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have-each-others-six · 5 years

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face to the wind, eyes to the sun (pt. six)

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

okay, so i lied a lil bit.

you will have THREE parts today, and an epilogue tomorrow.

i am not good at creating an outline for things, apparently.

also that megasix today. wow. my soul hurts but also feels rejuvenated somehow.

***

one.

Catherine of Aragon doesn’t believe in bargaining.

She never really has.

The idea of desperately offering everything you own in exchange for something else seems foolish, not to mention illogical. The value of what you’re giving away far outpaces what you’re receiving.

Even when Henry had come into their bedroom one night and announced he was going to divorce her for Anne, she hadn’t bargained. She’d argued, of course she had. She’d asked him over and over why he was doing this as they stood in their nightclothes, yelling at one another, but she hadn’t offered him anything so that he might let her stay. Maybe she should have, but she didn’t.

Now, though?

Now, she’s standing downstairs, waiting for the rest of the queens so that they can leave for their last show ever before they all die. Again. And she finds herself wanting to promise anything, anything, so that they can live.

She’s beginning to think it might not be so illogical after all to give everything up for the people you love.

Anna comes down the stairs, her crown a little askew and her eyes clearly red from crying.

“Hey, Cleves,” Aragon says, fiddling with the cap on her waterbottle.

Anna looks startled for a moment before composing herself. “Hey,” she replies nonchalantly.

Out of all the queens, Anna is probably the one who Aragon knows the least. The other queens would probably say the same, actually.

There’s a barrier there. Aragon doesn’t fully know why. Most of them were wary around each other for the first few weeks, but their common experiences brought them together and they soon started to make connections.

Anna has always been funny, been comforting when people needed comfort and given space when they didn’t, been strong and kind and understanding.

But, for the most part, she’s alone. She tends not to talk about things that are hurting her, even when Aragon can tell it’s eating her alive to hide her feelings.

She never asked about any of it because it didn’t seem like the right time. But since now there’s almost no time at all, this seems like her only option.

Aragon weighs the choices and makes her decision.

“Anna?”

“Yeah, babes?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Anna looks surprised for just a second, but she covers it quickly and shrugs. “Nah,” she answers nonchalantly. “I feel like discussing my death’ll be a bit dark, yeah?”

“Sometimes talking about the dark things can help,” Aragon offers. “I know it helped me.”

That draws the ghost of a smile out of Anna, like the idea of sharing her feelings is almost laughable. “I’ve tried that whole feelings thing before,” she says grimly. “Didn’t work out too well.”

Aragon can infer based on the set of her jaw and the way her eyes unfocus slightly that she’s talking about Henry, and this time she chooses not to ask. She takes Anna’s waterbottle and hands it to her, trying to silently communicate her support.

Anne comes down the stairs in a whirlwind, carrying a completely open backpack with the main pocket flapping open, her arms full of books and bags of food and charging cords for her phone and her barrettes and her flats for after the show.

Aragon’s yelled at Anne for forever to clean up after herself, to be more organized, to not run down the stairs holding a million things at once, but the routine of Anne coming down a few minutes late in a state of chaos is oddly comforting in the slowly mounting dread that’s starting to surround them, and she finds herself relaxing at the sight of Anne’s mess.

The rest of the queens join them soon enough, and Aragon herds them all into the car. She’s driving tonight. She needs to have control over at least one aspect of what’s happening, or else she’s going to lose her mind. She’s powerless against this curse, whatever it is.

It’s eerily silent when they pull onto the road. Anne and Katherine aren’t screaming the lyrics to some new song that comes on the radio, Jane and Anna aren’t running through a checklist of necessities before the show, and Parr doesn’t have her nose in a book.

The air feels stiffer to Aragon somehow, like it takes more effort to get it into her lungs when she breathes in.

When Katherine speaks, it’s a relief, even if what she’s saying isn’t.

“I don’t want to die.”

