#sixfic

‘I think that less than 20% of serial killers are women, so statistically it would be–’

‘Please don’t encourage her,’ Jane gently interrupts Cathy, prompting Anna’s silent laughter.

Then the four of them turn to the on-going discussion between Anne and Kat, which apparently had degenerated into wildly elaborate revenge plans if one of the two was ever killed.

‘Do you think if we return them, we could get a refund?’ Catalina asks loudly.

‘I think the warranty has long expired,’ Jane solemnly informs her. ‘Besides, it was a sale.’  

‘And what a deal you got!’ Kat stretches up to exchange a high five with Anne.

‘Well, my deals,’ Jane chuckles to herself, ‘make yourself useful and set the table.’

‘Are we eating here?’ Anne nonetheless jumps down the table.

‘We have guests, Anne,’ Catalina reminds her, gesturing to Cathy and Anna, who are sitting prim and proper on the sofa. Quite a contrast to Anne and even to Kat, who had been slouching on a bean bag near the table, before getting up at her mum’s request. ‘I’m surprised they haven’t run away yet.’

‘Oh no, I think they are,’ Anna smiles, ‘deal-ightful.’

Everyone stares at her. Then Jane gasps loudly, clutching her chest. ‘A girl after my own heart.’

‘Back off.’

‘Hands off.’

Catalina and Anne say at the same time, one more jokingly than the other.

‘I guess that leave us, then,’ Kat whispers to Cathy, leaning closer to her.

Cathy tilts her head up to look at her, smiling. ‘Merry Christmas to me.’

.

‘Girls, I realise this is probably a bit uncomfortable, staying with people you barely know,’ Jane starts during dinner, ‘and I meant us, me and Lina, obviously,’ she adds before Anne can protest like she looked she was ready to do.

‘And we’d like you to be comfortable. Also so that you can enjoy tomorrow more, rather than being overcautious and overpolite,’ Catalina carries on. ‘We are family so we can be quite...shameless while playing. It takes a lot to be embarrassed when...well, we’ve seen worse things than making a fool out of ourselves for the sake of winning some game.’

‘What we’re trying to say,’ Jane takes over, noticing how Anna and Cathy are getting progressively more nervous as Lina speaks, ‘is that perhaps we could use tonight to get to know each other better? Or you getting to know us better? Ask questions if you want?’

‘You want to play truth or truth?’ Anne asks.

‘Truth or truth?’ Cathy repeats, a bit confused.

‘For some reason we were banned from dares–’

‘You know perfectly well why. Both of you do.’ Jane fixes them with a hard look.

‘Anyway,’ Anne ignores that, ‘we couldn’t do truth or dare anymore, so it was truth or truth.’ She frowns. ‘Not that fun if you know the other person perfectly.’

‘I still don’t think I want to play that with my mums.’

‘We are not,’ Catalina reassures Kat. ‘It’s probably quite foreign to Anne, but there is a thing called normal conversation.’

That’s how they spend their after-dinner, just chatting. Anna and Cathy start with routine innocuous questions, from their jobs to the favourite holiday they had ever been to the dream place they want to visit (and equally sharing their own answers), before moving onto more personal ones, like what is the thing they miss the most about Kat and Anne now that they are both away at university or who is more similar to who.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, who asked whom out?’

‘Jane did.’ Catalina smiles lovingly at her wife.

‘What are we talking about?’ Anne asks, returning from a loo break.

‘Dating,’ Anna, who had asked the question, replies.

‘Don't ask her,’ Anne nods towards Catalina, ‘for advice.’

‘Why do I sense there is a story there?’

FLASHBACK

‘I need advice,’ Anne announces entering the study.

Catalina puts down her work, devoting all her attention to the girl.

‘Dating advice,’ the teenager adds.

‘Just because I married Jane, it doesn’t mean I know how I did that.’

‘Well, you asked her to marry you and she said yes, so you must have done something right.’

‘She did,’ Catalina tells. ‘Ask me, I mean. She asked me and I said yes.’

‘Okay. Tell me how you asked her out, then,’ Anne is not deterred.

‘She did,’ Catalina repeats, amused at the disbelief on the girl’s face.

.

Anne joins Kat in her room, flopping down on the bed, face first.

‘Well?’ Anne rolls on her back after a while. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what’s the problem?’

‘Why, when you’re going to tell me anyway?’ Kat’s eyes don’t leave the computer screen.

Anne huffs but doesn’t reply. That’s exactly what’s going to happen. ‘I went to ask mamá Lina advice. Dating advice.’

That gets Kat’s attention, who swirls her chair around to face her. ‘Why would you ask her?’ she almost spits out the last word. ‘If it was for her, she and mum would still be best friends.’

‘How was I supposed to know?’

‘Everyone does!’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Why didn’t you ask me?’

Anne groans. ‘Whatever. Still doesn’t help me. How am I supposed to know what to tell Penny now? What do girls like? I’m seeing her later today and Jane won’t be home before that!’

Kat looks at her, expression saying “I can’t believe you’re making me say this”.

‘Anne. You’re a girl. I am a girl. I’m sure we can figure out what girls like – or at least what they don’t.’

Anne stares at her. For some reason it had not occurred to her to ask Kat. ‘When did you get so smart?’

‘Maybe you’re just dumb.’

END FLASHBACK

‘I can’t believe that!’

‘See, they didn’t know either!’

‘This is second time they met them,’ Kat rebuts Anne. ‘You grew up with them.’

‘Also I meant more the fact that you didn’t realise you were all girls and could just....you know...’

Anne scowls.

.

‘Are you sure you’re fine sharing?’ Catalina asks as they get ready to call it a night. The plan is for Anne and Kat to sleep in Kat’s room with Anna and Cathy sharing...well, there had already been a discussion about whether they should call it the guest room or Anne’s room, with Anne acting offended at the first name. And then there was the discussion about the air mattress that Anna and Cathy wanted to give to Anne – as if Anne would ever sleep on that when she can just share Kat’s bed.  

‘It’s absolutely fine. We slept together the very first day we met. I mean, sharing a room. Because we were at summer camp and shared a room. Not because– you know– we were 9–’ Anna panics.

‘Relax,’ Catalina says once she is sure she won’t burst out laughing in her face. ‘No reason to be worried or stressed about anything. Nothing you can do or say, even the worst thing you can think of...well, we’re used to these two,’ she points at Anne and Kat with her thumb, ‘so nothing you can do will faze us.’

‘This is bullying and I won’t stand for it!’

‘Anne, can I talk to you?’ Jane calls for her as she is in the middle of performing a dramatic storm off.

‘Am I in trouble?’ she asks, half-jokingly half-serious.

‘Did you do anything that could get you in trouble?’

‘Is it a trick question?’

Jane lets out an endeared sigh. ‘It's Christmas, nobody is getting in trouble.’

‘I knew that.’

Everyone snickers because it was clear she had not known that.

‘Although now I wonder what you did if you thought it was possible...’ Jane teases her. She waits until everyone leaves, before going to the kitchen, Anne following her.

‘Why do I get the feeling that your crush thinks that we are your parents?’ She had her suspicions when they met Anna and Cathy the first time, but after spending more time together, it’s quite obvious.

‘What am I supposed to tell her? For over a year I let you believe Kat was my sister, but she is not?’ Anne indirectly confirms it. ‘Also who said I’m crushing on Anna?’

Jane merely looks at her, as if saying “really?”. ‘We can start from the fact that I never said anything about Anna?’

Anne gapes at her, realising she had played herself.

‘What are you going to do?’

No answer.

‘Anne,’ Jane sighs. ‘Please tell me you are going to do something?’

Silence lets her know that she isn’t. Jane rubs the bridge of her nose.  

‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you could be Lina’s child. Never thought I’d met anyone on her level of obliviousness but–’

‘Why is my good name being dragged through the mud?’

‘Lina, my dearest wife, I married you and I'll spend the rest of my live loving you, but I won’t deny objective facts. Like the fact that sometimes you severely lack perceptiveness,’ the confused expression on Lina’s face only prove her point. ‘You’re clueless, darling.’

.

Anne heads towards the bedroom, on autopilot, mind mulling over her chat with Jane.

‘Oh.’

Cathy is on the bed with Kat. Anne looks towards the door and then around, as if to make sure she went to the right room, since she had been lost in thought.

‘She is waiting for Anna to finish using the loo,’ Kat tells her.

Anne considers Cathy for a beat. The awkward way she is sitting on the bed...Anne nods to herself. That makes sense.

She skips towards the bed, diving between them. She lays on her back, Kat and Cathy exchanging an amused glance over her form.

‘Am I invited to the sleepover or...?’ Anna asks from the doorway.

‘Oh! We should have one!’ Anne springs up, sitting on the bed. ‘But not tonight. We can’t have a sleepover tonight.’

‘Why not?’ Anna entertains her, amused as she often is by Anne’s antics.

‘It’s called sleepover because sleep. Is. Over!' Anne enunciates. ‘Everyone knows that you don’t sleep at sleepovers.’

The other girls nod. That’s true.

‘And you need to sleep on Christmas night!’ she concludes.

