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Donna has only stepped away from her fellow Red Cross ladies, Mary and Jill, for a moment to find some refreshment when she hears him.
"My God, I would give all my fame for a pot of sake."
In truth, the man doesn't appear as though he's speaking to anyone at all—and for that matter, even his stature alone suggests a person who has found enough success that he wouldn't care if someone acknowledged his words anyway. But something inside of her is unearthed, dusty and untended, and before she can think better of it, a few words escape her. "What about safety, good sir?" She pauses, turns her head, and considers him with a more direct look, one which he is returning with lifted brow. "Or do you feel that you're in no danger?"
He seems to hover there within his own mind for a moment before he sharply inhales. "My lady, I surrendered all sense of safety the moment I received the summons which brought me here." He drifts closer with eyes as blue as the deepest ocean waters; when he smiles, it doesn't quite reach them, not really. "I would be, ah, remiss if I didn't introduce myself. I am Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. And might I have the honor of learning who you are?"
If his full and rich tone didn't suggest a life spent rubbing shoulders with the elite, then such a name certainly did. Donna knows perhaps better than she should how many of those in higher society prefer to engage with those beneath them, and though he appears kind now, she has a natural hesitance to trust him. "Of course you may." She stands tall, spine straight, and lifts her chin, not so much as blinking, and she doesn't miss how this gentleman's shoulders pull back just a touch farther. "I am Donna Marie Parker the First. And if it's refreshment that you seek, then do allow me to be the one who shows you the way."
"Why, I would be incredibly honored by the pleasure of your company." He offers his arm, and because it would be rude to walk away, she takes it, falls perfectly into pace with him as they glide across the floor. "From where does your family hail?"
Donna's lips twitch. She knows this game well and she has no intention of playing. "I imagine we come from the patriarch who first adopted our last name and established the family line."
The man titters in turn. "Of course, of course, but I'd very much like to know the region."
"Oh, I couldn't know where his house was when he chose Parker as his own. That would've been centuries ago." Before he can prod her for more information, they arrive at the neatly decorated refreshments table, covered in plates of appetizers, small sweets, and a very large bowl of sake punch. Her nostrils tickle from the stinging aroma already. "Ah, here we are." Donna releases him and begins filling two cups.
"Please, please, allow me." He hurries to take the ladle right from her hand and pours two additional drinks. "It would be tragic if you spilled so much as a drop on your sleeve."
Sincerity rolls off of this Winchester in waves, but when she risks another glance at his expression, he's still watching her with an undue familiarity. It doesn't repulse her, necessarily, but it reminds her so very much of the particular company she often crossed paths with in another life, and that alone is a good reason to avoid letting the roads intersect once more. "You're incredibly kind, Mr. Winchester."
"Call me Charles," he's quick to interrupt with another smile lacking in light.
"Charles," she revises with a grin of her own. "Lovely as it is that you are looking out for my uniform, don't worry on my behalf. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself." With that said, Donna balances two of the cups in one hand, then picks up the third that he poured for her and begins to walk away.
"Wait, wait." He chuckles. "Where on earth are you going?"
"To my previous engagement." Donna inclines her head politely. "I hope you have a wonderful time at the party, Charles." And she turns back to Mary and Jill, beaming, already holding out their drinks as she approaches. They pick up right where they left off in their conversation. She does not look over her shoulder.
With the sake punch having loosened her up further, Donna doesn't even flinch when a towering presence comes back to her side. "Ah, Donna, how lovely to see you again."
"Charles." She nods but keeps her eyes on the dancers swaying across the floor.
"Yes, Charles Emerson Winchester the Third," he rattles off with remarkable articulation and speed as though she might've forgotten in the fifteen minutes that they've been apart. "I see that you appear to have been abandoned by your companions, and given how remarkably rude it is to allow a lady to stand alone, I have come to offer you my company."
"That's kind of you, but my friends are only dancing." Mary, for her part, has a man half a foot shorter than her guiding the two of them along while Jill continues to uphold her reputation of stepping on her partner's foot at least twice per song. Fortunately for both, their gentlemen don't seem terribly upset by either circumstance. "I think it would be ruder for me to insist that they stay by my side if they've received invitations, don't you agree?"
