🍑Literally Just 2,217 Peaches in a Trenchcoat🍑

Today, she’d said her final prayers. She prayed for a suitable heir to the throne. She prayed that whoever it was would lead the Mushroom Kingdom with love and compassion. She prayed that the next one in line could pick up where she left off, right before her point of failure. All this, she prayed to occur for Toadsworth's sake. He deserved to retire and spend the rest of his life in peace.

Then she turned her intentions to her loved ones. One by one, she called them by name, until she circled back to the very first name she’d uttered.

“Please… let Mario be alive.”

There was more between the lines of her request: that he be loved, that he’d live a long and happy life, that he could one day forgive her for her weakness, her cowardice. That somehow, he'd know her very last wish had been for him.

Her prayers were said. Her power was spent. Whatever tears she had left were shed silently, muddied by the grime that coated her cheeks. All that was left to do now was the very thing she'd come to excel at: lie down, close her eyes, and die.

And yet, suddenly, she couldn’t. For once, sleep eluded her. She’d been laying on her cot for what felt like weeks, staring at the cold stone encasing her, with neither the reprieve of darkness nor the company of dreams. She’d never felt so powerless in all her life.

That is, until she gained a visitor.

“How are you feeling?”

She almost didn't hear him. The gentle caress he laid against her cheek was nearly intangible, demanding she concentrate just to feel it. Peach didn't move, fearing he'd go as quickly as he'd arrived.

Still, she found her words, just for him.

"Tired," she sighed wearily."Very, very tired."

Mario chuckled. “I can tell. You’ve really been through the wringer, yeah?”

Leave it to him to make light of the darkness. She lay perfectly still as his laugh echoed in her ears.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

His answer came all too easily.

"Rest," he said. "You've done all you can, Peach. Just rest."

She let his words sit with her a moment, waiting for them to ease the weight in her chest. This was when she was supposed to feel okay, wasn't it?

"Rest… rest… rest."

The more she heard him say it, the less she recognized it as Mario, until she couldn't remember what he sounded like to start with. His words, his presence, failed to comfort her, because she knew deep down that it wasn’t truly his. Deep down, she knew none of this was real.

Had her father done the same in his final hours? As he lay dying, a husk that was once a beloved king, had he imagined Peach’s mother lying beside him, urging him to move on— to forget his uselessness, the tarnish left on his legacy, to join her and rest?

For the first time, Peach felt like she understood him. Their legacies would be one and the same: lead a promising life, watch it spiral, and then succumb to their circumstances. A legacy of failure.

"I'm really nothing more than my father's daughter.” She sniffed, her smile bitter. “Aren’t I?"

"Of course not!" Mario's outburst felt so certain, so resolute, that Peach couldn't tell if he was still speaking, or if she was merely remembering something he’d already said. "Princess, look at you. Even here, stuck in some dingy old prison, you've kept fighting for all of us. And you’re still trying! Even now, when it’s already over!”

A pause, and then:

“It’s okay to let go. No one can fight forever, Princess.”

That wasn’t his voice. Not even a facsimile or misremembrence of it. Mario would never say that.

Peach’s eyes almost opened, and she squeezed them shut before her brain could process the empty space beside her. Mario, her kingdom’s hero, a man who never knew when to quit, would never let her give up. What she'd heard had been her own thoughts, her own voice, threatening to shatter the last line of comfort the Stars had seen fit to give her.

Then again, it wasn't impossible. Maybe it was something he'd say if the situation was hopeless enough. Surely he could recognize when a battle couldn’t be won, that there’s no need to die in agony if you’re going to die anyway.

“No one can fight forever.” He said it in the correct voice this time.

Peach sighed, relaxing once more. Better. That was much better."Will you stay with me, then? Until… until I—"

She didn't dare finish that thought. Instead, she curled in on herself, convinced herself that she was curling into him instead. And as she finally began to doze, she was even able to feel the kiss he pressed to her forehead. It was scratchy and soft, everything she could’ve possibly wanted, and backed with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“Well… I suppose I can only heal injuries,” Peach said. “Cuts, bruises, things like that. And as painful as this can be…” As if on cue, the unpleasant tightness in her lower belly flared up again, and she winced through the remainder of her reply. “It’s a natural process. There’s nothing to heal.”