‘Do you…’ Cathy hesitates.

‘Yes, we know that Santa is not real.’

‘That had been a real blow when we found out.’

Anne and Kat both nod, solemn expressions on their faces.

‘Anyway, you need to sleep because Christmas day is full on, and you need to be refreshed!’

‘I thought it was lowkey?’ Anna looks at Kat. That’s what she said, right? Then she turns to Cathy. That’s what they all said, right?

'It is.’ Kat smiles at her reassuringly. ‘Some people just tend to get a bit competitive sometimes.’

‘Jane can be such a sore loser,’ Anne informs them. ‘Both of them.’

‘I’m dying-’

Kitty rolls dramatically onto her stomach and buries her face in the couch cushion, displacing Cathy (who falls off the couch with a squeak and retreats hastily to the kitchen for paper towels to mop up the spilled coffee from her shirt).

‘You’re not dying Kit.’

Kitty lifts up her flushed face and tries to muster up the energy to glare at Catalina.

‘I AM.’

Catalina raises an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘You’re not dying, you have cramps. And if you’d just take the aspirin-’

‘But it tastes HORRIBLE-’

‘So you keep saying.’

Kitty flops back down with another groan and Catalina carries on tidying up.

‘I hate today, I’m really stressed and I have to make that phone call to the bank, on top of everything-’

Catalina sighs. She isn’t really sure how to help and she doesn’t like it- it feels like Kitty’s blaming her for her not being able to fix it. Of course, she knows this isn’t Kitty’s fault at all, just her own stupid brain but still…

Even so, she’ll do the best she can, even if advice IS all she can do.

‘Well, maybe if you go and get it done rather than putting it off….and you know it’s going to hurt until you take some painkiller, so you’re only hurting yourself by putting that off too.’

There. Sensible and hopefully enough to spur Kitty into action.

Kitty though just gives her a slightly wounded look and rolls onto her side.

After a while, the silence stretches out a little too long. She returns to the couch.

‘Kit?’

‘Mmm?’

Kitty doesn’t move from where her head is buried in the cushions- Catalina gently tucks a few locks of hair back behind her ear to get a look at slightly more of Kitty’s face, and her fingers brush against dampness on the girl's cheek.

‘Mija, are you alright?’

‘’M fine.’ It’s more indistinct than it should be- Catalina frowns. She starts to feel the first gnawings of guilt in the pit of her stomach. 

‘Kitty?’

‘- I’m sorry.’

‘Oh Kit.’

Catalina pushes a few cushions aside and makes herself a space at the end of the sofa. The guilt grows, and she wonders if maybe advice hadn’t been what was needed after all.

‘You have nothing to apologise for. It’s ok.’

‘’M sorry. You don’t have to take care of me.’ It’s so small and wavery that Catalina immediately feels like the worst person in the world. It’s not her fault- she isn’t used to this, she’s used to dramatics needing to be curbed, she’s used to plain speaking and advice. That’s what she’s good at. Kitty half sits up as Catalina sits down, as if she’s going to retreat to her bedroom, and Catalina sighs. She’s fucked up.

‘Come here mija.’ Catalina tugs until Kitty reluctantly rests her head against Catalina’s leg, and begins to smooth her hair back from her warm forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so snappish and unhelpful. I was trying to help and I think I just made it worse, didn’t I?’

‘It’s ok.’

‘I’m not actually cross with you, you know that don’t you?’

Kitty makes a small non-commital noise.

‘Don’t you?’

‘...I suppose.’

‘Good. Now what I can get to help you feel better, hm?’

Kitty’s face sinks into resignation. ‘I’ll take the aspirin. Is it still in the cabinet?’

It’s mildly painful to Catalina to actually witness this- how Kitty’s resistance, her own wants and needs, are ready to crumble in an instant if it means that she’ll be restored to favour (in the early days, she’d taken it for a pleasant compliance until Jane had set her straight.)

‘You don’t have to-’ Catalina stops herself; Kitty blinks at her warily, confusedly. She can see the question in Kitty’s eyes as to whether or not this is some sort of trick or trap. She doesn’t take it personally (mostly, usually)- she knows this wariness was bred into the girl a long, long time ago. ‘That is, I still think you should. But that wasn’t what I meant- I was just trying to think of an alternative.’

‘Oh.’

‘I could run you a bath? Or make you up a hot water bottle. The heat might help. Only if you want to though. You can stay here if you like.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know. And you don’t have to either mija. But it might make you feel better.’

Kitty opens her mouth to give her usual polite refusal and then a cramp makes her tense- her eyes close for a moment and a nod is wrung out of her.

‘Ok. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

*

Catalina insists Kitty stay on the couch while she turns on the bath. (She intends to use some of her own special fancy bubble bath in it, as a sort of apology, but realises to her chagrin that she’s run out. She uses some of Anne’s instead and tells herself it still counts.)

While Kitty soaks Catalina decides to make the hot water bottle anyway. Save them having to do the same rigmarole over whether or not she goes to all the trouble of boiling the kettle or not.

If Kitty doesn’t want it, it can just go on the floor or something.

Jane comes home just as the kettles switch flips off. Her cheeks are red from the wind- or possibly just from the three supermarket bags she’s laden down with.

Catalina stares. 

‘Are you sure you got EVERYTHING?’

Jane nods, opening cupboards and pulling out draws as she stashes boxes and jars.

‘I think so- probably.’

‘Jane, you were picking up milk and bread.’

‘Oh!’ Jane catches the sarcasm too late, as she always does and colour rises in her cheeks as it always does. (She does not however either fly off the handle at Catalina for teasing her- as she used to, in the very early days- or shut down entirely and go silent and drawn in on herself- as she still does on very bad days, although they happily are getting rarer.) ‘Well I KNOW- but then I remembered it’s Cathy’s turn to cook tomorrow and she probably won’t have time to get to the supermarket before supper-’

‘You mean she’ll keep writing til the last minute and then panic like last time?’

Jane ignores her. ‘-SO I thought I’d get some staples just in case. And they had some of that pate Anna really likes on offer, and it seemed silly to not take advantage of THAT. And Anne finished the last of the cereal this morning so-’

‘We have at least three different kinds of cereal in the patry Jane.’

‘Yes but not the one that she really LIKES. And there were fresh muffins in the bread aisle, and sometimes it’s nice to have a bit of a treat for breakfast even if it ISN’T a weekend day, and THEN I thought that it would be a good idea to get stuff for making that shortbread that Joan really likes because she’s having a bit of a stressful week, poor thing-’

Catalina smiles despite herself and starts to help put things away.

‘I see…’

‘Don’t be jealous Catty, I got you some green tea.’

‘I do have green tea already.’

‘Yes but this is a special fancy looking NEW kind of green tea because I thought you might like a treat. Also a mango.’

‘Did you get anything for yourself?’

‘Yes.’ There’s only the slightest of hesitations and Catalina resists the urge to ask what: they both know it’ll just send Jane into a spiral of defensiveness as she tries to justify her spending money on herself to the insatiable long dead ghosts of the past.

‘Good. Well done.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And thank you for my treats- and for everything else. The others will be thrilled.’

‘I hope so. I got some stuff for Kitty and I to bake with too, there’s a recipe we saw on Bake Off that Anna liked the look of and Kit wanted to try it-’

‘I don’t think she’ll be quite up to that for the moment.’

‘Why? Why not?’ Jane looks suddenly urgently panicked and Catalina hastens to reassure her.

‘Nothing to worry about. Period pain, that’s all.’

‘Oh the poor little thing.’ Jane’s face creases into sympathy even as the anxiety leaves it. ‘Where is she?’

‘Taking a bath. I’m going to bring her a hot water bottle when she’s done. Actually-’ They hear the rush of water down the drain rattle the loose guttering. ‘I think that’s her now.’

‘Has she taken anything?’

‘She didn’t want the aspirin…’

Jane nods. ‘She doesn’t like the taste. I usually just end up bribing her. What did you do?’

‘....I- um- I told her to stop complaining.’

‘Catty!’

‘Sorry! I didn’t say it exactly like that.’

When she glances up at Jane, she’s supremely relieved to see that Jane looks more amused than vengeful.

‘What’s funny?’

‘Sorry. Nothing. Just…’ Jane bites back a smile. ‘You looked SO guilty when you admitted that. I don’t think you’re as cut out for the strict parent role as you think you are…’

Catalina can’t help but smile back. ‘Maybe not. I do want to make it clear I did apologise. And I WAS about to make her a hot chocolate to take up when you came in.’

Jane chuckles and hands over the bag of mini marshmallows. ‘Better get started then.’

*

Kitty’s struggling with her wet hair- cursing herself for her ill-thought out decision to lay back in the water and wondering whether to just leave it and lie down with it wet- when Jane taps on the door.

‘How are you feeling love?’

‘You’re back!’ For the first time since being struck down, Kitty feels actually, properly happy: she can’t quite explain it, but somehow, having Jane in the vicinity during a crisis just makes things better. Easier. 

It didn’t even mean things were fixed or solved- for that, all the queens agreed, you needed Catalina or Anne or Anna (or Cathy if the problem involved etymology or linguistics or the interpretation of scripture). Jane was not the person you had around to fix things, they all knew. 

