Chapter Sixteen

He didn't move. How could he even think about moving? He was certain if he did this dream, this lovely tantalizing dream would shatter and he would be forced back to reality. Reality was something he did not particularly want to face at the moment. He wanted to stay right there in that moment. The moment where he woke to the sight of Margaret looking at him. Nothing could have prepared him for the soul-capturing beauty she seemed to emit in the morning. John had never seen her look that way at him ever. He did not know what it meant, what she was feeling, but strangely, he didn't care. For just this once perhaps, he could forget about everything else, he could leave what was unspoken, unspoken, and focus on Margaret. The fact that she was alive was more than enough for him. Even if she despised him for all of his days, she was alive, and he would see her every single day for the rest it. He could live with that. He knew he should say something to her, ease the tension back down and away, but could think of nothing. Finally he settled on the first thing that came to mind ("Hello."), and cursed himself for how idiotic it sounded. He couldn't focus his thoughts that morning, and having Margaret awake to distract him certainly wasn't helping him form proper sentences. Another thought finally dawned upon him. One that probably should have been the first to come to mind upon waking.

Why was he waking up next to Margaret?

He couldn't remember how he came to be in his bed. He vaguely recalled Margaret waking the night before, but all he remembered of himself was the habitual soothing and cooling he had been so consumed with for days. Indeed all of his days had run together, as though they were one very long, very dreadful day. Which he supposed in a sense, they actually were for him. After Dr. Donaldson's initial visit on their wedding night, he did not trust himself to sleep, terrified Margaret would succumb to her illness and he would wake to find her body still and cold before him. She had been so very close to death in those days. Even the doctor was surprised. He had been certain that the worst of her illness had already passed, and her initial condition was merely a cause of bad judgment on his part. But the next day it was blindingly obvious how wrong they had all been to write it off. Pneumonia he had said. It had turned into pneumonia like he had never seen before. No horrible coughing; just a raging fever, severe (and quite terrifying) shaking chills, occasional vomiting and of course, loss of consciousness. But somehow, amazingly she had pulled through, a feat not often achieved by one suffering with pneumonia. A gift from God he could never hope to repay.

"Hello." Margaret replied, jolting him back to reality. He distantly remembered the question that started his train of thought, but pushed it away and focused on Margaret. He could hardly believe she was awake, looking at him, speaking to him even. Those torturous days of trying to keep her alive seemed to have made an impression of her in his mind that was still too dominant to see past.

"I have no idea how I ended up here." He said suddenly, surprising even himself. As though his mind had realized that it was wandering again, and forced the first thing it thought of past his lips. It was true however; he didn't know how he ended up in bed with Margaret. Even the mere thought of the implications of those particular words phrased in that particular way caused his heart to beat a little faster. The memory of undressing her rising unbidden to the forefront of his mind certainly did nothing to help the matter. And neither still did the sight of her beautiful face, so fantastically close to his own, radiant with laughter. He had no idea what she was laughing at, but it did not matter. It transported him. In that moment, he was back in the street walking her home. Even if she would have been mocking him at that moment, he probably wouldn't have minded. The simple thought that he had somehow caused this…perfection was more than enough to sustain him. But the curious part of him wanted to know why she was laughing, just as he had the last time. What he could have possibly done while doing absolutely nothing to bring humor to their situation, he would probably never know. "What is it about me that amuses you so?" John asked, needing his curiosity to be satisfied. Margaret's smile seemed to falter for a moment, but when she answered her voice was still breathless with laughter.

"You have absolutely no idea how amusing you are." She stated it as a fact. As though he might be the funniest person in all the world, but had never known it of himself. He wasn't ever the humorous type. In fact, he was most often deemed too serious. But it was the way he liked things; calculated and organized. It seemed as though Margaret thought differently. John didn't think he minded though; an unusual warmth coursed through him at the thought that he could make her laugh at such a time.

