Chapter 6
A great many more cups of tea, a few more walks home and one more paint drenched object later, Margaret and Peter were what Peter termed 'officially dating.' And he was very happy about it. Nate was still a little sore at not being the Casanova between the two of them and was convinced Peter and Margaret's relationship was a bit less platonic than they let on ("That scene shop's a big place, you know. Could hide in there for hours and never have anyone find you.")
There was one more week of rehearsals until the show, and that meant crunch time for the costumes department. Mr. Allenby pulled Peter aside after rehearsal Monday, his face grim. "Now, I don't normally like to do this, Pevensie, but we're having a time of it finding a crown for you, and Ed says you used to playact with your family. So, if there's any chance you've got a crown hanging around your house, could you bring it in and see if it's preferable to pasteboard?"
Peter nodded, smiling and thinking of the wire crown Susan had made for him, sitting in his desk drawer with his pencil box. "I've got just the thing."
When he came to pick Margaret up from her house to walk her to practice, she, too, was carrying another bag- a portfolio, this time. "What is it?" Peter asked nicely, slinging her school bag over his own shoulder and slipping his hand into her now free one.
"I'm not telling unless you tell me what's in here." Margaret smiled and rattled the paper bag Peter's crown was in, wrapped up in his handkerchiefs again.
"Well, then, I guess you'll have to wait. It's a surprise." Peter murmured, smelling her hair as he whispered in her ear. She gave a little laugh and battered away his nose by shaking her head a little bit.
After they had deposited their things backstage, Peter pulled Margaret into the scene shop for a little privacy. "You first." He said, pointing at the portfolio.
Margaret's shoulders slumped, and she smiled, sighing as she opened the portfolio. "It's your Christmas present." She said, slipping out a large piece of thick drawing paper. It was a charcoal rendition of him in his costume, which he had tried on the other day and worn all practice.
Peter looked at it and smiled. "I think the king still needs a crown." He identified, un-crumpling the top of the paper bag to pull out Susan's crown and place it on his own head. "What do you think?" he queried, posing.
Margaret, taken aback, gasped. "Peter, it's beautiful. Where on earth did you get it?"
"Susan made it for me, a little while ago. It was a going-away present." He said with a smile, putting it on Margaret's head. "There. Now you can be queen. My queen." He whispered, his hands on her shoulders. Margaret looked up at him. She started to say something, then stopped.
"Sophie's been saying she can't wait for Allenby to make you kiss her. Because it'll be your first onstage kiss." She confessed.
"Would you mind doing me the honor now, then? I know we're not onstage, but…" Peter asked, his hands suddenly hot. Margaret nodded, a tiny motion that made her eyes sparkle, and opened her face up to his. It was a short, sweet, and quick kiss, one that merited another, longer, sweeter one. The door to the scene shop banged open, and they stopped, still affixed to each other, listening.
"I'm telling you, one of my kisses, and that Margery girl hasn't got a chance. I'm looking forward to Scene four of the first act today- Mr. Allenby's told me we're going to do the kiss today. Peter's too good for her, really." Sophie was telling one of her lackey friends. Margaret made a scared little sound, her eyes darting over to her portfolio, on which the charcoal drawing rested. There was a paint can nearby, the result of the stage crew's general messiness while they went for dinner.
Peter looked around for any escape; if Sophie found them here, even if they weren't kissing, it would be curtains for the charcoal drawing Margaret had slaved over. The footsteps were coming nearer, and his eyes settled on the costumes closet. He yanked Margaret in, closing the door just enough so that a hairsbreadth of light spilled it. Margaret, not finding the light switch, found Peter instead, pressing up against him as they moved backwards, trying to find the back of the closet. Peter's expectant hand brushed across organdy, corduroy, what felt like a fur coat, and then- air. He then realized that there was a light behind him. Margaret, already turned around, stared.
"Oh my," she said. "Where are we?"
and for those of you who wanted longer chapters…well, I'm sorry, but I stop where I want. sooo...CLIFFHANGER. You can all suffer in anticipation.