But Jane was the person you’d position yourself close to once the solution to the problem had been identified and needed putting into place. 

(Her role in this respect- always fairly clear- had been absolutely cemented the day that Anna had come home to find Catalina miserably struggling through a phone call, her head in Jane’s lap while Jane did needlepoint and fed her white chocolate buttons. Catalina had been slightly flushed upon discovery but determinedly insouciant, and to their eternal credit, the others had refrained from commenting.)

Kitty struggles to her feet to pull Jane properly into the room. ‘I’m fine! How was your shopping trip?!’

‘It was alright. They had those special dark chocolate biscuits I was waiting for them to restock at LAST-’

(Jane isn’t quite sure why talking about things she’s brought for herself to Kitty doesn’t set off the same anxiety as it does when admitting to having done so to anyone else. It doesn’t, and that’s enough for her.)

Kitty knows better than to comment on the purchase, but she beams proudly at her all the same and Jane shoots a small, grateful smile back- which fades quickly when she notices how tense the girl is.

‘Are you sure you’re ok? Is it still hurting? Catalina said you were having a really hard time of it.’

Kitty blushes slightly. ‘Yeah. Did she tell you I was making a fuss?’

She looks so forlorn, Jane thinks it would almost be funny if it wasn’t so very sad. She makes her voice as gentle as possible. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’ She wraps an arm around Kitty’s shoulders, guides her to sit on the edge of the bed and then picks up the abandoned comb. ‘She said that you were in pain and that she was concerned. That’s all.’

‘Oh.’ Kitty keeps her head down as Jane begins to patiently work through the tangles. ‘I WAS making a fuss though…’

‘Actually, she told me that she feels awful for not being more sympathetic at first.’

‘But she doesn’t need to! She ran me a bath and everything. And I shouldn’t be so whiney anyway.’

‘Love-’ Jane keeps combing, and Kitty unconsciously relaxes back into her touch, enjoying it. ‘Remember what we told you? You don’t need to feel bad about being taken care of sometimes. We all want to help. Especially if you’re not feeling good.’

‘But I’m an adult, I-’

‘Yes?’

‘I-’ Kitty bites her lip miserably. ‘I should be able to just...handle myself, you know?’

Jane shrugs. ‘Is that what you think the rest of us should do then?’

‘What?’

‘Like, I should just handle myself and stop bothering Anna or you when I need help doing a form? Or how Cathy should just get over it when she gets overwhelmed and keep going?’

‘No of course not-’

‘Or how Anne should just stop being late for things and finish jobs when she starts them?’

‘No! That would be horrible, that’s-’

Jane nods. ‘So why is it any different for you? Why wouldn’t we be just as eager to help you when we love you just as much? Hm?’

Kitty sighs in defeat, and then winces as the comb is tugged. ‘I know. I know that really. I suppose. It’s just….hard to know it properly sometimes.’

‘I know love.’ Jane leans down and kisses the top of her head, then begins to plait her hair back. ‘We’ll remind you though. As much as you need.’

Kitty opens her mouth to reply but she’s interrupted by another tap on the door- Catalina, bearing a tray and looking slightly awkward.

‘I thought you might like a hot drink-’ As she puts the tray down on the nightstand, Kitty sees that it bears one fuzzy hot water bottle, one plate of shortbread, two mugs of tea- and possibly the most decadent hot chocolate she has ever seen in her life.

She’d been about to apologise again- she still can’t quite shake the anxiety that Catalina might maybe still be annoyed at her despite her reassurances- but the elaborateness of the drink surprises a laugh out of her instead.

‘Catty! It looks-’

Jane’s laughing too. ‘That’s….oh my goodness!’

Catalina tries and fails to frown. ‘Hey! I worked very hard on this. It is NOT easy to get that many marshmallows into one mug-’

‘You look like you managed though-’

‘Just about-’ She glances at Kitty, slightly anxiously. ‘Is it ok? Do you like it?’

‘I love it!’ Kitty bounces off the bed to hug Catalina in gratitude and then winces. ‘Argh. Bad idea. Sorry.’

‘It’s ok-’ Catalina hands her the hot water bottle and Kitty presses it thankfully to her stomach. ‘Why don’t you get comfortable? It might feel better if you lie down.’

Jane starts to arrange pillows as Kitty settles onto the bed. ‘Jane, I’m not an invalid you know, I honestly can do it myself-’

‘I know love.’ She doesn’t stop. ‘But you’re sick so-’

‘I’m not sick.’

‘Being in pain is a kind of sick.’ Catalina chips in. ‘Just indulge us mija. Now, do you want some peace and quiet so you can rest? Or do you want company?’

Kitty hesitates. ‘It’s ok love, whichever you prefer. We won’t take it personally if you’d rather have some space-’

Kitty nods; Jane and Catalina wait a moment and then pick up their tea and start for the door. As Jane opens it, they’re stopped by a squeak from the bed.

‘Kit?’

‘Do- do you mind staying? If you’re not too busy?’ She squeezes the hot water bottle case anxiously. ‘Just, it really hurts and it’s nice to have a distraction and-’ Despite their reassurance, Kitty still half expects to catch an eye roll or a reluctant sigh. Of course they don’t want to stay really, of course they’re busy…

But instead, Jane smiles as she closes the door; Catalina squeezes her hand as she settles onto the bed.

‘Well done mija. I know that wasn’t easy.’

It’s a silly thing to need validation for but it makes the anxious bands that have seized around Kitty’s chest loosen anyway.

They get comfortable on the bed either side of her and Jane reaches for Kitty’s laptop.

‘How about some trash tv? That usually makes me feel better.’

Kitty settles back, letting her head rest against Catalina’s shoulder. It feels warm and comfortable, a good place to rest. ‘Sure. Not Love Island though, I feel too gross to enjoy watching people in bikinis.’

‘Fine.’ Jane pouts slightly and Catalina chuckles. ‘Bake Off?’

‘Ok.’

They watch in silence for a few minutes, as the sprightly music plays and mouth watering images of sponges and tarts fill the screen. Catalina hands Kitty her hot chocolate and it’s very bit as good as it looks; Jane’s arm around her is pleasantly soothing.

‘Catty?’

‘Hm?’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome mija.’

“You’ve finally seen the light of day, have you?” he asks. “Go on. Fulfill your duty to your king.”

She stands, turns from Henry and Jane, who was suddenly there, and looks down at Maria. Maria is being held down by golden chains.

“Please,” Maria sobs. “Don’t do this, Catherine. Please-!”

The sword’s Blessed energy glows, but it’s angry. Pleading, almost.

“PLEASE!” Maria yells, but the sword swings down-

The Blessed suddenly gasps awake, sweating slightly as she gasps for air. She looks around wildly, grabbing her sword next to her-

-only for a steady hand to shoot out to keep the blade on the ground.

Catherine immediately whips her head towards the source, ready to fire-

“Catherine.”

She blinks.

“Anne?”

Anne Boleyn keeps her hand on Catherine’s, holding the blade down. Her gaze isn’t judging at all, instead calmly assessing the started Blessed before her. She keeps Catherine’s gaze until she sees the panic settle for the normal type of calm - well, as normal as it could be given the circumstances.

“You’re not usually this jumpy,” Anne observes, slowly releasing Catherine’s hand.

She steps back as Catherine puts the hand that was on her blade onto her forehead. She shakes her head. “Just a nightmare. Nothing more.”

“What happened?” Anne asks, standing up.

Catherine shakes her head. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

Anne is silent for a moment before she nods.

“Well, it’d be a shame for you to suddenly break your Oath, Blessed, so do try to remember which of us is friend and foe next time you reach for that blade of yours, yeah?” Anne asks, stretching. 

Catherine chuckles. “And here I thought we were being friendly.”

“Eh, we’ve been reunited for a day now,” Anne says with a smirk, looking over at the girl. “Let’s get out of here.”

They both step out of the tents they made for the night, stepping into the clearing that they had set up camp. The City of Everlasting Promise seemed nearby - infuriatingly so.

“Still stuck in this loop, eh?” Catherine asks with a sigh. “Even with how far we’ve gone…”

“Cathy has a plan,” Katherine says, but she’s not looking at the Blessed; instead, she’s looking forward, at Cathy.

The woman in question was with Anna, a few feet away. She was looking down at something in her hand, discussing it quietly with the Battlereeve.

“You’re probably right,” Cathy says. “I think that makes the most sense.”

Anna nods, somber. “It’s the only explanation I have as to why this area has grown so quickly in the time you suggested.” She shakes her head. “And with what you know about the Fae here… I think you might be on your own on this one.”

Cathy nods. “It makes the most sense, yes.”

Anne walks over. “Are we ready?”

Anna nods. “This is mostly Cathy’s show, but considering what I’ve been seeing, I think I can help towards the end.” She looks over at Cathy. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Cathy stands up, taking a deep breath… then starts to summon a portal. Multiple ones, actually. To so many places that there’s some even Catherine doesn’t recognize. Anna puts on a brave face, steeling herself, just before she moves to go into one of the portals-

“HEY! THAT’S CHEATING!”