"Is that so?" He asked coyly. Her laughing subsided, but her piercing gaze lingered. A gaze that made him feel undeniably warmer while his blood seemed to have thickened considerably, making his heart pump harder just to move it at all. Why was she staring at him like that? It made him feel completely exposed, while kindling something within him that had been buried so deep, he didn't even understand what it was. He felt as though he were completely at her mercy, throwing himself at her feet and praying, begging that she would hear him. And may God have mercy on him, he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and kiss her with all the furious raging passion he had so successfully suppressed thus far. Seeing her like this was so…surreal. As though he might have fallen asleep and conjured this dream up somewhere in the recesses of his mind. John desperately needed to touch her, to make sure she was there. He could feel her weight against him at certain points, but it wasn't enough. He needed to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, to feel its softness, its temperature, just to be absolutely certain that this was reality. But he could not bring himself to do it. He desperately wanted to; but truthfully, he was afraid. Not only of the small remnants of his soul that she would surely take from him if he tried and failed, but also of succeeding. He understood in that moment that offering himself to Margaret initially was nothing. No, the real sacrifice was what frightened him. The real sacrifice was actually giving himself to her day after day. If there ever was a relationship between Margaret and himself, he wanted them to be equals, giving and taking from each other in equal measure. He knew he could spend every day of the rest of his life giving her everything he had: home, wealth, status, mind, heart, soul…and he knew that if he did, there would be nothing left of the man he was now. A shell filled with possibilities and could-have-been's. Already his mental stability was balancing on a thread. The psychological stress of loving that accursed woman for months upon months, and receiving nothing in return had left him emptier than he could have imagined. But marrying her regardless, and watching her die before his very eyes knowing there was nothing he could do, nothing he had ever received from her that he could attach his sanity to was almost enough to make him snap. He was clever enough to know he probably was not collected enough to pass for the "normal" he had already been passing for, but he would not-no, he could not now give Margaret anything without being certain that she held at least a sliver of affection for him. He now faced the seemingly insurmountable task of trying to make Margaret see him for who he really was (while he himself was not even sure), but without making himself vulnerable. He took a deep breath and broke eye contact with her, now desperately needing to change the thought patterns of his mind. "I cannot feel my arm." Margaret laughed openly again, her beautiful tinkling laugh, and he felt a little bit better about his task.

"Oh I am sorry." She said, still quite breathless but genuinely concerned that she may have offended him. John found it utterly captivating and somewhat puzzling. "Truly I am not mocking you, but you are very amusing." She went back to staring at him for a few more moments before: "I would gladly move my head off your arm, but I'm afraid I cannot." Her tone spoke of mischief and he found himself captivated once more. He didn't understand, though. Didn't she despise him? Wasn't he responsible for her status? Was it possible that maybe-? No, he cut the thought off immediately before it completely formed.

"I do not understand." His words held so much more truth than Margaret was probably aware.

"Well you see," she stated, looking very much like a Greek temptress with the expression she was currently donning. "Because I have cut off the circulation to your arm, you are most likely unable to feel that your hand has become quite entangled in my hair. I am, at present, unable to move." Guilt coursed quickly through his body, making him wonder if he was perhaps pulling it. "Do not distress yourself John, it causes me no pain." There it was again; not only had she practically read his mind, she'd spoken his name. Every time it came from her lips, he lost a little of his self control to reckless abandon. Reckless abandon that valiantly attempted to convince him to take Margaret and-

"That does complicate things." Another statement that held more truth than she probably realized.

"You have quite and intimidating arm, Margaret. I must say I have never been hit so forcefully by a woman before. Actually," John paused, contemplating. "I don't think I have ever been slapped by a woman before." He watched, secretly delighted at the mortified blush that seemed to touch every crevice of her face, including her ears. She was so humiliated it seemed, that she resorted to covering her face with her hands. It took much coaxing from John to pry them away so that he could say what was next.

"Do not distress yourself Margaret." He began softly. "I very much deserved it." He knew immediately by the expression on her face that she was preparing to interrupt him with some misguided compliments he knew weren't true. So he cut her off before she had an opportunity to speak them. "And even if I hadn't, it speaks something of your character that I greatly admire." There it was, he had placed himself in the open. It probably wasn't as substantial as he felt it was, but it was all he could give. Now there was nothing he could do but wait for Margaret's reaction. Unfortunately, the extremely untimely arrival of Carter prevented Margaret from responding to his attempt at….what was he doing exactly? But before he could think of a phrase to adequately describe what he was attempting to accomplish, he followed Margaret's line of sight to the chaise lounge in the corner of the room. The chaise lounge where he had delicately lain their wedding clothes. The wedding clothes that he himself had removed from her body. While she was unconscious. She turned her head to look back at him then, her expression incredulous. For God's sake, had she really pieced it together that quickly! It couldn't be that obvious, could it? He did not think he, much less Margaret, could handle the stress of such a conversation at the moment. So he valiantly attempting to distract her by gaining the attention of Carter, who still had not noticed them, and smiled softly to himself when he was successful.

