“Someday.” Abigail repeats. She may have strongly held beliefs about this sort of thing, but she’s not an activist by any means. There are always more important, more concrete things to do. Crusading for great social change that she might never see seems like such a waste of time when faced with the pain she witnesses every day at St. Mungo’s. She’d much rather focus on the present that some pie in the sky future.
“It sounds delicious however you say it.” Abigail smiles, then wanders away. She’s much more of a hindrance than a help in the kitchen, and she knows dinner preparations will go more smoothly if she leaves Charles to his own devices.
While Charles is distracted with the food, she makes her way back to his bedside table at a faux casual pace. He seems more calm now that he was earlier in the night, but there is definitely still something wrong, and she wants to know. Not because she’s nosy, of course, even though she can be quite curious at times, but because if she something is wrong she wants to fix it. She pushes the books aside as unobtrusively as she can, not wanting to be caught snooping when she probably shouldn’t be. She’s already thinking ahead, to what it might be that he’s tucked away, what it might mean, what could be wrong and how she can remedy it. Then, she just stops thinking.
If someone had somehow caught her at the exact moment her eyes land on the small, velvet covered cube, she would not have known what to call it. For a moment, she can’t even conjure the words ring box. Then it’s like her brain picks back up in double time to make up for the momentary lapse and everything comes flooding back, words like ring box, and diamond, and wedding and all the plans she’s been making in the back of her mind and trying not to think about are suddenly at the forefront and everything is fading out but she’s acutely aware of the small box, which she doesn’t remember picking up but is now in her hand, and Charles, still in the kitchen and probably oblivious, and before she knows she’s doing it she’s said,
Charles as the sort that would sometimes get caught up in what he was doing or wanted to do. He felt lucky that Abigail would indulge him and support him. He was a bit of an optimist with it, maybe more than he needed to be--but he always hoped for the best. After a moment, he lets himself get caught up in the cooking.
There wasn’t so much left to do, but enough to keep him busy. Enough to not notice that Abigail was starting to look around his bed and his nightstand. His cat lazed on the bed, tail flopping back and forth, a terrible alert system for something Charles was attempting to make happen tonight as a surprise. But Charles is comfortable with Abigail in his space. As far as he was concerned, what was his was hers. There were very few secrets he kept from her.
They were mostly fears and concerns. Anxieties he didn’t want to pass on. Right now, none of those were on his mind. They were situated in his chest and Abigail was free to explore whatever she’d like. Charles turned to check the oven’s temperature, unaware of what Abigail had found sitting there between his books.
“Yes what?” he asked, turning once he was certain the oven was ready, about to grab the tray he’d prepared when he saw what was sitting in her hand. “Yes?” Charles repeated, frozen from where he stood in the kitchen, just for a moment more before he was crossing the flat. “You kn-know what th-that is and yes?” He couldn’t believe it was her answer and he hadn’t even had to ask. There was still a small part of Charles that wondered if he hadn’t heard something she’d said and he was confusing things, but the rest of him showed in a smile he couldn’t help as he took Abigail’s hands in his. “You’ll m-marry m-me?”
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