-and suddenly, there’s Fae all around them. They’re a bit mad.

Cathy stops the summoning, a bit winded. “We were trying to get an audience with your leader-” Cathy starts, but a Fae steps forward and gets right into her face.

“NO, YOU PLAY WITH US FOREVER.” The Fae hollars.

Cathy shakes her head. “We can’t. You know we can’t.”

“Yes, you can!” The Fae is clearly distressed. “We can make it so.”

“But then,” Anna says, voice soft and kind. “We wouldn’t be able to help you.”

The Fae around them pause, chat amongst themselves for a moment.

“What do you mean?” The Fae ask.

There’s suddenly thousands of them around - so many voices and magicks that the group starts to feel whoozy. Katherine, in particular, leans a bit heavily into Anna’s side. Anna frowns, keeping the girl close, as she takes steady breaths in an attempt to steady herself. Even Catherine is affected, though far less than the rest of the group.

“What you’ve been showing us… these games… why did you make them?” Cathy asks.

The Fae narrows its eyes. “You dare ask a question of us?”

“To help,” Cathy tries. “To play-”

“This is NOT the game we wanted to play!” The Fae replies. A chorus of agreement is all around them. Maggie falls to the ground, holding her head, the world spinning. Anne tries to help her, but she’s struggling as well.

Cathy pushes forward; this had gone on far enough. “Alright!” she yells. “Alright. Let’s make a deal: we beat your next game, and we are free to go.”

The Fae chatter. Elizabeth looks pale.

The Fae smirk.

“That’s fine with me!”

All of the Fae’s eyes glow. All of them fade into nothing. All of them start to disappear into the mist that was now forming.

Cathy panics for a moment; before it gets too bad, Catherine rushes forward, grabbing her goddaughter just before they can no longer see anyone.

“This… isn’t good,” Catherine mumbles, looking around warily.

“No,” Cathy replies. “This is actually close to the plan.”

Cathy looks through the ring with a grin - through the ring, she can see as clear as day. She’s quick to bring them all together again. The mist fades.

The Fae are annoyed.

“How did you?” The Fae asks, but Cathy shrugs sheepishly.

“Through a ring can you see all things,” Cathy explains. “Especially one given to me by one of your own.”

They look over at the Fae in question and then back at Cathy. Cathy is smiling softly at the Fae in question. Then she looks up.

“I request an audience with your leader,” Cathy says again.

The Fae talk loudly around each other before, suddenly, they’re all transported again, this time back to the City of Everlasting Promise.

Catherine groans as she puts a hand to her head. She can’t seem to stop herself from grabbing her sword with her non-dominant hand. Elizabeth also seems to be unable to stop herself as she fights with her own off-hand, the two quickly pulled into a duel not of their own making.

Cathy is quick to stop this with some ice magicks. Anna takes the weapons before melting the ice. Katherine binds the two with vines instead.

“Is that what they made you do?” Cathy asks quietly, respectfully. “They made you fight each other?”

More angry voices. More swirling. This time, they’re back at the castle, and suddenly Katherine and Maggie are in some sort of path. They were stumbling through the path, and certainly would have fallen to their doom, had it not been Elizabeth and Anna using magicks and wings to guide them to safety.

“They tricked you, made you fear them?” Cathy asks, once again respectfully. The others haven’t said a word, refuse to at the moment. Anything they could say, after all, could damn them. “They used mind magicks?”

The Fae once again rise up in anger, and then, with a might shriek, they caused the group to fall to their knees in pain. When Cathy looked up, however, she’d find herself back in something of an ethereal Weston, with see through buildings and villagers. 

She’d see through her husband as the execution went through.

She did not expect to feel it.

She screams in pain, body writhing around as it continues. She holds onto her neck for dear life, she squeezes her eyes shut to block out the pain-

-until she feels someone put a hand to her shoulder and tense. The pain is considerably less, but still agonizing. She knows the armored leg next to her belongs to Anna, who has seemingly grabbed onto her. Then a golden armor appears next to her, and the pain lessens, and they continue more and more, with the pain getting less and less the more it is shared. Cathy can look up now, to see the others taking the pain with her, all grimacing at the unpleasantness but remaining steady.

It gives Cathy the strength to continue.

She gets up, and then, with a deep breath, she yells:

“I call for John Parr!”

It all stops as suddenly as it began, and the Fae are quiet.

After a moment, someone steps forward.

“You know my name?”

Cathy’s smiling through tears.

“I would be a terrible wife if I didn’t.”

The area calms, and the thousands of Fae around them disappear.

John frowns, a hand to his head. “What’s happened?”

“You were executed,” Cathy explains quietly, getting up. She’s not alone - Catherine is right there with her. “You were executed, but you couldn’t move on.” She holds onto her wedding ring, the one that she used before to clear the mist. “You were stuck here. And you still are.”

John frowns. “Why do I only just remember this now?”

“Because of the trauma perhaps?” Anna asks. “Because of the magicks?”

“Magicks?” He asks, and he tenses as he remembers. “Oh, my god, the magicks-”

“Where?” Cathy asks quietly, and he’s clearly shaken, but he’ll answer.

“They… they’ve done some foul things, Cathy. They’ve hurt us all. They’ve trapped us here.”

“As prisoners?” Cathy asks.

“As energy sources.”

Cathy looks over to a Fae nearby, the Fae from the mirrors. 

“I remember now, too,” they say. “Guess I just needed the reminder.”

“You’re all trapped here because of some magicks that are intended to keep you here for energy?” Catherine asks, and Maria tenses a bit because of the tone. Catherine’s furious.

“Yes,” John replies. “I… we’ve been turned into something we did not know was possible.”

“Anything like this is possible,” Anne replies gravely, “if you are a Keeper of Necromancy.”

Anna frowns. “You think Jane’s done it?”

“I think she’s part of it,” Anne says. She looks over at Catherine. “You can’t call me biased in this either, you know what they can do. The bad ones.”

Catherine sighs. “I don’t think I could argue with you on that,” Catherine relents, and she shakes her head. “This needs to be undone. We need to figure this out.”

“This was the biggest game of all,” Cathy says, moving closer to John. “Figuring you out. Figuring this area out.” She wants to hold his hand, to embrace him, but she knows she can’t; it’s too risky. Embracing a Fae - regardless of how they were made - rarely has good consequences. “We need to get out of here.”

“You can’t,” John replies. “Not without leaving something here. Not without a placeholder.”

Cathy frowns. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She holds up her wedding ring, on its chain, and lets it go - it floats in the air. “My heart is clearly here. And here it will stay.”

John frowns. “I’m sorry, Cathy.”

Cathy smiles back. “So am I.”

He takes the offer begrudgingly, taking a deep breath before the ring disintegrates into nothing. Cathy forces herself to watch, even as it feels like her heart is being ripped from her chest all over again.

“I’ll strike a bargain, one that is for me and me alone, not my comrades,” she says quietly. “We help free you all, and I get my trinket back.”

The Fae discuss it with each other for moments before they all go silent at the same time.

John steps forward.

“You are a Friend of the Fae, Catherine Parr,” John says quietly. “And we will accept your terms.”

Cathy nods. “Let us leave, and I will fulfill my end of the bargain.”

Everything starts to fade - the City, the Fae, and John. Cathy can barely hold back tears as her husband fades away, barely holding back sobs. He smiles until he’s no longer visible.

“Are they gone?” Katherine asks, looking around warily.

“Not gone,” Anna says. “Just out of view.” She looks at the Catherine’s. “We need to get going. We’re not too far from Parlemont, which means we can grab the Seroserum and sprint to the Festival.”

Catherine agrees. “Even at our fastest, we’ll only have one shot at this.”

Cathy takes a deep breath before she uses her magick to summon spectral horses. Catherine raises her eyebrows at that, but Cathy doesn’t seem to care.

“Let’s do what we can, then,” Cathy says. “Push on.”

With a nod, they ride.

Elsewhere, far, far away, the Capitol’s festival preparations were in full swing.

The town was buzzing with anticipation of the upcoming festivities - servants and villagers alike ran in the halls, putting up decorations. The courtyard was converted to fairgrounds, with people setting up tents and mead halls and sparring pits. Already many had made their home there, and for the next few months they’d likely remain. The city was completely energized and excited.

It was a shame its queen couldn’t feel the same.

Jane watched from above it all, at the top of her tower, fairly passive. This, normally, would be one of the most exciting times of the year: the King would be in incredible spirits, as would the entire world around her, so Jane would have no choice but to be happy. 

This year, however, was anything but a joyous occasion: her work was far from done, and would likely get more complicated and dangerous from here. The defenses - which she usually had no part in - were now her sole objective of the festival preparations thanks to her newly-minted Keeper status.

The people she worked with didn’t seem to question why the queen that once was in charge of the food and drink of the festival was now the head of security; they didn’t ask what had changed since her disappearance. Not that she’d be able to say why, after all; her being a Keeper was a closely guarded secret. Still, despite the secrecy and the like, people did start to look at her differently, even if they had no clue what was really going on.

