A/N: Thank you so much to Joel Shell and Kymby! Thank you as well to Elena, Lillepus, and BJMccoy—I hope you guys are enjoying the newest developments! Now, for this newest chapter, I highly recommend streaming or youtubing the following songs, which really helped set the mood for this chapter and in fact are "played" in this chapter!
"Because of You" by Tony Bennett
"For All We Know" by the King Cole Trio
"Again" by Doris Day
I really hope you all like this latest installment, which was one of the most rewarding yet difficult chapters to write, because I wanted it to be perfect! Please let me know if you do!
Now the waitress had arrived and stood before Charles and Margaret's booth, setting down two glasses of water on the table while holding a pad and pencil to write down their orders. All of a sudden, their ever-deepening conversation had been stolen from them by her presence, leaving them with an aftertaste of mutual uneasiness as they blinked up at her.
"An Irish stew and fish-and-chips," Margaret said to the waitress, not even needing to look at the menu.
"The same," Charles said, his eyes on the table. What Margaret had ordered had been exactly what he'd ordered the first time he'd come here, the night he'd gone looking for her. "Should we order drinks?"
"It's up to you," Margaret replied, shrugging.
"I suppose I'll have a Guinness," he mumbled, making a sour face at the thought of it. He wasn't much of a beer man, but any type of liquor would certainly be more expensive and make it more difficult for him to drive home this evening. There was no way he was going to allow his inhibitions to be lowered enough tonight to make grave errors in judgement as in his past drunken escapades. He had to keep a clear head tonight; surely opening the floodgates of his own feelings would send Margaret running in terror, especially considering his awful behavior as of late should have been a deterrent in and of itself.
"The same," Margaret said, looking up at the waitress.
After the waitress had left, an awkward silence fell over their table.
"So, how was your week?" Charles asked. "Everything back to normal?"
"Are you really going to completely ignore everything I just said?" she growled, making a face of distaste. "In case you didn't know, it was very hard for me to open up like that, and you've chosen to just completely disregard it."
"I'm not disregarding it, Margaret; I just haven't the slightest idea how to reply to all of that."
"I don't know; how about that you'll stay, for a start? Or maybe even that you'll think about it? Or, hell, maybe that you feel the—"
"Fine," he said, grimacing. "I'll think about staying."
After several mindless foxtrots and jitterbugs had been played on the damned jukebox, upbeat songs that barely registered a response in Charles's brain, Tony Bennett's "Because of You" began to play. Several additional couples at the booths around them now headed for the dance floor, hand in hand, as Charles and Margaret sat in an uncomfortable silence awaiting their food.
"Would you care to dance?" Margaret asked earnestly, a hopeful smile on her face.
"No thank you," Charles immediately replied. "I only appreciate the sort of music that can't be danced to."
"But it's such a beautiful song," she muttered. "Just listen to the smoothness of his voice, the passion—"
"It's a dirge," he interrupted, rolling his eyes. "How anyone can attempt to dance to this cacophony is beyond me."
"But aren't those strings playing right now?" she asked, leaning out of the booth to listen more closely. "Don't you like the sound of strings?"
"In an orchestra, yes. In a jazz band, no."
"If you are really planning on leaving Boston," she began, clearly frustrated with him, "why are you trying so damn hard to make what may be our last meal together so… lousy? The least you could do is try to lighten up so we have good memories."
"I apologize, Margaret," he replied, bowing his head contritely. "I've created quite a few bad memories for you as of late, haven't I? Apparently I'm not very proficient at creating good ones."
Now she reached out and touched his hand again.
"You've apparently created just enough, or else we wouldn't be here together tonight."
Finally, their meal arrived and both Margaret and Charles were relieved to be able to eat without speaking. In fact, both were so hungry that it took them no time at all to finish every last bite of their food and the entirety of their beers.
"Have you thought anything more about what I said earlier?" Margaret asked, having wiped off her mouth with her napkin.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you mentioned it again," Charles replied, wincing. "And yet I still am at a loss for words."
Now the waitress came back and Margaret thrust her Diner's Card at the woman.
"Thank you for not insisting you should pay," she said to Charles as her card was taken away with the bill. "I appreciate your respecting my wishes."
"Seems an awful waste of money to me, your paying to have some killjoy ruin your anniversary dinner."
"I invited you here tonight to tell you how much you mean to me," she said. "And I did just that."
Now Charles swallowed loudly, his face troubled.
"I do appreciate the sentiment, Margaret, but I—"
"Ugh, this is never going to work," Margaret blurted, shaking her head as she stood up abruptly.
"What do you mean?" he said, peering up at her with confusion.
"That does it," she said, looking resolute. "Here, let me speak to you in your language."
Quickly she left the booth as he gaped at her, wide-eyed and confused, as she strode straight over to the now quiet jukebox. He watched her quickly scan the songs with a finger, place a coin in the slot, and press a button. This she did twice in a row. What the hell was she going to play?
As Margaret headed back to her seat, the jukebox began to play the first song she'd chosen. A soft male voice began to sing a slow song, with the subtlest of pianos backing him. The couples that had been jitterbugging on the dance floor now began to slow dance to the new song. Charles shut his eyes and bowed his head; Margaret was correct; music was the best way to reach him on a deeper level.
It was a familiar tune he recognized playing now, an old standard called "For All We Know," but this was a newer version by the King Cole Trio. When Charles opened his eyes, Margaret was nearly back to the booth, smiling at him in her fetching dress.
