64. Chocolate (part 4)

The year died quietly, doing little but lying still. Breathing in the crisp winter darkness. And the bubbles of champagne.

Peter Lake found himself enjoying this taste much more than claret's. He liked the fizzling sensation on his tongue. How cool it was. How it slipped down his throat and burst into sprinkles of gold somewhere in his chest.

Champagne reminded him of the harbor. How the waves would crash into the rocks and spray across his face. John, behind him, keeping him on his feet. And a child's laugh.

Little Peter Lake had a very particular laugh. So specific, in fact, that it had joined the greens of Beverly's earrings, or summer itself. Another forgotten pleasure.

Beverly didn't smile again that year. During the final minutes, she just sat beside him and drank and talked and listened. And the conversation was neither bitter nor forced. It came as naturally as the ones that had preceded it. And Peter Lake relished it just as much as he had all others.

But she didn't smile. And she didn't talk about asparaguses, or interruptions… or confessions.

I love you.

And the fence clattered beyond the music and the rustling of fabric. He hadn't given up all of his fury.

In this room full of people she had been alone. She had been belittled and humiliated and sworn off the dance floor.

In the whole of New York City, only he had screamed her name.

Beverly!

Only he had offered his arm. He'd stolen her away and saved her life.

I'm a thief, and I'm a damn good one.

And now, after so long, after so much had driven him away from his path… at the deathbed of 1916… Peter Lake felt the necessity to steal again.

It didn't matter what. He didn't care. He would take whatever was at the reach of his fingertips. However small. Maybe a petal from the flowers. Or a drop of champagne. Or a flame from a candle.

In the end, he chose the chocolate. Cut up into squares of white-gold paper. Glimmering in the candlelight. He slipped one piece into his jacket, just before leaving.

And Peter knew the chocolate was meant to be taken. He knew this was, by far, his lamest attempts at a robbery. This would have made Pearly wince in disappointment.

And that was the very reason why he stole chocolate, of all things.

Peter Lake had sold chocolate to buy it right back. He'd monetized magic for the sake of staying true. The white horse had offered its giant, pale head and a child had given up his bar.

And despite the fame Athansor had garnered upon his arrival, the girl on its back had all but molten into the trees. Beverly. His love. His summer. With her dark red hair and pianist hands.

I didn't know Isaac had another daughter.

She had given up this chocolate to the children of the Coheeries. The sons and daughters of those who looked past her.

I've never seen you before.

Those who spoke about gloves and propriety.

Whose child had been the asparagus's? Maybe it had been the boy who gave him the chocolate. The first person to approach him. Peter had looked down at his eyes and seen himself. He'd felt the spray of the sea and he'd heard his own childish laughter.

A magpie had given up his coins, just to know if magic was real.

This was justice he was serving. A fair trade. The asparagus had looked into those pools of water. He had seen a girl in red, with no gloves, and he had not realized that she was magical. That she was too precious and too rare to be spoken to so rudely.

Where are your gloves?

Her touch was a price. Chocolate was gold. Peter remembered the rules he had created. And he obeyed them.

He took the chocolate and hid it in his jacket. And Beverly saw and, to his delight, a fleeting giggle fled her lips. And for the blink of an eye, she smiled again.

Because she understood the superfluity, the ridiculousness of it all. Just as well as he did.

They were children again. Sharing a bar of chocolate. Screaming into the sky.

To hell with it!

Author's Note: To anyone who is here today, thank you for reading.

Yes, again, in the movie Peter "steals" an ounce of chocolate from the table and hides it theatrically in his jacket. This is obviously done to make Beverly laugh, which she does. It's a cute little scene that is actually important for the plot, as is later seen when Peter starts searching for his lost memories.

I wanted to give him a reason for the theft here. So, now, I actually gave the asparagus plot relevance, which is better than just having him be a nuisance for no reason other than my desire to move the plot forward. Also, I wanted to emphasize on the fact that, technically, Peter is "stealing" again. So I wrote a little about that. And, well, naturally, Beverly's reaction, which is similar to the one in the original film. Peter manages to cheer her up a little, but not completely.

Don't worry though. Not all is lost just yet. Because the tent chapters are coming.

Thanks, again, for being here. It means the world to me that people read what I write. I put a lot of love and effort into my writing and I appreciate it when anyone checks it out.

See you next time. I hope you have a lovely day.