past month."
"You were suffering horribly when I arrived here, Charles. It's understandable that it's going to take some time to—"
"Don't make excuses for me," he cut in, shaking his head. "First, I repeatedly disparaged you for sending that telegram, and from there, I became increasingly more dreadful to you as time went on. You deserve better."
"Should I not be allowed to decide what I deserve? It's exactly this notion, that you need to tell me what I should think, is what got us into this mess in the first place, starting with my decision to send that telegram to my Uncle Bob."
He bowed his head contritely, shutting his eyes.
"My apologies, Margaret. Apparently I still haven't learned from my mistakes."
"Tonight, at seven, at that Irish pub in South Boston. Would you be willing to meet me there?"
He grimaced at the thought of going to that wretched place again, and gaped up at her.
"You mean the pub that I fled not once, but twice now?" he commented, looking repulsed.
"Third time's a charm. Please, Charles."
"Is that what you truly want, to spend your work anniversary with a fiend?"
"It's close to my apartment, you know," she said, smiling knowingly. "Only three blocks away."
"What does that have to do with anything?" he replied, baffled by her justification. "Wisely, you have chosen not to invite me there."
"Well, what about tonight?"
He blinked at her now, rendered speechless.
"What are you saying, Margaret? Surely I am not worthy of—"
"I'm saying we should eat first, at the pub, and then you can walk me back to my apartment. Would that be alright with you?"
His eyes widened and he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly.
"See you at seven, Charles," she said, her smile widening.
He looked unsure of himself and gave her a weak nod.
"Seven, then."
"I'm sorry I'm late, Margaret," Charles murmured, keeping his head down and eyes aimed at the ground as he was brought to her booth in the Irish pub at 7:02 pm. Margaret was wearing a red dress that clung tightly against her skin, and he was glad he'd chosen to change into a more formal suit befitting an anniversary.
"It's no problem at all," she said, smiling at him and standing up until he was seated across from her. "I'm glad you came."
Rather than reply to her, he lowered his head, clasping his hands in front of him, his legs shaking beneath the table. He visibly cringed as "You Belong To Me" by Jo Stafford started to play on the jukebox, with several couples beginning to slow dance now. It was an oddly fitting song, considered he'd apparently believed Margaret to be his and attempted to control her as such.
"I hope you're willing to talk about what was going on today," Margaret said quietly, her voice low and soothing. "That wasn't like you, to—"
"I'm putting in my resignation on Monday."
"What?" Margaret squawked, her eyes going wide. "You've got to be shitting me! Why the hell would you do that?"
"I warned you of this notion almost exactly a month ago, before you even applied for the nursing position, that it was something I was planning to do. And now that I have gone so far as to abuse my power, I have to… face the music, as it were."
"But I'm here now, and we've had some good times, haven't we? Why would you just get up and leave me here by myself?"
"You have Clyde now," he said. "I'm sure you two will be very happy together."
"So this is about him again," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Jesus, Charles, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were interested in me for yourself."
Charles's jaw dropped at the statement and he quickly turned his attention to an approaching waitress, to stifle his revealing nonverbal reply to Margaret. Margaret shooed the waitress away silently with a dismissive gesture, sighing in relief when she got the point and left.
"Your relationship with Dr. O'Rourke is but a minute factor in my decision to leave Boston," Charles began. "Ultimately, it's because of my obvious unworthiness to be Chief of Thoracic Surgery."
"Ugh, you're still using that tired line, that you're unworthy?" she muttered, rolling her eyes.
"Well, I've certainly earned the right to say it now," he said, shutting his eyes briefly. "Not only did I maliciously manipulate the schedule to my benefit and to your and Clyde's and Dr. Baker's detriment, but I made numerous unacceptable errors in surgery in a short period of time, and I have done nothing but hurt and confuse you since you came here."
"You know, you can un-confuse me right now, and that'll be one less thing to feel guilty about."
She could see Charles gulp now, his pupils dilating so much that the blue of his eyes was barely visible. It seemed to physically pain him to look directly into her eyes but he forced himself to do so.
"All this time, my only goal has been… not to lose you."
"And yet, you've chosen to leave Boston—and me—behind now," she interrupted, frowning and crossing her arms. "So I guess your goals have changed."
"My goals have not changed, but I can no longer bear this feeling of loss, especially when you're standing right beside me."
"You didn't lose me."
"You're right, Margaret," he said, sighing glumly as he shook his head, "I can't lose something that was never mine."
"No, that's not what I'm saying," Margaret responded.
"Then what, pray tell, did you mean?" he muttered, clasping his hands together on the table.
"I'm saying I'm here because of you."
He did not relax or smile at her response, instead fidgeting and adding his own reply.
"What you mean to say is, because of my sister Honoria's hysterical phone call to you in Tokyo."
"No, Charles," she replied, shaking her head. "If you leave Boston, I would have no reason to want to stay here."
"Not even Clyde?"
Now she rolled her eyes at him and then reached out and put her hand on his. Charles could only blink at her with a mix of suspicion and wonder, unable to reply.
"Clyde's a wonderful man, but I'm not interested in him in any sort of romantic way," she said, her face dead serious. "That being said, there is someone in the department who I do feel that way about, but he's convinced himself that he's unworthy of me and has done his damndest to prove it."
Charles wrinkled his brow then, swallowing audibly as he looked from her face to her warm hand on his own, his heart thudding in his ears and drowning out the background music. The world around Margaret's face, Margaret's body, seemed to fade into oblivion, leaving the two of them facing each other, the truth hovering somewhere in the air between them.
"Now, I've been trying to send subtle hints to this man, to not completely terrify him, but he hasn't seemed to notice," she continued. "Instead, he tried to game the system, to force me to be with him, when just asking me would have worked far better for the both of us."
"Are you just saying this so I'll stay?" Charles finally replied, his face troubled. "Because I have not made this decision in haste. I have considered the alternatives, and yet I—"
"All that I've said is true, Charles, but I do very much want you to stay. If you still choose to leave, just know that you'll be breaking my heart."