"I do. I do agree." He lowers his voice to an intimate level. "But it is a far worse slight that you would be the jewel left on the sideline since you shine brighter than anyone else here."
It's been a long time. Despite herself, the pleasure spreads in her chest like the sun rising and casting its gleam across the plains. Donna drinks it up, lets it bleed into her veins, then lets it out with a sigh. "I believe that all of us are sparkling together, each one with our own special shade, catching the light in different ways." She sweeps her arm over the whole room, brimming with life. "I don't feel neglected. Not even a little bit. And I don't need to be flattered by being told that every other woman is beneath me."
There's a pause, then, one that stretches out for far longer than she expects, and when Donna looks up at the gentleman, he's watching her as though he's seeing a completely different person. "Yes. Yes, I understand," he says quickly as though waving off how he had done exactly that only a minute before. "Pardon, but upon my word, you are quite expressive, aren't you?" He traces the length of her arm with his gaze, and she tries to bring it down surreptitiously as though he's not the reason why. "You have hands as delicate as doves and yet the lines which you cut are as sharp and arresting as any marble sculpture I've seen."
Such an abrupt subject change. Unfortunately for him, she has been coaxed by a charming voice before. Donna smiles, head tipped down, and sorts through the information she's about to give him, how scandalous a place it was and still is for a single woman to find herself. "There was a time in my life where I thought I might pursue the stage. I think a few of my mannerisms must have carried over from that period."
"The stage?" His brows shoot skyward.
"Mm-hmm." She nods. "The stage."
His lips part as he watches her. "I find that...remarkable."
She blinks. That's the last thing she expected to hear from him.
"Yes, yes, I-I understand now, of course, the Shakespeare, the..." This time, his eyes do light up, his entire face softening as his lips quirk. "I would very much like to hear your— Ah, you see, I dabbled in performing myself while I was attending Harvard. It was a bit difficult, of course, given that I also was summa cum laude and readying myself for medical school, but—"
"Major Winchester?"
A general has approached them, one she is not familiar with, and the sinking in her chest surprises her. Charles's jaw tightens a touch before he turns, the vivaciousness dimming to a broken bulb. "Good evening. I'm afraid I'm rather indisposed at the moment, so if you wouldn't mind—"
The general laughs. "Major Winchester, people always make time for me. About your MASH unit..." He trails off, sharp eyes focusing on Donna. "Excuse me, ma'am, if you don't mind me borrowing him for a moment?"
The dismissal is clear. "Oh, no, not at all, General, don't let me interrupt you."
"Donna," Charles says under his breath, hand lifting toward her.
"It's been lovely speaking with you, Charles." And when she meets his gaze, she really lets herself look at him this time, not just his lovely eyes and the softness of his true smile, but a really good look. She sees the intelligence, the wit, even the edge of loneliness that he has no need to feel if he enjoys charming women like he attempted to woo her tonight. Though their lives diverge here, he'll be an interesting memory for a quieter time. "Have a wonderful evening."
As she pulls away, Donna's mind oddly still lingers on him, on the flutter of excitement that stirred the air once he realized their common interest. And though she's quite practiced in pushing away thoughts of missed connections, his smile accompanies her all the same.
Her interesting memory soon finds her with two fresh glasses of sake punch, his cheeks beginning to flush. "Now, I'm afraid that I simply cannot let the evening end until I discover your favorite role."
"Is that so?" Donna conceals her surprise by taking the cup he offers. "Were you intending to stop time?"
Charles sways slightly before he sinks into the chair beside her. "If that is but my one recourse, then I would cause the Earth's orbit to cease so that we might gain a few more precious hours. Donna, please, do tell."
In all honesty, she'd prepared to be people-watching alone for quite some time. Jill has snuck off with her new paramour and Mary has been pulled away to discuss a patient's home life difficulties so that she can facilitate a call for him the following day. Yet here Charles is again as though he can't tear himself away for longer than half an hour at a time. She hesitates. "You're very kind to stop by, but... Oh, listen, there are some incredible connections with other doctors to be made here, you know? You might not have much time to experience them if you feel forced to entertain me. I promise, Charles, I'm perfectly fine on my own."