Her dress, for example, was no longer what it was. Her signature black and white long sleeved dress with a cloak on the back was now replaced by a light coat and pants situation, with the seal of the Realm right over her heart. Her staff was no longer the long elegant one she was known for, but instead one of hard angles and a green crystal that seemed to faintly glow occasionally. It was a massive change, though that change was met with sympathy, with the people thinking it was through her trauma that she had changed.

Which, technically, they’d be right, but also so very wrong.

“Mum?”

She was brought out of her thoughts by a young man with a bright smile and something behind his back. Jane smiled back at him, brightening up at the sight of him.

“Hello, Edward,” Jane says fondly, softly. “How are you?”

“I’m well, but, uhm,” he says, bouncing up and down excitedly. “I’m… here!”

He whipped his hands around from behind his back and showed off what he made - a wooden star, painted black and white, with Jane’s name on it.

“Just like how we used to!” He says. “But this time, this star is for you!”

Jane swelled with pride as she took the star, smiling at him and hugging him tightly. “I love it, Eddie. Thank you.”

He nodded, his smile faltering after a moment, as he nuzzled into his mom’s shoulder as they continued the embrace. “I’m… not entirely sure what happened before.” Jane tenses as she remembers the situation. “But I think you saved me from something, didn’t you?” He releases and looks back at her. “I think something terrible’s happened, hasn’t it?”

Jane sighs. “You know it’s bad of you to say those things so loudly, don’t you?”

Edward shrugs. “Elizabeth said I shouldn’t worry that much. That he needs an heir.”

Jane chuckles. “She’s bright for her age, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hurt you.”

“I know,” he admits. “Because he can hurt you instead, and that’d hurt me.”

She pauses at that, looking down at her boy, before she nods. 

He looks up at the stars then, and smiles.

“At least we’ve the stars to keep us company.”

Jane tilted her head curiously as she watched the stars move above them, a small smile slowly appearing on her face. Eddie’s laughter rang through her ears soothingly, like a song she never wanted to stop hearing.

“We should make a wish!” Eddie says with a small smile. “You always said a meteorshower like this means that the gods are listening closer than ever, so we should make a wish! One that we can think of so loudly, they’ll have to listen.” He closes his eyes, head still tilted towards the sky. “I know exactly what I’m going to wish for.”

Jane chuckles and nods, going to close her eyes before, suddenly, her gemstone on her staff starts to angrily pulse. She stiffens; it means she’s being called.

It stops as soon as Eddie opens his eyes, though, and he smiles.

“I hope it comes true. For both of us!” He nods, backing up. “I gotta go now, though; I promised Joan I’d help with the decorating.”

Jane nods, a bit relieved that Joan’s keeping Edward focused on other things while Jane continued with her grim task. She’s been a lifesaver, that Joan.

“Go on, and give her my best,” Jane says. Eddie nods, sprinting off with a final wave, down the tower and into the courtyard. Jane can see him as he meets up with Joan. He starts off and Joan looks up, directly at Jane. They share a moment before Joan nods courteously, then follows the boy.

Jane’s smile fades the farther her son gets from her.

She goes to the middle of the room, to a seal. It wasn’t there until recently. She presses down on it, and suddenly she’s transported to a room with no doors. It looks like a cellar of some sort, but Jane understands that this is no cellar; it might not even be in the world.

She takes a deep breath and moves towards the gentle pulsing orb that is in the center of the room. It’s actually quite soothing… or it would be, if it wasn’t the personification of the God of Death.

“Can… you hear me?” she asks. 

The glowing orb pulses.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll take that as a yes,” Jane says quietly. She watches the orb for a moment - the movements are rhythmic. It’d be calming if it wasn’t a literal beacon of death.

“I’ve done some more research into you,” Jane says, head tilted down as she continues. Her tone is respectful. “And how you operate. And how… Keepers of Necromancy are.”

The pulsing continues, so she does as well.

“It’s a really interesting history, if I’m being honest. The ways that Keepers of Necromancy are rarely by choice, but by traditions or some sort of Pact.” She lowers her gaze. “Of Pacts that held treaties in some of the Forgotten Kingdoms.”

The orb glows brighter, pulsing suddenly before tendrils of green energy extend from it, dropping to the ground. The tendrils of light form into people. They’re completely green - still made of the energy of course - but their eyes are glowing.

Jane frowns. “Are these… other Keepers?”

She walks to each of them. One holds out their hand, still emotionless. Jane tilts her head curiously before taking it.

She gasps, head thrown back as her own eyes glow green. She’s pulled into a vision, looking through the eyes of the person whose hand she touched as if it was her own eyes:

“Callum,” the woman next to them, hand in theirs. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped. I understand that this wasn’t in the plan. But you must understand - this is for the good of us all.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eye. “I know you will do this with grace. I know you won’t disrespect us. I just know it.” She starts to tear up. “As much as I did not want this for you.”

And with that, Jane is released.

She stumbles backwards, hand to her head as her eyes fade with the green energy. She gasps for air as she watches the person she had just moved to dissipate into nothing.

“That…” she takes a deep breath before composing herself. “That makes sense.” she looks back at the orb as the rest of the figures disappear from view. She steps forward. “I thank you for telling me more about my current… predicament.”

She’s being far more formal than usual because this was, after all, a god she was talking to. A god that now held her soul.

For now.

“I came to ask for a blessing, of sorts,” she continues. “Though I’m unsure if you grant them to your Keepers, I hope that you can honor your servant’s request.”

The orb does nothing.

Jane looks down at the ground, averting her gaze, taking a deep breath before she looks back up at the orb, intensely.

“I’d like to make a Pact of my own.”

———

Eight weeks of silence. A jaw wired shut. Almost three months of only eating liquidated foods. Black and blue floral bruising bloomed across the sides of her face. An eternity of humiliation.

———

In theory, it was difficult to miss Joan. Nineteen years of age and the workaholic music director stood at roughly 5’4, and it didn’t look like she was going to be growing again anytime soon. However, in practice, the girl was so quiet and self-enclosed that a lot of the time, she practically melted into the theater walls. That made it a slightly unpleasant surprise when Aragon was disturbed from her reading by a quiet tapping at her doorframe—it was most undignified for a queen as regal as herself to startle like that.

An irritable comment jumped to her lips, but it died as she looked up. Joan looked...worried. That wouldn’t normally strike her in any meaningful way, not if it was anyone else at her door—everyone got worried sometimes, although a fair number of people found it more difficult to talk to her than to others. But for all that had happened in her past, Joan had maintained a rarely-changing expression of passivity throughout the time she’d been reincarnated. Perhaps as a defense mechanism, perhaps simply because that was her resting face; the girl just kept her emotions to herself. However, now, it was incredibly visible that she was experiencing the worst kind of gnawing fear if you knew how to look for it. Nails digging into her arms as she crossed them over her chest, eyes darting all over, and her heel pressing against her other shin like she was trying to keep from anxious tapping. The only reason her lip wasn’t chewed raw was because of the wires and rubber bands anchoring her mouth firmly shut.

Immediately, the irritation turned to alarm bells.

The two just looked at each other for a few minutes, neither seemingly willing to break the silence first. Then, slowly, Joan took one step into the dressing room. Now her fingers were digging into her arm more. Aragon felt the strongest urge to get up from her chair and check to make sure she hadn’t broken skin, but at the same time, she feared that if she tried to move too quickly she would spook this very obviously troubled girl back into her usual repression. It would be wiser to wait for her to say whatever it was she was struggling to get out, but that didn’t make the decision any easier as a thousand and one possibilities as to what could have gone wrong raced through her head.

“May I talk to you, Aragon?”

The hesitation in the girl’s sign language only made those alarm bells ringing in her head louder. It was only her many, many years as a queen that allowed Aragon to keep her voice calm.

“Of course, Joan. Come, sit.”

Slowly, painfully so, Joan made her way to the chair opposite her, after closing the door to the dressing room behind her. But she didn’t sit down. Rather, she stood next to it. Ordinarily Aragon might have taken that as one of those little acts of rebellion Kitty liked to partake in from time to time, but not in this case. It felt more like the unwillingness of a confronted animal to lay down, for fear that they might need to flee at a moment's notice. That bad, then. Carefully, the queen put her bookmark in between the pages she was on and then set the book to the side. Whatever this was about, she doubted it would be over quickly.

“Now then, what is it you want to discuss?”

“Well… The director talked to me. He said I should take some time off to heal.” Joan signed.

“That’s good,” Aragon said. However, she noticed the frown set on Joan’s lips and realized that it was most definitely not a good thing.

“Maybe.” Joan let her hands go limp for a movement, then raised them again to continue. “But that got me thinking. Maybe, even after I heal, I should just leave the wires in. Seems like everyone would be happier without me talking.”

“Joan, you can’t seriously be thinking of doing that?”

Through great force of will Aragon managed to keep her tone mostly level, but even the very slight undertone of ice and steel buried under a dozen layers of constraint made Joan flinch.

“I-I just....”

“I don’t see why you think that’s a good idea. Do you know how damaging that could be for your mouth? It can’t remain shut forever.”