It’s a statement more than anything else. Aragon can’t see her face in the dark, but she notices the way her voice quavers a little, and she can hear the now-recognizable rustling sound of Katherine fiddling with the skirt on her costume.

“Kit, it’ll be okay,” Cathy replies, but her own voice is far from confident. “This isn’t the end.”

“What if I forget you? What if I forget all of you?”

A shiver of panic runs through Aragon. She hadn’t even thought of that. What will happen when they’re sent back to the moment of their death? Will they still retain the memories of this life?

“That won’t happen, sweetheart,” Jane says, and it’s genuinely admirable how sure she sounds, because Aragon feels terror setting in. What if they do forget each other?

The theatre looks different when they drive up to the back. Normally, they would all breathe a collective sigh of relief, because this place is their safe haven. If they’re fighting, they set their differences aside once they enter the stage door. They can talk about things that matter here, let themselves be honest with each other, be silly and overexcited and real.

Now, it just represents everything they’re going to lose.

“We should go in,” Anna says, but it sounds reluctant, and the rest of them mumble a halfhearted assent.

Aragon knows how easy it would be not to say anything. She knows she could just walk into the greenroom, allow herself and everyone else to fall into a grave silence, and not discuss anything until after the show.

But she doesn’t do that. She puts her keys in her pocket and stands up, because she needs to be the strong one right now..

“We’re going out with a bang, ladies!” She’s shouting a little too loudly for the otherwise quiet street, but she’s far past caring. “This is our last show. I wish it wasn’t, but there’s nothing we can do about it, so we’re just going to have to throw our entire hearts and souls into this one. Forget about tonight. Forget about dying for seventy-five minutes. We’re going to do this, and we’re going to do it right.” She takes a breath. “So let’s go.”

Everybody looks a little taken aback, but Parr has a tiny smile on her face, and Aragon tries to memorize the way her goddaughter looks right now, affection filling her heart.

“All right then, Aragon,” Anne says, shock and a little bit of awe apparent in her expression. “Let’s fuckin’ go.”

With their heads held a little higher, the group of six walks into the theater.

It smells like dusty carpet and hairspray and takeout, each different smell evoking a different memory. Aragon fiddles with the cross necklace she always wears, trying to occupy her mind so she won’t have to think too hard about the reality of this performance.

“Warm-ups in five,” Anna calls out, poking her head out from the greenroom door, and the rest of the queens nod.

They all try to heed Aragon’s ultimatum from earlier, outrunning the fear in every way they can think of. They laugh harder than normal when someone slips up during tongue twisters, and go all out during physical warm-ups, hard enough that Aragon gets a little scared that somebody’s going to pull something.

Before she knows it, they’re standing in their places behind the curtain, and Aragon is so nervous she’s trembling. She’s always a little anxious when a show starts, but this is a new level, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs going numb.

She knows that she, Catherine of Aragon, can’t afford to be nervous. She never could.

When the spotlight flashes over her head, her voice cracks a little as she says ‘divorced’, but that’s the most she allows herself to show the audience of what’s happening inside her head.

For the first time, she wishes her song wasn’t first. She needs more time to prepare, she can’t do this, she can’t, she can’t-

She has to.

The queens start singing her intro line, and she jumps in half a beat early, but adjusts quickly. She concentrates on the words, finding solace in the familiar rhythms, the dance moves coming instinctively with the melody.

She lets her anger and her fear and her devastation bleed into her singing, and when she’s done, she is completely spent, emotionally exhausted from giving everything she has.

Aragon doesn’t really even process when Anne starts talking, so the over-the-top music cue for ‘Don’t Lose Ur Head’ startles her a bit.

She makes all the right facial expressions during Anne’s song, disgust and malice and frustration, but she can’t keep a smile off of her face as Anne throws her whole heart into singing, a warm affection filling her chest for this crazy gremlin of a girl.

In a million years, she never would have thought she’d forgive her for what she did, for tearing apart her marriage with seemingly no care at all.