A few hours later, John tentatively made his way down the stairs for the first time since he'd carried Margaret up them. They shared a pleasant, but quiet breakfast in bed together before he forcibly extricated himself from the sheets. He knew he could not stay there any longer than that without awkwardness and questions he wasn't prepared to answer, forcing themselves between this new found companionship they seemed to have attained. He was still incredibly tired, but there were business matters he desperately needed to attend to. He hadn't been to the Mill in a week now, nor had he taken the time to read a single scrap of business correspondence since the previous week. It wasn't exactly an ideal time to have temporarily abandoned the Mill. Things were becoming incredibly difficult where it was concerned. The strike had done substantially more damage than he originally anticipated. He expected it had done more than anyone anticipated. But where the other mill owners were riding out the rough business patch without very much hardship, he was staring the prospect of unemployment directly in the face. He had no capitol; he had only just invested it in new looms. A very wise business move at the time. In fact, it seemed his only poor judgment had been to indulge in the exorbitant expense of hiring Irish hands to forcibly break the strike. That was what John liked to think of as the nail in the proverbial coffin that was certain to be of Marlborough Mills. But it would not be said that he went down without a fight. He was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of his front door opening.

"Good morning, Mrs. Watson."

Fanny?

"Good morni-John!" She exclaimed the moment her eyes settled upon him.

"Fanny." He replied, tone quite surprised, but not to the level of exuberance his sister always possessed.

"John, what are doing down here?" she exclaimed, looking worryingly up the stairs. "Has something happened to Margaret, is she worse?" She approached the stairs not waiting for an answer from him, but he grasped her arm as she made to pass.

"What?" he asked, the confusion he felt surely evident on his face.

"Something has happened hasn't it? Oh please John, tell me she is not worse!" John stared at her open mouthed before he said in a somewhat distant tone:

"No, she is much improved. She woke yesterday-how did you know she was ill?" his question came out sharper than he intended.

"I was here yesterday morning." she stated simply.

"What?" He exclaimed, perplexed. "No you weren't." Fanny looked at him as though he sprouted another pair of eyebrows.

"John…" she spoke to him slowly, as though he might have suffered some kind of psychological trauma. In a way, he supposed he had. "I have been here every morning since you got married."

"What?" That seemed to be the only word he could speak. "I never saw you."

"Well you were a bit preoccupied with Margaret." She looked at him strangely. It was completely unnerving. "Now may I have my arm back so that I may visit my sister-in-law. I am very much looking forward to seeing her awake." She smiled pleasantly at him, but her face still bore traces of that unusual expression.

"I-um-she-" He stammered, still gaping at his sister. "Margaret is resting."

"No matter." She said cheerfully. "I will have to content myself with the reading I had originally planned." She had been reading to Margaret? How had he been completely unaware of her presence if she had been reading aloud? He must have been completely out of his senses. Fanny had only gone up the first few steps when he turned and quickly said:

"Fanny forgive me, I had no idea-" her small giggle cut him off.

"Relax John, you've caused me no offense." He felt himself relax a little, unaware until that moment how tense he had become. She made to continue towards his room, but turned and addressed him once more. "Mama sends you her love, and apologizes for being unable to join me." John scoffed. He still had not quite forgiven his mother. "Although she has said nothing to me," she continued. "I believe she feels that if she were to come here and see Margaret in her current state it would completely crumble her resolve to dislike her." John's eyes widened in disbelief. "Margaret is motherless after all, and no matter how much she denies it, Mama has enough motherly love inside of her that it would surely force her to forgive Margaret for taking you from her." And with Fanny's parting words left to linger in John's mind, she turned and disappeared up the staircase.

In the solitude of his office, John spent the next several hours forcing his thoughts to remain on his work, and not to stray towards the beautiful woman he had left in his bed. A sight he never dared to imagine, afraid it would cause him too much pain. She had fallen asleep after their unplanned breakfast, her head falling lightly against his shoulder, startling him from the book she had timidly asked him to read to her. It was with great reluctance that he dressed and finally departed from the room. Although he had to admit, his neglected business was not quite as terrible as he had originally feared. Williams-his over looker- had taken it upon himself to inform his suppliers and purchasers that his wife taken gravely ill with pneumonia, and to apologize for any delays or lack of correspondence. His books weren't as bad as he feared either. Although they still weren't making any profit since the strike, it appeared that they were now floating right above immediate danger. Perhaps they could continue to simply float along until the money from several orders came in. John sighed and scrubbed his hand down his face in exhaustion. It would be a very long, very tiresome few months he had to look forward to, and that was without the prospect of the troubles he had within his very home. His wife who had married him without choice, the people of Milton determined to scorn her, and his encompassing, terrifying, suffocating, sometimes completely insane, unrequited love for her. But there was one thing niggling in the back of his mind. One thing she had said to him that, against his will, gave him a tiny spark of hope. A spark that thrilled and terrified him more than he ever could have imagined.