His amiability drops like a curtain. "Forced? Do you think I feel pity for you? Donna, let me offer you a reassurance of my own. I am here at this moment because you are far and above the most interesting person I have had the opportunity to cross paths with during this entire medical conference. God, do you know how refreshing it is to meet someone with a taste for culture? Who truly embraces what it means to immerse yourself in the works of artistic geniuses? To—" He burps, covers his mouth. "Excuse me." And without finishing his sentence, he has another drink of punch.
Though she waits for more, Charles brings his attention back to her with such an open curiosity that her heart melts. Only a little. Just a tiny bit at the edges. But it's wonderful all the same. It really has been a long, long time. "I..." She can't remember the last time her tongue became tied like this as well. Donna chuckles and turns her attention to the dancers swaying past. "The role I was proudest to play was Nora Helmer."
"A Doll's House," Charles says immediately.
"The very one." Of course he knows the work. But how does he feel about it? "It was by far the largest crowd I'd had the chance to perform for. Dizzying, really."
Charles hums. "How did you find the response? Given the, ah, subject matter."
"Mmm." Donna shrugs. "Quite well, honestly. It was over fifteen years ago, so certainly things have continued to change, but—"
"Fifteen years?" Suddenly Charles leans forward to study her with great intensity. "Surely you jest."
She lifts her brows. "Yes, over fifteen years, that's correct. Why?" she asks with a faint challenge woven through her tone.
Charles opens his mouth, closes it, then makes a quiet, almost whimsical sound that she's unfamiliar with, reminiscent of a clarinet. "I simply find myself rather surprised," he replies, elegantly waltzing past the question of her age.
Since she has him so off-footed, it seems an appropriate time to put him on the spot and satisfy her own uncertainty. "And how do you find yourself responding as a member of the audience?" Donna asks as she pins him with her stare. "How do you feel about the journey Nora takes at the end of the play?"
She expects a lot of things from him—stammering, hemming and hawing, perhaps even immediately giving her what he thinks she wants to hear—but instead Charles props his elbow on the table, rests his chin in his palm, and admires her with such reverence that her cheeks begin to warm. "Donna, would you care to dance?"
Is he pivoting? Has he indulged in just enough sake that her question went in one ear and out the other? She can't tell, and that means the wise choice would be to decline. All the same, she is the one who offers the hand and he is the one who takes it.
On their third song, Donna begins to lead if only so that Charles won't go face-first into the punch. It's incredibly cute, really, how the little hairs on top of his head stand tall while they sway, and she finds herself beaming while sinking into the waters of his beautiful tone.
"Of course, it was a bitter shame, turning my back on the stage when I had perhaps only begun to scratch the surface of my capabilities." Charles tips his head, furrows his brow, considers. "Did I mention how I nearly tripped on my high heels, but turned it into—" When he sees her nodding, he continues. "You know, I found the skirts quite restricting, but one does what one must, do you know what I mean?"
As she gracefully twirls the two of them in her restrictive skirt, she nods again, trying not to laugh. "It is quite a challenge if one isn't used to them, I imagine."
"Quite, quite, yes. God, I am thirsty. Might we?"
Yes, he's become unsteady on his feet, but in what would would she deprive anyone here of finding a moment's respite from the war? Certainly they're not the only ones imbibing. All around them, the polite trappings of medical professionals attending a conference have fallen away, giving space for raucous laughter and loud conversations that echo through the hotel's ballroom. As they arrive at the refreshment table, he unexpectedly waits for her to pour them both a glass, then takes a long, long drink while she sips.
"Hm!" Charles takes her gently by the shoulder and leans in. "I have been the most awful cad, Donna, might you forgive me?"
"Of course I will," she effuses. "As soon as you tell me what I'm forgiving you for."
"I intended to fill my ears with the tales of your illustrious theatrical career and yet here I am, yammering on about Hasty Pudding without allowing you so much as a word in edgewise."
Donna grins. "Illustrious is a strong word. Career is an outright lie."