From the beginning, Anne had apologized over and over again, but Aragon refused to yield. Forgiving the woman who destroyed her marriage felt like a surrender.

But she did, eventually. She doesn’t know exactly when it happened, only that one day she woke up and she wasn’t immediately incensed with anger at the thought of Anne.

Forgiveness is a funny thing. It doesn’t always happen like you expect it to.

While she’s lost in thought, Jane takes the stage, and the rest of the queens sit on the steps behind her.

Jane’s voice is unsteady, and there’s less of her normal emotional force present than just a broken mother, lost in the past.

Aragon can tell that the song isn’t about Edward tonight, though. Jane is clearly singing this song to Katherine, and when Aragon looks over, Katherine’s tears are glistening on her face, illuminated by the colorful stage lighting.

The song ends, they do their bit before Haus of Holbein, and then they release all of their pent-up crazy energy by jumping around the stage and employing their obnoxious German accents.

Too soon, it’s over, and Anna takes the stage.

Aragon notices that she’s not as devil-may-care and flippant as she normally is when she sings. There’s more of a cautious air to her movements, and her bragging in the song is definitely toned down.

The conversation from earlier flashes through her mind.

I’ve tried that whole feelings thing before, Anna had said. Didn’t work out too well.

To be completely honest, Aragon doesn’t think it’s working out for them now either. They’re all destroyed, each trying their best to appear put together for the audience and barely succeeding.

Aragon feels like she’s watching from an outside perspective throughout the rest of the show. When Kat breaks down completely after her song, crying brokenly as the lights fade, Aragon wonders how long it will be before they’re all in a similar situation, because heaven knows they’ve all come close today already.

Parr steps up after her dialogue to begin her song, and when she starts, it’s like something breaks, and Aragon feels the sudden need for a hug.

It’s odd. The other queens are more touchy-feely, needing contact and comfort to stay grounded and feel safe. But Aragon has never been that type of person. She’ll accept Katherine’s tackle-hugs, of course, and sometimes Cathy just needs someone to hold her and tell her it’ll be all right, so she does that too. But she doesn’t actually seek out hugging and closeness like the others.

Now, though, all she wants is someone to take her into their arms, because it feels like she’s been holding her breath for twenty-four hours and she needs someone to tell her that everything will be okay.

The show ends, and it feels incredibly anticlimactic. It’s the same confetti that they almost slip on, the same cheers from the audience, the same riffs from their ladies in waiting that they always hear.

But, suddenly, violently, everything shifts.

“London, we actually have an announcement for you,” Cathy says, and by the set of her jaw and barely concealed tears, the audience can tell that it isn’t good news.

“We can’t perform anymore,” Anne continues, almost robotically, trying not to cry herself, and Aragon winces at the gasp from the crowd.

“S-something’s, um, a conflict has made itself known and we won’t be able to do the show because of it,” Katherine states, trying to be stoic and failing miserably.

Aragon takes it upon herself to finish the delivery of the news. “The show’s closing. We wish we could explain more, but we can’t. We aren’t allowed. We’re sorry, really we are, but there’s nothing we can do.”

There’s nothing we can do.

There never has been, really.

The audience is silent, stunned by what they’ve just been told. Aragon knows their explanation isn’t enough, but it’s all they can give them without sounding crazy.

She’s ready to go offstage and say goodbye, but then someone starts talking.

“We love you,” Jane tells the audience. “So much. You have supported us every step of the way, and we can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. You’ve truly been the best group of people any performers could ask to be in front of. And even though we have to say goodbye, we’ll never forget you. That’s a promise, okay? We love you,” she says again. “We love you all.”

The audience starts clapping, and then one by one they stand up, until the queens are looking at a huge crowd of people, with tears streaming down their faces and playbills clutched in their hands.

Aragon doesn’t care how much time is left. She just wants to stay here, forever, with these people, hearing their stories and telling her own.

But they have to leave, and so they do.