“Aragon-”

“Not to mention that you could put so many other factors at risk-”

“Aragon, please!”

Well that cut her off sharply.

For a moment Aragon just blinked at the girl, startled. This was perhaps the first time she had heard Joan raise her voice at anybody, let alone a queen. It was especially shocking because it had come out more as a strangled hiss between firmly clamped teeth, like the freezing whisper of a fanged glacier. But as she got over that element of surprise, she noticed two things about the girl standing before her. Firstly, it was that she was shaking, quite badly, actually. And secondly, that the bruises along her cheeks were ignited in shades of ivory and indigo and violet from the way she had been clenching her jaws through their bindings.

Moving oh-so-carefully, Aragon up her purse and began to rifle through it. Joan stepped back, but what she brought out wasn’t some form of weapon, but rather a small tin box. A box which Aragon opened and turned towards her.

“Have a mint, Joan.”

Joan just looked at her, baffled.

Aragon quickly realized her mistake and grimaced. It gets the smallest, weakest smile from Joan. She takes one, despite knowing she couldn’t eat it, signed a rapid apology, then left.

———

Trudging into the coffee shop during a fire-breathing rainstorm made Joan miserable enough, but it only got worse when the shrewd older woman working the counter wouldn’t take her order when she attempted to sign it to her and then write it out.

“I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to use your words.” She oozed.

Joan gestured for her bruised mouth and then bared her teeth so she could show the woman that they were firmly clamped shut with rubber bands. The worker leaned back slightly in distaste.

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” She said. “Mutes aren’t our top priority here. You can just wait your turn while I handle the other customers.”

Joan waved her head around to find the shop completely empty thanks to the storm outside. She turned back to the worker with an “are you kidding me?” look.

“She’s in the bathroom.” The worker said cooly.

Joan glowered, but her anger quickly dissolved and she made the closest thing to a sigh that she could manage. She stepped away from the counter and waited.

Several long moments passed. The rain outside continuously eased up and then fell harder as if Mother Nature couldn’t decide if she wanted to flood the city today or not. The worker behind the counter kept glancing at Joan, hoping that she would just give up and leave. She was now regretting telling her to wait because it meant she had some disabled kid just loitering in her store when the front door suddenly swung open.

Two haughty American tourists came in with a spray of raindrops, closing their umbrellas, but keeping up their giddy chatter as they approached the counter. One of them glanced at Joan with a questioning look. The worker waved a dismissive hand.

“Ignore her,” She said. “She’s waiting her turn until she learns how to speak up.”

Joan glared and, once again, gestured for her mouth.

“What is wrong with you?” One of the two customers said, pacing around Joan while the other placed an order. “Why don’t you speak?” He eyed Joan’s bruised jaw. “Ohhh. I see.”

“My little brother broke his jaw once,” His friend piped up. “He couldn’t talk for two months!”

“What does it feel like?” The one in front of Joan asked. “Does it hurt?”

Then, without warning, he poked her roughly in the jaw, as if he were trying to pry it open himself. Joan swatted his hands away frantically and reared back, rubbing the area that had been touched. Pain spiraled from her mouth all over again.

“Don’t be a brute.” Said a sharp, barbed voice from behind Joan.

“Oh, hey!” The customer at the counter said. “You’re Anne Boleyn, aren’t you?”

Joan turned and was shocked to see that it was, in fact, Anne Boleyn herself standing there. Her arms were crossed firmly over her chest and her eyes narrowed in a venomous glare. She looked like a coiled up snake ready to lunge.

“Yes,” Anne said, casting a dark glare down on the customers, who step away, sensing her anger. She comes up beside Joan and sets a comforting, protective hand on her shoulder. “You will not touch her again.”

The two tourists nodded and awkwardly sidled away to take their drinks and scamper out with their proverbial tails tucked between their legs.

“Now,” Anne turned her glower on the worker. “I understand that Joan had wanted something?”

“She can wait. You were here first.” The worker said.

Anne ruffled. “Serve her right now.” She snarled lowly, and even Joan was startled by her sudden tone. It was as deep and rumbling as a big cat’s growl, yet cold and scaly like a King Cobra.

The worker didn’t dare quarrel with the woman, so she plucked up the piece of paper left on the counter with Joan’s order and began to make the drink. The whole time, Joan stood still at Anne’s side, eyes wide.

After the drink was finished, Anne ordered one of her own, paid, and then guided Joan over to the front of the shop. She’s not at all bristled anymore and wore a warm smile on her lips.

“That was fun,” She chuckled lightly. “Say, kiddo, wanna come over for dinner? Sudden, I know-“ She laughed this time, a hearty, real one. “But I want to keep an eye on you. Plus, I know we’re having soup tonight. You can eat soup, can’t you?”

Joan nodded, flustered. Anne’s grin grew wider.

“Wonderful.”

—

“We have company!” Anne chimed loudly as she walked through the front door with a fidgeting Joan in tow.

Several heads popped up from an area in the downstairs area, each wearing a different expression- Cathy at the dining table with a curious look, Kitty and Jane on the couch with matching bitter frowns, Cleves from the downstairs hallway with friendly eyes, and Aragon in the kitchen with a warm grin. All Joan can do is give a tiny wave and a nervous smile.

“Hello, dear,” Aragon greeted as Anne and Joan walked over to the kitchen counter. The smell of basil and tomatoes drifted from the pot she was stirring. Anne’s memory hadn’t failed her- they were eating soup that night.

“Hello, beautiful.” Anne replied and Aragon shot her a look, although Joan could tell it was mock-annoyance. “I found this little rascal,” She set a hand on Joan’s head. “at that coffee shop with really good hot chocolate but really shitty workers.”

Aragon knew exactly what she meant, as she gave a knowing nod.

“Ah. That one.” She shook her head, looking back down at the pot. “I’m not sure what they did, but I’ll make sure to leave a one-star review on Yelp.”

Anne laughed, and even Joan gave a tiny giggle.

“Oh! I should show you my falcon before dinner!”

“It’s raining,” Jane said helpfully from the couch. Anne gave her a snake-like glower.

“Don’t be a buzzkill,” She said. “Come on, my darling!”

She grabbed Joan by the hand and led her out to the backyard, missing the blush that dusted her cheeks from the use of the pet name.

The two of them walk out to the backyard, Joan holding an umbrella over their heads, and towards a large wooden structure. It sort of looked like a house with a metal net grating over the sides. Joan could see several perches from inside it.

Anne gave her a wild smile before she slipped on a glove and opened the small door on the front. She held her arm into the pen and then pulled back after a moment, a beautiful brown and grey falcon perched on her wrist. Joan goggles at it with wide eyes.

“This is Baguette.” Anne said. “Just kidding! Her name is Freya. Isn’t she pretty?”

Joan nodded excitedly.

“Watch this.” Anne grinned. “Freya! Hup!”

Anne threw a leather lure as high as she could in the air and Freya shot off of her arm like a rocket. Her wings were primed and they slammed down with more than enough force to send her spiraling into the sky. He darted after the lure, and Anne snapped the cord attached to it, sending the mouse-sized lump off to the side, spinning like a satellite on a line around her. Freya banked, flying up and away a short way before looping around and diving at the lure. It’s clear that she is very good at this game, but Anne had learned just the right moment to change the angle of her swing, switching the direction the lure is sailing and throwing her off just enough that she has to make another pass.

Anne twirled the lure like a lasso, changing the pitch and yaw of the loops, sending it higher, lower, and in sweeping waves. Freya moves like a lightning strike in a hurricane, dive bombing one moment just as she yanks it away, rising back to circle, prepare, and dive again.

They fall into a rhythm, just different enough to keep them on their toes, but solid enough that the rest of the world faded away, until Freya broke off suddenly, catching a glimpse of something else.

“Freya!” Anne shouted as Joan giggled softly beside her. She snapped the lure in an attempt to catch her bird’s attention. “Come on! You’re making a bad first impression!”

Freya wheeled around after a moment and soared back down to the two. She lands dutifully on Anne’s outstretched arm, but is clearly a little crabby about not being able to catch her prey. She eases up when Anne gives her a treat.

“Wanna hold her?” Anne asked Joan, who nodded eagerly. She passed the girl a glove, which she quickly pulled on. “Okay. Be very careful, okay? And don’t freak out.”

Anne took the umbrella and passed Freya over to Joan. The bird stepped onto the younger girl’s arms and flexed her razor sharp talons around the glove, squeezing Joan’s wrist. Joan eyed the claws wryly.

Anne could tell Joan had a million questions, but her wired jaw kept her from verbalizing them. All she could do was stare at the falcon and the falconer with saucer-wide eyes.

“Dinner’s ready!” Aragon suddenly called from the back door.

Joan jolted a little and instinctively leaned away, but Freya remained poised on her arm. Anne laughed and put her bird back into her pen.

“Impressed?” She grinned.

Joan nodded.

“Good!” Anne said. “Now, let’s get inside before Catalina starts yelling at us about catching our death out here or something.”

The two of them walked back inside the house, being hit by the wonderful smell of the soup, which Aragon was pouring into seven different colored bowls. She smiled at them.