He frowns so dramatically that she might be inclined to call it a pout. "Now, my dear, I will not hear of you diminishing your success in any way. Here, I am closing my mouth." As he lays his palm over his lips, he continues to speak, muffling the words so she can't hear them, and Donna takes it upon herself to grab his wrist and bring his hand down a few inches. "—about what led to your departure, perhaps," he finishes.
Ah. Though she's been careful all night, she takes the rest of her glass down in one go, then leaves it on the table with a far fainter smile. "There is very little to tell, really. I lost the taste for performing. Would you care to dance again?"
Charles finishes his as well and happily lets her lead him onto the floor. "But something must have caused the souring."
She tucks herself back into his arms, coming in close enough that she could rest her cheek on his chest if she felt so inclined. It gives her an opportunity to look away, to gather herself. As she opens her mouth to finally respond, Charles rests his broad hand so comfortingly on her spine that she sighs and lets her eyes fall closed. "Well. I had a partner who I performed in nearly every play with, and you see, it puts a small damper on one's aspirations to watch such a man run off with one's understudy."
"Surely you jest." His words are tight, clipped, far different from the melodic, slurring speech of the past half an hour. "What a wretched thing to do. Does loyalty mean nothing in such a field?"
"Quite right. Particularly terrible behavior from a husband."
Silence. Charles stops dead in the middle of the dance, nearly causing two other pairs to bump into them before they find their way around. When Donna slowly peeks up at him, Charles is watching her with wide eyes, scowling, somehow turning even redder still. "He was your husband and he left you for your understudy?"
And here they are. The moment where so many lines are often drawn in the sand. She calls upon every measure of her previous life's training to stay perfectly light and measured. "No. In fact, my husband intended to carry on with us both, so I elected to leave him."
Every muscle in Charles's body seems to deflate a measure of air. He's positively gaping. "Just like that?"
"Just like that," she agrees. He trembles for a moment, and while he wouldn't be the first man who passed out in front of her and needed her care, a studious part of her mind fears for his height if he goes crashing down. "Charles, are you all right? Should we have a seat?"
When he doesn't respond, she slips straight into her role as a nurse, cupping his elbow and walking him to the nearest chair with a low voice and soothing murmurs, and once she has him situated, she hurries off to find some supplies. She's back in less than a minute with a tall glass of ice water from the bar, a plate of various appetizers, and a handkerchief which she wets from the condensation on the glass and begins to dab at his brow.
Though he takes the water from her, he doesn't drink it, simply stares at her as if she might be more miraculous than the sun itself. "Was it...simple?" he finally asks. "To remove yourself so utterly from a life you had established?"
After a pause, Donna carefully smooths down some of his wild hairs. "No. It was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. I shouldn't have been able to make it."
"Then how did you?" His voice is tinged with desperation.
Too many faces swirl past her mind. Gertrude, the head costumer, who had a room for rent and allowed her to stay free of charge for as long as she needed. Bert and David, two treasured patrons of the theater and lovers for nearly fifty years, who had connected her to the admissions committee of the nearest nursing course, then sponsored her tuition despite all of her insistence against it. The professor who had brought her into his class after she grew tired of being leered at by her original instructor, then the librarian who had tirelessly helped her search for the books she needed, then the young girl with her hair in twin braids who had pushed a flower into her hand on the day when Donna truly believed she should drop out of the program for once and for all.
As Charles's fingers brush over her bare wrist, Donna shivers, electricity shooting through her veins. "It's quite simple," she finally murmurs. "I found a community of love. And they helped me build a home." Their gazes meet and for a moment, time does stop, the plans of an entire universe put on hold for this one night. And in a strange way, she feels as though they don't need words at all, not really. Charles is intertwining their fingers and Donna is squeezing his hand and they are seeing each other, a distinguished man of high society and a divorcee nearing her forties, and despite it all, she can see the bars he is behind, he who should have nothing but the simplest path ahead. And he is watching her with the utmost respect as though perhaps she must exist only in his imagination. As if she transcends humanity's capabilities.
Donna isn't sure what possesses her, but she kisses his knuckles and he seems to saturate into brilliant shades of color in response. "Charles, would you like to drink your water?" she gently prompts.