Walking out of the theatre for the last time is like leaving Spain all over again. Familiarity, home, family, all of it ripped away from her quicker than she can blink.

It feels a little like her heart is being strangled in her chest, like she can’t quite get enough breath in her lungs. It feels like when she’d had to leave Mary alone at court after Henry had divorced.

Her heart had well and truly broken then, when her smart, beautiful fifteen-year-old girl had looked at her with fear in her eyes after Henry had told her what was going to happen.

Mary had slowly walked over to her, clearly trying not to cry.

“Please don’t leave me, mum,” she’d whispered, and it nearly killed Aragon to see her daughter trying to be brave and not cry.

But she had left.

She didn’t have a choice.

She wrote letter after letter, trying to still be there for Mary even from far away, but eventually the replies stopped, and Aragon died a few years later.

The only silver lining in this whole situation is the fact that she might get to see Mary again when they’re sent back to their old lives.

She gets into the car and starts it, lost in thought about her girl’s bright smile and precocious little statements that made her laugh.

A tap on her shoulder brings her back to earth, and she turns to see Katherine, next to her in the passenger seat.

“We’re home,” she tells her, concern apparent in her voice, but Aragon shrugs it off. Her eyes catch on the electronic clock on the dashboard, and it’s 11:22.

Twenty-four minutes.

Katherine notices what she’s looking at and flinches. “That’s not a lot of time,” she says softly.

Aragon doesn’t say anything, she just stands up and heads inside, taking Katherine’s hand and leading her in. She knows she’ll sit frozen outside otherwise.

Leaving Kat with Jane, she heads to her bedroom, which looks very strange in the darkness all of a sudden.

She sits down on the bed, and then she starts to cry. She doesn’t really know a concrete reason for why she’s crying, actually, only that she can’t stop.

The lights are out, and she’s sitting up against the headboard, wiping away tears, when Anne walks in, holding a pillow to her chest.

“Can I-” she starts, and Aragon nods, pulling her legs to her chest as Anne curls up at the foot of the bed.

She looks cold, so Aragon pulls a spare blanket out from behind her pillow and lays it over her.

Someone taps lightly on the door, and Jane’s silhouette appears in the doorway, carrying a sleeping Katherine.

“She’s exhausted,” Jane mouths.

“Sit here, you can stay with her,” Aragon whispers back, grateful for the decision she’d made to splurge on a large bed when they’d appeared in this new time.

Jane gives her a grateful smile, although it’s hard to make out in the low light, and sits next to Aragon, holding Katherine close.

“Mama,” Katherine whimpers, wakened slightly by the change in position.

“Shhhh, sweet girl, Mama’s right here,” Jane soothes her, tucking a wayward piece of hair behind Kat’s ear.

“Having a cuddle party without me? Not allowed,” Anna states, entering the room, although her voice is clogged with tears. She joins the group on the bed, finding space by Anne, and Aragon nudges her with her foot and gives her a smile.

Last to join is Cathy, who sits square in the middle of the bed, scrunching into a tiny ball, clutching onto Aragon’s leg like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

Aragon almost laughs at the typically mature queen acting so childish, but she doesn’t, figuring Cathy has earned the right to be clingy tonight. She adjusts herself, moving to the right so there’s more space, and then pats the vacated area next to her, which Cathy shifts into. She wraps her arms around Aragon, and Aragon accepts the hug easily, pulling her closer.

That anxiety she’s been feeling since the show abates slightly, and she finally gets her hug, her goddaughter nestling closer in the dark.

It’s quiet now, and the time ticks by in the silence faster than any of them want it to.

“I remember that it was a beautiful day when I died,” Jane murmurs, barely audible. “It was sunny, and the fall roses outside my window were blooming, so I could see them from my bed. Maybe I’ll get to see the roses again.”

Aragon stays silent, but she thinks about her own death. It was January, so it was cold, and the sky was grey. She remembers thinking about Mary as she died, hoping that she was playing in the snow somewhere.