“Have fun?”

“Yup!” Anne said. “Joan was very impressed.”

Joan gave two thumbs up in agreement. Aragon’s heart melted.

“Why are there seven bowls?” Kitty asked obnoxiously.

“Uhh. Joan.” Aragon answered, blinking. “You should know that, Kat. She’s standing right there.”

“Yeah, but... Can she even eat?”

“Kit, don’t be stupid,” Anne said, slightly defensive. “Come on, stop acting like this. You know damn well that the doctors wouldn’t wire her jaw shut for a long period of time if she wouldn’t be able to eat or drink for that long.”

Kitty is clearly miffed by her cousin not being on her side and shoots a glare at Joan for it. Then, she raised her nose, looked away, and huffed out an annoyed breath.

“How long will the wires be there?” Cathy asked curiously.

Joan held up eight fingers.

“Weeks?”

She nodded.

There was a swell of murmurs- intrigued, pitiful, amused. Aragon was the one who grimaced.

“I couldn’t imagine that,” She said, rubbing her own jaw as if she thought it might spontaneously break. “Not being able to open my mouth for that long.”

“It’s like reverse lockjaw,” Cleves observed. “Just with less seizures.”

“Does it hurt?” Cathy asked.

Joan made a so-so gesture and then set a tentative hand on one of her heavily bruised cheeks, remembering the touch from that rude tourist. Ever since she had been prodded, her jaw had started hurting again. It felt like someone was trying to forcefully pry her mouth open with a crowbar.

She tried to just ignore it and sat down at the dinner table after getting her bowl. The soup was a lot chunkier than she had been expecting; she looked at the slices of potato in dismay, unsure how she would get them past her firm wall of teeth.

“Need a straw?” Kitty teased. She yelped loudly when Anne kicked her underneath the table.

Joan scowled at the pink queen, then brought a spoonful of soup to her lips. She had to awkwardly tip her head back slightly to make sure she didn’t spill anything on her. Sadly, her teeth were too bound together by rubber-bands to keep her jaws from moving from opening just a sliver to allow the bits of meat and potato to pass through, so only the liquids that flow through the random holes between her teeth reach her throat and stomach.

It had been much easier to drink her coffee.

“Sweetheart,” Aragon said, unable to watch the poor girl struggle any longer. “I’ll get the blender.”

Joan hunched her shoulders, embarrassed. Kitty tittered. Anne kicked her again.

“Ow!” Kitty whined. “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop being a brat.” Anne said cooly.

“I’m not a brat!”

“Well, you’re acting like one right now.”

“This is very entertaining.” Cleves commented. Anne flashed her an agreeing grin. Kitty sulked.

The loud sound of the blender stopped the argument from continuing. A few moments later, Aragon set a cup of blended soup with a straw in front of Joan. Joan gawked at it and then looked up at Aragon, one eyebrow raised. Aragon quickly swiped the straw.

“First the mint and now this?” Anne laughed.

“What mint?” Cathy asked.

“Catalina apparently offered Joan a mint earlier.” Anne told her.

Laughter erupted around the table. Aragon rolled her eyes as she sat back down.

“It was a mistake!” She tried to defend herself. “And an accident!”

Joan gave her a small smile before going back to eating. Well- drinking. Although, it wasn’t much easier. She wished she had the syringe she had been using for the past two days or the tube the doctors had used with her.

She quickly licked off the thick caking of soup on her lips, hoping that nobody had noticed it was there, then saw Kitty leering at her. She bristled and raised her eyebrows as if to say, “What?”

“What’s the name of that Warriors cat with the weird jaw?” Kitty asked the rest of the group, pleasantly pretending like Joan wasn’t sitting just a few feet away from her.

“Crookedjaw?” Cathy answered.

“Yeah!” Kitty turned to Joan with a smile as crooked as the girl’s mouth. “We can call you Crookedjaw! Seems like a fitting nickname.”

Anne gaped in horror at her younger cousin. She was so startled that she couldn’t even kick the queen. Aragon, on the other hand, wasn’t as stricken as she was.

“Katherine, what the fuck?” Aragon seethed.

“What?” Kitty said innocently. “It fits her!”

“Are you fucking nuts?” Aragon said, eyes wide and burning like hot embers. “No, actually- are you stupid?”

“She was just messing around, Catherine.” Jane tried to smooth things over.

“Don’t defend her!” Aragon snapped. “You should tighten the leash on her.”

“She’s not a dog.” Jane hissed.

“And yet she’s as annoying as a chihuahua that never shuts up,” Aragon said. She stood up, grabbed her bowl, and walked over to Joan. “Come on, Joan.”

Joan got up and followed her to the staircase. Anne went with them, but not without rounding on her cousin.

“If you’re going to call her Crookedjaw, then maybe we should start calling you Lostneck or Severedhead.” She said coldly. A mocking smile curled on her lips. “Because it fits.”

Kitty went rigid, but neither Anne or Aragon stuck around for her possible panic attack. They herd Joan upstairs and to Aragon’s room.

“I am so sorry, Joan.” Anne said once they were inside. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

“She thinks everything will be handed to her on a silver platter.” Aragon stated as she began to rummage through her pajamas. “Entitled brat. Just like you said.”

Anne nodded in agreement, then looked back at Joan. She carefully cupped one of her cheeks.

“Are you okay, my darling?”

Joan closed her eyes, unconsciously leaned into the touch, and nodded.

“Alright.” Anne said. “So... Movie night?”

“Sounds good to me,” Aragon said. She tossed a pair of pajamas over to Joan. “They might be a little big, but you can wear these.”

Joan nodded and padded off to the bathroom to change. When she returns, she finds Aragon and Anne already situated on the bed in their pajamas. Aragon was clad in a pale yellow nightgown with white rims and a bow near the collar, while Anne was dressed in green cotton sleeping pants and a button-down shirt of the same color. Joan looked a lot less fancy in a grey T-shirt with something about a fishing competition embroidered in white on it, which she had no idea what the origins of it being Catherine of Aragon’s dresser were, and some black gym shorts.

“Come on,” Anne waved her over, rolling out of the bed. “Lay down!”

It takes Joan a moment to realize she was supposed to lay in between them. She swallowed down her flustered feelings and obeyed, clambering up the side of the bed and sitting beside Aragon with her knees huddled close to her chest. She could feel the golden queen’s comforting warmth wavering off of her half-reclined body.

God, she was pathetic. Ever since Anne she touched her shoulder at that coffee shop something had awoken within her and refused to go back to sleep.

That something ranged from a persistently mewing kitten to a starved, roaring lion—she’d tried for a sheep or goat metaphor, because that seemed more fitting for her, but frankly, sheep were a good bit easier to manage than whatever this was.

Joan pointed to the TV as movies were flicked through and then gave each queen a questioning look. She knew she could sign, but she didn’t feel like putting Anne and Aragon through the process of having to translate what she was saying. Plus, just being completely quiet and onto using facial features and occasional gestures like this almost felt...serene.

“We’re watching Hush.” Anne said, smirking slightly. “Which has absolutely nothing to do with you not being able to talk, I promise.”

Joan giggled softly and nodded.

“Only because you lost Rock, Paper, Scissors.” Aragon retorted. She looked at Joan with motherly concern that nearly sent Joan keeling over into her chest crying. “Are you okay to watch it?”

Joan nodded. She could take it, really! She wasn’t a baby!

And yet, when the neighbor character is suddenly slammed against the glass backdoor with a knife in her gut, she still lurched backwards and nearly climbed up the headboard in fear. Anne laughed sympathetically, while Aragon gently touched her hand.

“Are you okay, sweet girl?” She asked softly.

Joan nodded, but still ducked her head away from the screen, wincing.

Aragon watched the poor girl cringe for two more minutes before she wrapped her up in her arms and pulled her securely against her chest. Joan was clearly surprised by this, but didn’t make any move to pull away. In fact, she burrowed deep into her embrace.

“Awww,” Anne cooed, glancing at the two of them. “So cute.”

“Jealous?” Aragon smirked.

Anne stuck her tongue out at her, then resumed watching.

Joan peeked out from where she had her face smothered in Aragon’s soft chest and begrudgingly continued to watch the movie because she was interested in it, she was just a tad bit frightened by it. But, again, it was okay! SHE was okay!

And then they got to the closeup of Maddie’s hand being broken and the memory of falling down the stairs flashed through Joan’s brain- slipping and falling, tumbling down each step, smashing her jaw into the tile at the bottom, the bones in her mouth crunching and cracking and grinding, her teeth cutting into her tongue and feeling like it had been severed completely, blood gargling in her throat, everyone staring at her. It was horrific, it STILL WAS horrific.

“Anne!” Aragon barked when Joan whimpered and hid her face back into her chest.

“I didn’t know that was in it!” Anne said, raising her hands. “This is the first time I’m seeing this!”

Anne paused the movie and turned to Joan, who was shaking in Aragon’s arm. She gently began to rub her back comfortingly, seeing as Aragon was already stroking her hair.

“Joan? My darling?” Anne called. “Are you okay?”