"A wise idea," he intones, though his tone is once more slurring at the edges and his words are very slowly selected. "The longer that I bask in the you about you, the more parched I become."
She thinks she might understand. With a giggle she can't hold back, she coaxes him to take a sip, but she does not let go of his hand and he certainly does not pull away.
While Donna plays audience to Charles experiencing a spark of creativity, she rests her cheek on his arm. "I'm sorry to say you're not acting very much like a Charles anymore."
"Am I not?" His brow is furrowed in great concentration as he draws two dots on his kneecap. His trousers are pulled up around his thighs, exposing strong and thick calves that she wishes she could massage. "Then what would you call me?"
She considers that question seriously while his elegant fingers fight their way through the drunken haze. There's nothing stuffy about him right now, nothing judgmental or rude or cruel, nothing at all that she'd feared in the moment he introduced himself with such pomp and circumstance. He just seems to be a lovely man she'd meet in a cafe somewhere or perhaps a bookstore. "Chuck," she decides. "You're a Chuck."
Charles quirks his lips and turns his head, his face so very close to her own. "Donna, you may call me whatever you wish so long as you say it as sweetly as that. Better than what the vermin I am forced to share quarters with often dub me."
"At your MASH unit?" When he nods, Donna hums. "Mary's been a wonderful roommate, thank goodness, but I imagine the quarters much be significantly tighter over there. Are they rude to you?" He's leaned over his knee so far that it is difficult to understand his mumbling. She catches a little here and there—the dreaded and disgracefully and Charlie—but there's one word she thinks she heard but can't be certain about. "Sorry, did you say they call you Cuddles?"
Charles looks at her with such hope in his gaze. "Would you like to?"
"No, no—I mean, of course I would like to cuddle you," she quickly remedies when he goes crestfallen, and he bounces back once more. "No, I thought you said your roommates call you Cuddles."
He blinks a few times. "Did I say that? No, I think... Ah, no, Chuckles, that would be the term. Cuddles is..." His cheeks have been perpetually pink but she's starting to be able to tell the difference between the flush of his drunkenness and the warmth he experiences from being around her. "I like Cuddles."
"I do too," she says, taking it literally.
"I like when you call me anything. Chuck. Cuddles. You make me feel rather..." He taps his pen on the smiling face drawn on his kneecap and titters once again. "Well, I suppose I shall never be much of an artist."
"Oh, don't say that!" Donna stiffens, then immediately sways. The sake's making her a bit floaty now too. "You're leagues ahead of, say, my ex-husband. That man doesn't have an ounce of soul in his body, and look at you! Look at the curve on this smile!" Donna puts her hand over his knee, then forgets to remove it. "You have infused this artistic masterpiece with all the passion of da Vinci himself."
"But it is you, dear Donna, who inspires the passion within me," he insists, covering her fingers with his. "The fervent desire to create, to, to run, to leap, to dance, to sing!" Charles flies to his feet and begins to croon as loudly as he can. "Oh, promise me!" When he begins to topple over, Donna tries to grab him, but he stumbles away, still singing. "That you will take my hand!" He collides with the edge of an end table and nearly knocks the lamp off of it, which a shocked nurse manages to catch at the last moment. "The most unworthy in this landly lone!"
Donna hurries after him, hands outstretched. "Chuck, this is the most romantic thing that anyone has ever done for me, but—"
When he swings around, he is wearing the lampshade, tipping it rakishly over his brow. "And let me sit beside you in your eyes! Seeing the vision—"
"Dr. Winchester?"
"—of our darapise!"
A timid captain taps Charles on the shoulder. "Dr. Winchester, could we maybe—"
"Will you cease these interruptions?" Charles demands, throwing his arms out to the side. "My God, can no one here see the goddess who walks in our midst? This woman, she is the most incredible person who I have ever met, and you would attempt to silence my devotion?"
The captain smiles nervously as he begins to retreat step by step. "Actually, y'know what, I would never do that, never, not in a million years, sir."
"The world must know!" Charles insists. As Donna comes forward to try and guide him to his chair, he takes her face in his hands and studies her with a fervency that makes her weak in the knees. "Angel from heaven above, let us not be wrenched apart at sunrise, nay, I will not stand for it."