Maybe it’ll be easier the second time around.

She looks at the clock.

Two minutes.

“I love you,” Anne says abruptly. “All of you. I don’t feel like I told you that enough. I love all of you so much.”

“I love you guys too,” Anna echoes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express how thankful I am to every single one of you.”

“You taught me how to live again,” Parr whispers.

“You all taught me how to love again,” Jane amends. “You gave me my daughter.”

“You gave me my mum,” Katherine adds quietly. “And all of you saved me. In your own ways, you all saved me.”

Aragon closes her eyes and leans back against the headboard.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without all of you,” she says honestly. “I love you.”

She can’t look at them right now, or she’ll break. She’ll shatter like a piece of glass.

“One minute. There’s one minute,” Anna tells them, panicked.

Aragon hears the queens’ hysteria, but can’t register it above the humming in her own ears.

“This can’t be real. This can’t be real, right?”

“Mum, don’t leave me! Don’t make me go, mama!”

“It’s so dark when you die. It’s so dark, and so cold, and I can’t go back, I won’t go back, please don’t let me go back…”

“I won’t leave you, love. I won’t ever leave you. Just don’t forget about me, all right? I’ll always be with you.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“I love you.”

A flash of light, and a sound like all the air being sucked out of a small space, and the six wives of Henry the Eighth disappear.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #yup so that was a thing i wrote #currently i am listening to 'i'll make a man out of you' in french so that's a bit of a tone shift #i did warn you about the angst #face to the wind eyes to the sun

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the-sapphiresky · 7 years

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Realisations

AN: It’s the Penultimate Chapter of my Anne of Green Gables Sherlolly AU (wow, that’s a mouthful!!) Read the first 5 chapters on AO3 and FF.net. :) A million thanks to @buttercup59 for Beta-ing!

Previously:

‘I pride myself on my genius, my ability to read people, and I know that you feel something for me that is deeper than mere friendship.’ Sherlock stepped away, shuttering himself off from her. ‘But if you won’t accept that, there is nothing I can do. You believe that friendship will be sufficient, but this past year has made it clear to me that it will never be enough for me.’

A sob bubbled up and Molly stepped toward him, reaching out. ‘Sherlock, please-’

His gaze softened and he reached out to cup her cheek. Against her will, she leaned into the warmth of his hand and she covered his hand with hers, closing her eyes.

Suddenly there was a soft pressure on her other cheek. Her eyes flew open and her heart skipped a beat to find Sherlock pulling back, his eyes, so beautiful and clear and close, taking her in. ‘I do hope you find the love you are looking for, Molly.’

Then he was gone, striding away into the night, turning up his coat collar as he went.

Molly stared after him, her heart feeling empty and a small voice whispering that she had just lost something irreplaceable.

Two Years Later

I’m sure you’ve heard by now, dearest Molly, of the sickness that has nearly taken Mrs Holmes. She fights it with a fury only she could muster and it may very well crumble to her will. We can only pray she grows stronger every day and comes through the other side.

Though I know you have not been in touch for near gone two years now, I feel I should tell you of Sherlock’s return. The very day after we sent word of his mother’s illness, he arrived upon the morning train having travelled all night. He later sent for his things and declared himself educated sufficiently enough to leave ‘that wretched institution they insultingly call higher education.’ But John and I know he has returned for the sake of his father and mother and to support them during this time. He is a far greater man than he would ever believe of himself.

Alas, I must stop writing or risk running late to tea with Harriet. We miss you terribly, especially little Rosie, who even now is asking for her ‘An-Mowwy.’ And I expect you to visit within the season, for it has been far too long since we have seen you.

Love,

Mary

oOo

‘Molly, darling, you’re a bit distracted tonight.’