"You do not need to remind me that I made the decision to be your wife."

Margaret woke slowly to the sound of an unfamiliar voice. Blinking in an attempt to clear her mind of its cloudiness, she thought it sounded familiar. "Fanny?" Her voice came out a little raspy, probably from the excessive sleeping, and Fanny immediately stopped reading.

"Oh Margaret!" She exclaimed, setting her book on the chair and quickly crossing the room to her side. "How are you feeling? I cannot tell you how pleased I was when John said you were better!" The fogginess in Margaret's mind must have been tampering with her ability to correctly process new information.

"It was not quite as bad as it has been made out to be Fanny, I'm sure." She said, slowly forcing herself to sit up. Fanny helped by propping some pillows up behind her, and Margaret smiled gratefully at her. She reached for the glass of water on the bedside table when Fanny spoke again.

"Having pneumonia and being unconscious for six days is just about as bad as it can get, Margaret. In fact I'd venture to say the only thing worse would be dying, which you did come awfully close to." Margaret, who at the time of Fanny's declaration had been taking a long desired gulp of water, unintentionally inhaled quite a bit of it, and began coughing violently. Fanny looked quite alarmed and began to pat her lightly on the back. "Goodness, Margaret!" She exclaimed when her coughing subsided. "You gave me such a fright!"

"Six days!" She cried, her voice raspy once more. "What do you mean six days!" Fanny looked quite startled. She sat back down in her chair, twisting her fingers.

"You-you didn't know?" she asked anxiously.

"I was unconscious for six days!"

"Well…" Fanny trailed off, seemingly uncertain how to respond to Margaret's reaction. "John didn't tell you?"

"No, John didn't tell me!" She suddenly found herself unreasonably angry with John. Why did he not tell her! It wasn't as though it was a meaningless piece of information. And where was he now? Why wasn't he here. Why was Fanny here? The amount of questions Margaret had were piling high, and her lack of understanding in the situation of growing.

"Margaret, you must calm yourself, you're still unwell-"

"I'm perfectly well, thank you Fanny." She snapped, but regretted it almost immediately. It wasn't Fanny's fault that she had no knowledge of her illness. "I'm sorry, Fanny." She said quietly. "I should not have lost my temper with you."

"It's quite alright, Margaret." she said, her cheerful manner returning almost immediately. "I think I would be quite upset myself." Her anger hadn't gone completely, but she made an active effort not to unleash it on Fanny again. Several minutes of awkward silence lapped between them until Fanny proclaimed. "I'm afraid that I must be off now. Goodbye Margaret."

"Goodbye Fanny," Margaret said kindly. "Thank you so much for being here to keep me company. Fanny smiled cheerfully at her, before leaving the room in a rustle of starched skirts. Margaret's thoughts then turned to John, and she found her anger had returned completely, bubbling angrily beneath the surface, and making Margaret restless. Since when did Margaret need looking after? She was a grown woman, she had taken care of her mother and their entire household before and after she died. Did he think she was suddenly incapable of caring for herself? True she had been sick, and was at that time, probably very incapable for caring for herself, and he almost certainly had been the one to do it. The thought of it made her feel a million things at once. But right at that moment, with John quietly closing the door and walking to the other side of the room without speaking to or looking at her, all Margaret could focus on was how very irritated she was.

"I did not need a caretaker John, and you did not need to inconvenience your poor sister by making her keep watch over me." She stated rather curtly. His back was turned towards her, but the sudden rigidity to his posture was unmistakable. He turned sharply on the spot, looked at her very intently, but said nothing. Eventually, he slowly began untying his cravat, still staring at her so intensely that she felt as though she might burst into flames.

"You are angry with me because my sister was here?" He said, tone betraying that he was somewhat amused, but his expression inscrutable. It only served to further irritate her.

"No, I am angry that you feel the need to inconvenience your sister with babysitting me all day long!" There was a somewhat mischievous look about his face as she spoke to him, and there was no denying that he was amused by the situation.

