I do not own Enchanted or any related characters. This was written out of enjoyment of the series, and no profit is being made.

Ships?: Calypso Singer/OC (Corinne)
Spoilers: The movie, but of course!
Continuation: Takes place before and during the movie.

How Does She Know?

Every day it's the same old thing. Wake up, look good for the people you don't know, rush through crowded streets so you're not late again, work all day, go back home, sleep. If he were normal, he might worry more about the fact that his 'meal' time-slot changes from day to day and sometimes disappears altogether.

But he doesn't worry because he's not normal. And he's not normal because he's one of the few waiters at the restaurant who hasn't forgotten that above all else, he needs to work life into his day.

For him, life is music. And not the calming violin or piano that they constantly have playing in the dining room. No, he hums songs that remind him of home: turquoise waters and arching palm trees, white gull feathers and barnacle covered docks. He doesn't quite know the words but he always ends up humming the same tune as he dances around the tables and the other waiters, his serving plate perfectly balanced. La la, la la la la la la.

Sometimes he forgets where he is and even hums when he comes back to the table and delivers his customers' food. Most pretend not to notice, some stare down their noses at him. But sometimes, their eyes brighten up and they smile amazed smiles, in an 'I've-heard-that-song!' kind of way.

Every day he goes to work hoping to find those people. Part of him stops looking when Corinne, the new chef starts working. She's tiny, but she's tenacious, quietly digging herself into the job with steak knife nails in spite of the head chef's sexist remarks.

He makes the (not-) mistake of humming as he picks up her oyster dish one night. She smiles at him wordlessly, and the silence strikes him in the middle of the kitchen's discordant symphony of pots and pans. As she turns back to her station, he hears her humming the exact. Same. Tune.

He leaves work that night feeling as weightless as a balloon.

A couple of years later, he and Corinne leave together, ringed fingers clasped tight.

She gets picked up by another restaurant that recognizes her talent and makes them both enough money that he can start chasing his song. But he still can't find the lyrics, standing out there in Central Park with Dave and Alfred every day.

Until the red haired lady showed up.

She's standing not far off from where the three of them play their music. She's talking to a man in a business suit, and he can't help but admire the beautiful blue dress she's wearing. Corinne would love something like that, right out of a fairytale...

"How does she know you love her?"

He's startled out of his thoughts of the missus as the woman opens her mouth and... sings. The man looks around warily. "Oh, no."

"How does she know she's yours...?" The woman smiles contagiously, staring into the distance. No, scratch that, she's staring into the music that's been lying underneath the city, drowned out by the subway system.

That's his song. It's his song. Those are the words he's been waiting for.

The man in the suit is guiding her away with his hand on her elbow. He can't let her leave now.

"How does she know that you love her?" he repeats, stepping forward and reaching out with a hand.

She turns, the dress swishing with her as she points. "Oh!"

"He knows the song too?" the man in the suit asks.

You don't know the half of it, he thinks.

"How do you show her you love her?" she sings, coming closer with clasped hands.

Dave gives them a bongo beat. The words are coming to him so easily now it's hard to imagine that this is the first time he's ever sung them. "How does she know that you really-

"Really?"

"Truly?"

"Love her? How does she know that you love her? How do you show her you love her? How does she know that really, really, truly, love her?"

She skips off. He follows. He follows her through all of Central Park, and he can't believe his eyes as the crowd around them grows and grows.

Everyone has a song waiting inside them. Sometimes you just need someone to give you the words, and everything else just... comes to you.

It wasn't just his song, he realized. It was the song of people who had been waiting to believe.

AN. Ah, man. I wrote this so long ago, but I haven't posted it here, so here you are! I love you, nameless Calypso Singer (though I imagine his name could be Samuel).