She heard the soft clunk of Mario setting his whittling project on the tea table, and once she was able to look again, he extended his left hand to her, glancing between her lap and her face in an unspoken offer. Had he noticed her pain, deduced from it that her heating pad had gone cold? Or was it just good timing? Either way, she took him up on his offer, carefully tossing the rice-filled sack across the space between them.

He caught it easily, setting it across his knees. “Makes sense, I guess. Just gotta let nature run its course, yeah?”

Peach tried not to stare as he pulled his gloves off, tucking them into one pocket. His hands were beautiful, she often thought, a patchwork of healed burns and calluses. She also knew that he didn’t share her sentiment. Their ragged appearance was a sore spot for him, he’d once confessed. That he’d even become comfortable baring his hands in her presence, rare an occurrence as it remained, was a blessing.

He laid his palms over the length of the heating pad. The glow of magic, invisible to all but the most perceptive, began to radiate from his skin.

“But what about the pain?” he asked. “Can’t do anything about that, either?”

“Th-the pain—?” Peach blinked, quickly tearing her gaze away. Right. She should spend less time staring and more time answering his questions. “No, I can’t do much about that, either.”

“Ooh, wait, lemme guess: you can only heal pain if you can heal the source? So no boo-boo, no feel-better?” Mario’s eyes sparkled in the evening lamplight, his smile playful but sincere. “Did I get it right?”

Another cramp set itself upon Peach, but she barely paid it any mind. Mario’s delight was contagious. “Sort of. I can help ease the pain of others, regardless of that pain’s source, but…” She eased back into her chaise. Sitting upright wasn’t helping. “It’s a more involved process.”

“Oh?”

“I can’t heal pain, since pain itself is a response rather than an inflictor, but I can lay a fog over the afflicted’s mind that helps block pain receptors. Again, since there’s nothing to be healed, nothing is changed except for the afflicted’s perception.”

“So…” Mario drummed his fingertips against the heating pad. “You basically… make them think they’re not in pain?”

“More or less. Think of it as an induced trance state of sorts.” Peach sighed. “For obvious reasons, if I try the same tactic on myself, it won’t work.”

“I getcha, I getcha,” Mario said. “Sorta like how it’s impossible to tickle yourself, yeah?”

Peach almost affirmed this, but she stopped short. “…Is that impossible?”

“Yeah, you know! Because you see it coming, so you can’t get caught off-guard.”

Peach hummed. She’d never considered that. Her hand hesitated over her thigh, but curiosity quickly got the better of her. She began to rapidly tap against herself, skittering deft fingertips up and down her side, mimicking the sort of touch that would have her writhing and squealing should it come from anyone else. Sure enough, nothing.

Mario sputtered.

“Wh—” Peach’s face grew hot as she looked to him once more. One glance into her eyes, and it was over; he guffawed loudly, slapping his knee and doubling over in his chair, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

“Mario!” Peach looked around for something, anything to throw at him (that wouldn’t actually hurt him or get damaged in the process), but came up empty. Instead, she leaned her head back into the chaise cushion and clutched her belly, laughing every bit as wildly. “Mario, how could you? I trusted you!”

“No no, I meant it, Princess! I really meant it!” Mario coughed, gasping in air as he got control of himself again. “I mean, make no mistake, I was absolutely gonna bait you into trying it, but you beat me to the punch!”

“Stars above, Mario,” Peach groaned. Try though she might, she couldn’t even sound annoyed, or frustrated, or anything other than happy… if a little embarrassed.

“Heads up!”

She didn’t respond in time. She jumped at the sudden weight that plopped onto her chest, though mercifully, Mario’s return toss was gentle, gentle enough that the weight quickly registered as a comfort. And that was before the heat began to soak into her lounging dress. It wasn’t enough that her heating pad was heated once more; Mario’s Firebrand had reactivated the oils the rice had been soaked in, filling the air around her with the deep, soothing scent of lavender.

Draping it over her abdomen once more, Peach inhaled deeply. Somewhere beneath the lavender, she could smell something far sweeter: the scent of skin and the remnants of basswood shavings. It was almost as if Mario was laying his hands directly on her. The mere thought sent her pulse racing.

She looked back to the chair across from her to ground herself in reality. Mario had already pulled his gloves back on, and he gathered his wood block and knife, settling in to return to his project, though not before giving her one more smile, his mustache curling up at the tips. Something in his gaze was so affectionate, so unbearably soft, that Peach felt the urge to cry. Were these tears of happiness, or tears of sorrow?