Molly turned her head away from where she’d been staring out the window. Tom was looking at her with a slight frown. They’d been courting for nearly a year after she had been introduced to him by her pathology mentor. Tom was a brilliant pathologist, albeit a bit stiff and aloof, but Molly knew in her head that theirs was a smart match. They were a powerful couple and they would make ground-breaking discoveries together in the world of pathology. But as the months passed, she slowly began to feel as if something was off. Yet she pushed aside her doubts.

She smiled and reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. ‘I’m sorry, what were you saying?’

Tom smiled crookedly and shook his head. ‘Daydreaming again, sweetheart?’

Molly’s smile cooled instantly and she clenched her teeth. There was that condescension. It had been creeping into his tone more and more as of late.

‘Just thinking about my residency. I can’t believe I start in less than two weeks!’ She watched the look that passed over his face with a sinking stomach. It wasn’t the face of a man proud of the woman he loved’s accomplishments. It was the face of a man who had humoured the girl he was courting.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss. When they had first begun courting, the action had sent Molly’s heart skittering. Now… it made her feel like an object. ‘If we’re to be married within the year, should you really be planning on a career? What about children?’

Molly tugged her hand from his grasp and sat up straighter. ‘I would love to have children someday. But I thought you understood, and appreciated, what a career in pathology means to me. I’d like to finish my education and establish myself before I have children.’

Tom’s smile instantly dropped and his nostrils flared. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘On the contrary, I very much am,’ Molly clipped.

‘Molly, sweetheart,’ he tilted his head forward and smiled patronisingly. ‘No one is going to take you seriously as a pathologist. Why waste all that time fighting against society’s expectations only to fail when we can instead start on the family we’ve always wanted.’

Molly stared at him and tried to control her breathing. ‘Thomas, I thought you understood… not just understood, but appreciated my intelligence and desire to be a pathologist. If you can’t accept that, then I would suggest that you find another woman who is willing to not strive for anything but to bear your children. Because I am not, and will never be, her.’

His mouth gaped open as she pushed her chair back and stood, laying her napkin on the table.

‘Molly, wait.’ He grabbed her arm as she walked past. ‘Won’t you reconsider? We’re an admirable match, you must see that! Our marriage would be advantageous to both of us. Don’t throw it away on some pipe dream of being a pathologist.’

Molly looked down at him, a familiar voice echoing in her mind.

I think it admirable.

Even now, two years later, she remembered them as clearly as if Sherlock had spoken them yesterday. Never once had he made her feel foolish for pursuing pathology. Never once had he condescended to her. No, Sherlock had always challenged her mind, encouraged her, and it was his words of affirmation that had her standing tall and confident even when others tried to put her down.

She’d been waiting for a man who would complement her and she’d thought she’d found that in Thomas.

Finally, Molly’s heart closed the gap on her mind. She realised what she’d been looking for had been in front of her all along. She had ignored her heart’s protestations and foolishly thought that her perfect match would be found in a man like Tom: a pathologist, well-respected, from a good family, but who would never see her, her passions and intelligence. She was simply his means to an end.

And in her foolishness, she had spurned the man she now realised was that perfect match in every way, even the one she hadn’t expected. He had loved her.

And she loved him.

A smile pulled at the corners of her lips. Tom, thinking she was agreeing with him, smiled back and relaxed his grip.

‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said and stepped away. ‘For finally making me realise I could never marry you.’

His mouth dropped open in surprise, but she didn’t stick around to hear his sputtering.

Gathering her coat close to her chin and holding her hat atop her head, she hurried out into the cold winter air. She breathed out, the mist surrounding her, and she grinned widely, almost stupidly. It was as if she had been wearing a blindfold, shackling her heart down into a tiny box, and had now set it free. The darkness, like the mist of her breath, faded away and suddenly everything was bright and her feet were back on solid ground.

And she wasn’t going to waste one second more. She had a train to catch.

#sherlolly #anne of green gables au #this thing started out as a one shot almost 2 years ago y'all #sorry about the wait!#mollock #Molly Hooper #Sherlock Holmes

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