"Dance with me," she said, remaining standing as she held out her hand. "Just this once. Please. I need to talk to you in a language you'll understand. You ought to listen to the lyrics as well—they say it better than I ever could."
Charles gulped now as he gaped up at Margaret, chills racing down his arms now, making his hairs stand on end. Margaret said no more, her hand remaining extended to him, her face expectant but not smiling.
Charles took Margaret's hand with a sigh and rose to his feet, allowing her to lead him to the dance floor.
As soon as they'd made their way into the crowd of couples, Margaret slid her arm up along his arm, her fingers on the angle of his shoulder, continuing to hold his other hand in hers. He could feel her warmth even through his suit jacket, as he moved his free hand to her back.
There was that intoxicating scent of her perfume again, the smooth warm sensation of Margaret's hand, her arm, only millimeters from his skin. The music was pleasant in its simplicity, the lyrics suggesting that tomorrow may never come and that nothing should be wasted.
He thought again of the Chinese musicians and their fate, and the many soldiers that had come through the 4077th, too damaged to repair. He thought of Bob Sullivan and his soldier son. Tomorrow had never come for them. And yet, he'd wasted so many of his own tomorrows with unending ruminations and intense jealousy over what seemed to be nothing of consequence now. How could he have read Margaret's intentions so poorly? How had it come to this?
Charles allowed his feet to move now, his body to sway to the music. Just as it had been in the operating room, Margaret and he were as one again, functioning as a single unit responding to the slow tempo of the love song. He felt chills again as the song came to a close, Margaret not breaking her hold on his body.
"You're so tall, Charles," Margaret said now, using the hand on his shoulder to pull Charles more tightly against her. As he was nearly a foot taller than her, the breaths exiting her mouth warmed the skin just over his heart.
"That I am," he murmured, his voice low and only faintly audible.
"Why didn't you ever tell me what a good dancer you are?"
"I would hardly call this dancing," he replied flatly. "We are merely shifting our feet to the rhythm."
"Well, anyway, you look very distinguished tonight," she said. "That's a wonderful suit you're wearing."
"Yes, well, it should be wonderful, for what it cost. I must say, you look quite… becoming."
"Thank you, Charles," she replied, beaming at him. Her intense gaze of joy was almost too much to bear, and he averted his eyes.
As the song continued, Charles shut his eyes, the warmth of Margaret somehow enveloping him completely, the warmth and grip of her hand on his shoulder, the pressure of her arm against his own, her hand in his, the soft flesh of the small of her back on the palm of his hand. Just then, Margaret shifted the fingers of the hand he'd been clasping, threading her fingers between his, a small act that sent fireworks through him, his eyes shooting open in surprise.
"Margaret," Charles muttered now, his throat suddenly dry. Now Margaret had pulled her face back from his chest and was looking up at him, her lips slightly parted.
"Yes, Charles?"
Now the song had switched to another slow song, "Again" by Doris Day. His thoughts had been interrupted by the transition into the second song and he sighed now, acknowledging the change.
"I take it you chose this song as well. I can't say I'm surprised."
"I chose it more so because of the content, but it certainly didn't hurt that it was Doris Day. One benefit of having you come here—I know the song selections well. Here—just listen to what she says."
The song spoke of a moment that could be cherished forever, a moment that had not happened before and would not again, that had been prayed for for a lifetime. Margaret was now looking up at him, their fingers intertwined. Charles could sense her gaze on him and yet kept his eyes aimed towards the upper corner of the restaurant, the chandelier, the stemmed glasses hanging from the ceiling of the bar area.
"Will you look at me?" Margaret said, moving the hand that had been on his shoulder to his chest and giving it a subtle shake. "Please."
Now his blue eyes moved to hers, and though it was warm on the dance floor surrounded by couples, chills again appeared along his arms with the ever-increasing intensity of her gaze. Margaret's face was all he could see now, and in combination with the soft sultry lyrics of Doris Day, he was overcome and felt himself instinctively pulling her body more closely to him. Now he could only consider their close proximity, their hips moving in concert only inches away from each other. Again he had to avert his eyes, the music now speaking of having and holding someone, long after this moment had ended; this was too much for him to bear.
To anyone else, they looked like any other couple on the dance floor now, Charles in his formal suit and jacket, Margaret in her fetching red dress and matching pumps, their hands together, bodies close against each other as they swayed with the music. The only difference, of course, aside from their stark difference in height, was that they were in fact not a couple in any sense of the word.
Charles could feel his eyes misting up as he listened to the lyrics, the delicate guitar behind Doris Day's soft vibrato, the backup singers harmonizing pleasantly. The fact that it was a blonde woman singing this song, a woman vaguely resembling Margaret in some ways, struck a chord with him. Did Margaret realize what she was implying, if indeed this song was indicative of her true feelings? He could only infer that she meant every last lyric, for she kept her eyes locked on his face throughout both songs, as if gauging his response. Margaret had effectively communicated her feelings to him through music, but he had decided to utilize a very different medium in his response.
"Margaret."
"Yes?" she asked, looking up at him now, noticing his eyes looked glossy.
"I cannot reply to you by means of a jukebox," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.
"How then?"
"Like this," he said, gently pulling his hand out of her hand, his other hand leaving the small of her back, causing her to gape at him with disappointment. It was then that Charles lifted his freed hands to the angle of her jaw, cupping her face as he leaned down, their lips uniting in a kiss.