"Charles," she breathes, trying not to giggle—the last thing she wants is to make him feel insulted. "What exactly are you suggesting?"
"'Come live with me and be my love and we will all the pleasures prove.'"
Marlowe. Oh, he couldn't have stunned her more if he plucked a star from the sky and put it in her hands. And such a poem as well, this poor shepherd who would offer his entire world if he could but be loved. "Charles..." What on earth is she supposed to say? How can she do anything but gaze into his eyes and cup his cheeks in return?
Charles leans down. "Marry me."
"What?" Donna squeaks, suddenly grinning so hard that it aches. "Charles!"
"Donna, I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to be the finest husband imaginable. I will buy you manors, jewelry—"
She can't hold back the giggles anymore, but they're filled with delight. "I don't want manors or jewelry."
"Then what do you want?" Charles begs.
"I-I don't know!" It's been so very long since someone has even asked her something like that. "Happiness? Tenderness? Respect? Laughter?"
He nods fervently. "I shall let it all flow from me as a bottomless font. All of that and more. I will make no demands of your time, would not dream of separating such a brilliant nurse from her life's path. And there will never be a moment when you doubt my regard, my admiration, my..." He steps closer with a little gasp. "Would you permit me to love you? Would you let yourself be loved by me?"
She's struck speechless—breathless, even. What a question. Is there a world in existence where she could ever allow herself to truly experience love again? Is there such a way for her to receive that kind of devotion without doubt, without fear? And how would she even begin?
Well. There certainly seems to be at least one path she could begin walking down to find out.
Donna giggles as she busses their noses together, all at once overcome by a childish sense of adventure. "I would love to see if you could love me and if I could love you. Wouldn't that be a treat?" Inspired, she pecks his lips with her own. "Sure, let's do it. Let's get married."
Charles seems to be so filled with joy that he could float up to the ceiling like a balloon. "Attention!" He waves a hand as though three-quarters of the people in attendance are not already looking at them, whispering, chuckling. "It will be the finest evening that everyone will have the pleasure of expeediencing! There will be a wedding!"
Exactly one gentleman begins to clap. From a great distance, Jill lets out a "Whoo!"
"Who will be the officialer?" Since there is no immediate response, Charles pushes on in utter desperation. "I can't keep my hands off this angel. Somebody marry us before it's too late!"
"Sir!"
It's Donna's turn to almost tip over as she turns to see the bartender very tiredly wiggling his fingers at them both. Charles, the gentleman, makes sure to catch her against his soft side, and when she snuggles close, he keeps his arm around her with a happy hum.
The bartender heaves a sigh. "I will do it." He leans over and whispers to a nearby waiter in what Donna recognizes as quiet Japanese, even if she can't understand the language, and the server snorts and wanders away with a hand over his mouth.
Charles doesn't seem to notice that they're the evening's entertainment, and for her part, Donna doesn't mind at all. She's always loved putting on as energetic of a performance as possible, and given Charles's background of Hasty Pudding burlesque, she knows he must have at least some experience in doing the same. Charles sways a little. She stabilizes him. She sways. He cradles her. Back and forth, back and forth. "Would you? Would you really marry me? I must know. Donna." He buries a hand in her hair. "I cannot fathom being apart from you. Please, I must see you as soon as possible. I ache for you. I yearn to have you by my side. Swear to me that you will visit."
Donna comes up on her tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose. "Well, if I'm going to become Mrs. Cuddles, then I simply must find my way there, yes?" She grins as she begins to pull him toward the bar. "But only if you promise me one thing."
"Anything. Anything." Charles sounds like he might burst if she makes him wait so much as another millisecond for her request.
"That we return the lampshade."
Charles considers this. Blinks. Tips his head back to try and see it, which fails. Finally he removes it from his head and tosses it away. "You ask so very little of me, my love." As they reach the counter, he wraps his arms around her and begins to sway to music that must only exist in his head. "I see that I must make it my life's goal to spoil you as thoroughly as possible."
"Why don't we start with tonight?" she teases.
His lips quirk as he slides a hand into her hair, sending a pleasant shiver across her scalp. "Then I shall stop time so tonight never ends."