"Yes, I see." was all he replied. He turned away from her, setting his cravat gently on his dresser, before rolling up his sleeves. This was like nothing she had seen before. Margaret wondered again, if he somehow knew the intensity of what he could do to her just by this simple act. Even she didn't understand it. Suddenly she remembered she was supposed to be angry with him.

"I am not a child John." He turned around again, casting a lingering glance at the chaise lounge in the corner where their wedding clothes still lay, before settling his gaze on her.

"Yes Margaret," he said quite seriously, his gaze searing her once more. "Of that, I am completely aware." She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze before coming to her senses once more.

"You've been keeping something from me." She said, although it sounded unusually breathless. Was she imagining the way his eyes drifted back to the wedding clothes?

"Oh?" Was he…nervous?

"Why didn't you tell me I'd been unconscious for six days?" He sighed, not looking at her.

"I suppose it slipped my mind." He replied evasively.

"You understood this morning, didn't you, that I was not aware of how much time had passed?" John appeared to be struggling with something. "I understand your expression now that I know the rest of the story." Margaret saw his expression darken, and knew that she had upset him.

"You do not know the rest of the story Margaret, you were unconscious." his words were harsh, but Margaret did not understand why.

"Well I know enough." She countered. "Fanny told me-"

"Told you that you were unconscious for six days!" He snapped. "Nothing else!" Margaret's anger had disappeared, and was replaced by confusion. What had she said? Why was he suddenly so angry with her?

"I-I'm sorry." He scoffed.

"For What? You couldn't possibly know what to apologize for."

"Why will you not tell me?" Margaret cried. "Why did you not tell me to begin with? I do not understand!" She was on her feet before she realized that she had moved.

How could he possibly tell her what it was like for him in those days? How he had not slept nor eaten in days, how he spent every waking moment completely and utterly terrified that each breath she took would be her last. He could not. He had already decided that he could not give anymore of himself to her without reciprocation. He could not make himself vulnerable to her once again. The denial would be unbearable. So he opted to end this conversation before things were too out of control. There was no way that Margaret could know what was going through his mind, and why he could not speak of it.

"I am sorry that I did not tell you the severity of your illness when the subject arose earlier. I confess I was afraid the shock would be too much." He said. "It is true, you did have pneumonia, were unconscious for six days, and did come very close to dying. I had not slept for some time when you finally woke, and I was, and still am, somewhat delirious I think. I did not think it would be that important if I delayed in telling you."

"I am sorry for losing my temper with you." Margaret said sincerely. He smiled at her, suddenly feeling very mischievous again.

"Think no more of it, Margaret." He said cheerfully, walking towards her. "Now you must get more rest." He almost laughed aloud at the murderous expression on her face at his words, but managed to hold himself in check. Instead, he quickly bent down and scooped her up, ignoring her cries of protest. He carried her over to the bed and gently placed her back under the covers, his mind screaming at him to stop, that he would regret this. But he didn't care. Margaret's curiously unfathomable expression fueled this rather unorthodox attempt at chivalry. "Tomorrow, I will get you out of this house, one way or another." She smiled brightly at him, and before he realized what he was doing, he leaned down, and kissed her forehead, before turning, quickly blowing out the candles, and heading towards the door.

"John?" He heard her call tentatively. His heart stopped.

"Yes?" he asked, terrified.

"Will you sleep in here?" his heart was surely going to explode in anxiety. What should he say? Was she asking if he had planned on staying there with her? In all honesty, he had not planned on it. He did not want her to despise him anymore than she already did. But a small part of his mind whispered something else to him. Something that made him come alive. What if she was asking him to stay with her? Taking an enormous leap of faith, he turned and answered:

"I will stay with you."

A/N: Holy freaking crap, that was a long one! Sorry it took me so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so long to get this one out to you. School has been just dreadful! Its always the busy part of the year. I'll be infinitely pleased when I graduate, and can put college behind me. Anyways, on to other things. Thanks so much for your wonderful and continued support. I can not tell you how happy it makes me that you are all so responsive to my updates, and that you love this story so much! I love this story a lot as well, so hearing praise from other people is what makes this entire hobby so completely desirable. Please feel free to continue to review! ;) I love hearing from you.

Also, some of you said that you would gladly look forward to reading anything else I wrote, so if you guys are interested, I'd love to tell you the idea's I'm thinking about, and see which one's you like the most. =D