Joan nodded weakly, sniffling. She raised her head and Aragon immediately wiped away the tears in her eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Aragon murmured.

“Does anything hurt?” Anne asked. “Or did you just get scared?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aragon nodded. “What she said! Are you hurting?”

Joan shrugged, looking away. Aragon slapped Anne’s arm frantically.

“Go get painkillers.”

“Catalina, how is she supposed to swallow a PILL?” Anne cried.

“Oh no, you’re right!” Aragon pulled Joan close to her bosom and bright red mixed awkwardly with purple and blue on the girl’s face. “My baby’s going to die!” She said woefully.

“She’s not going to—” Anne had to stop to give Aragon a confused looked. “She’s not going to die, Catalina.” She glanced momentarily at Joan smooshed against her chest. “I mean, not from not taking a pill, but your tits might suffocate her to death.”

Aragon looked down at Joan and quickly pushed her back. She cleared her throat and smoothed out her nightgown.

“Yes. Of course.” She said and Anne and Joan both laughed. She gave them a look. “I was just acting! I am an actor. And you fell for it!”

Anne rolled her eyes in a good natured way. “Yeah, okay.”

After making sure Joan was completely okay, they ended up switching the movie to The Incredibles 2. Joan was still very giddy from the way both queens fussed over her, and yet she still found her eyelids drooping shut...

—

“Catalina, look,” Anne whispered.

Aragon turned her attention away from the movie to look at Joan curled against Anne, soundly asleep. Then, she noticed one of the girl’s hands grasping three of her fingers- apparently she couldn’t find the other two in her tired daze. Her heart absolutely melted.

“Oh my,” She murmured. “What a sweet girl.”

“I know,” Anne grinned. “She’s so cute.” She leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of Joan’s head, causing her to stir with a sleepy noise before settling down. Anne gently began to stroke her hair.

Aragon moved closer until she and Anne were practically sandwiching the girl with their bodies. Joan seemed content, though, as she would constantly nuzzle closer to the warmth and touch.

It was easy to distract historians who came to interview her. Anne was the most well known queen, so she often had solo interviews to deal with from pushy historians. At first it had been a lot to deal with, but Anne had grown used to their invasive questions. They were almost always the same, so she had her prepared answers. They never wanted to know about her opinions or choices, they wanted to know about all the drama and ‘seduction’ she took part in. 

It was Anne’s offday and she had a plethora of interviews scheduled. It wasn’t her chosen way of spending the day, but she needed to get them done anyway. She wasn’t one to turn interviewers away without even meeting them, so she decided to make a day out of it. The first interview wasn’t too bad, actually starting out on a relatively high note. The interviewer was a big fan of the show, and she wanted to know about the dynamics of the queens and what it was like being reincarnated. She made sure Anne knew she didn’t have to answer a question if she was uncomfortable, and Anne was grateful for that. 

The second interview was fine. The historian wasn’t too pushy and seemed generally respectful, but he kept asking questions that dragged up bad memories for Anne. By the time the interview was over, she could feel herself settling into a frustrated mindset. This third interview would not go well, and Anne knew that the second she walked into the small office.

This historian was an old white man with greying hair and ancient glasses. She could already tell he was one of those snobs who would argue that his opinion was fact. But rather than judge him right off the bat, Anne put on her excited persona and gave him the benefit of the doubt. “Hello!” she spoke happily, giving him a dazzling grin.

“Ah yes, Anne Boleyn,” he spoke in a rickety old voice. He pulled down his glasses and gave a smile that seemed to physically pain him. “I’m Director Hoffman, pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Anne replied, shaking his hand. This was the third time she’d gone through the motions today, but she acted as if it was her first.

Director Hoffman leaned back into his seat and sighed. Anne sat in the seat across from his desk and put her hands in her lap. He had a pen and paper in front of him, as if he could record the entire interview by hand. Anne already had a bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach, but she attempted to stifle it. “Let’s get started, shall we.” Anne nodded silently, waiting for his questions. “What made you go after King Henry VIII?”

Cringing, Anne realized he was jumping right into the thick of it. “Really it was my father. He pushed me to get involved with Henry for power. It wasn’t so much my choice.”

“But,” Hoffman pushed, “that’s not what historical records say. In fact, most everyone agrees that you were highly calculated in your bid to steal the King from his wife.”

Anne clenched her teeth and attempted to stay civil. “Well history tends to be misleading about a lot of things. As someone who lived the experience, I can tell you for a fact that those records were not written with me in mind. They paint Henry as a saint while putting me and his other wives down, painting us as horrible when that wasn’t the reality of it.”

Hoffman didn’t write any of that on his page. “I find that hard to believe,” he stared at Anne. “How is it that this airheaded girl you appear to be broke England from the Church?”

“This might be hard to believe,” Anne’s voice dripped with malice, “but men tend to over exaggerate when they let their dick decide.”

The director’s eyes widened and he grew aghast. “What an improper thing for a lady to say!”

“Freedom of speech,” Anne shrugged. “Another thing we didn’t have back then. All your documents you rely so heavily on, they only say what Henry wanted to hear. It’s all biased.”

Director Hoffman absolutely refused to listen to what Anne was saying. “You, Anne Boleyn,” he practically hissed, “are a disgrace to the historical figure this country remembers. You are a disgrace to Elizabeth and all English monarchs. You should be ashamed of who you are.”

Biting her cheek to keep from screaming, Anne slammed her hands on Hoffman’s desk. The old man leaned away from her, fear creeping in behind his eyes. Restraining herself, Anne stepped back and marched out of the room, not so much as glancing back.

On her way back to the queens’ house, Anne hadn’t lost any of her anger. She couldn’t take it anymore. Everyone telling her who to be when she was already trying to cater to them. She tried and tried and tried and they were never happy with what she gave them. Maybe she was broken.

Storming into the house, Anne didn’t acknowledge any of the other queens. “Anne? Where are you going?” Jane called from the dinner table where all the others queens were conversing with each other.

“Leave me alone,” she said, continuing through the room to get to the stairs.

“Hey, don’t leave Anne,” Aragon told her, standing up. “You should at least come eat.”

Freezing but not turning around, Anne growled, “I don’t want your food, okay?”

Cathy frowned and put her fork down. “Anne, is there something wrong? You can tell us -”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Anne yelled, still staring at the wall. “Or maybe everything’s wrong, I don’t know. But nothing’s changed, so you don’t need to worry. Go back to your food.” And then she left the queens, and shut herself up in her room. 

The other five queens all shared confused glances around the table. “I’ll handle this one,” Kat said, standing up.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Anna asked, her eyes flicking to the stairs where Anne had just been. “She doesn’t seem to be in the most forgiving mood.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kat made her way to the stairs. “She’s my cousin and I’m going to try and help her.” And then she was gone as well, disappearing up the stairs to (hopefully) make Anne feel better.

Muttering, “Godspeed,” Cathy gave the air a small salute.

As Kat traveled up the stairs to Anne’s room, she couldn’t help but hold her breath. Literally anything could be going on with Anne and she had absolutely no grounding with how to deal with it. Still, this was her cousin and she would try her best. “Anne?” Kat knocked on her door. “Can I come in.”

“I can’t stop you,” came Anne’s defeated voice from inside. 

Gently opening the door, Kat made her way to Anne’s bed. The girl in question was lying face down on the bed, her limbs spread out at awkward angles. “Hey Anne… how are you doing.”

Anne scoffed into the bedsheets. “What do you think Kat?”

“I think you’re pretending to be angry to hide that you’re hurting.”

Kat noted the way Anne reacted to her words. She sat up from her position and faced Kat with a defensive glare. “I’m not hiding anything. I’m fine. Good and dandy! Happy fucking Christmas,” Anne snarled, her upper lip starting to curl.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kat quietly asked, moving closer to her cousin.

Anne pulled away, creating distance between her and Kat. “I don’t need to talk about anything. Why can’t you let that go? Crawl back to Jane and leave me alone.”

A pang of hurt went through Kat, but she brushed it off. Anne didn’t mean it, even if her words still stung. Biting her tongue and glancing down at the floor, Kat summoned up her courage. “This isn’t you Anne.”

Chuckling ruefully, Anne fiddled with her bedsheets. “Was this ever me?” That definitely wasn’t the response Kat was expecting, but she kept quiet as Anne started to unravel. “I’ve never been me, have I?” Her voice started to quiver, a sign that she was holding back tears, or something much worse. “I’m the temptress or I’m the falsely accused. I’m the ditzy stage girl or I’m the chaotic wingman. I’m the slut or I’m the King’s prize. But I’m not me.”

Of all people Kat would think to have an existential crisis, it was not Anne. Her cousin always seemed so confident and sure of herself, but here she seemed so confused and broken down. “Anne, you aren’t defined by just one thing.”

“Then what am I defined by?” Anne shot back, her eyes red. “The documents of history? They’re bullshit,” she spit. “Am I defined by my show persona? It’s seventy-five minutes, that can’t be it, Kat!”

The genuine fear on Anne’s face as she tried to figure out how to define herself frightened Kat. “I know the real you.”

“Do you?” Anne asked, the pleading in her voice real. “Please, tell me who I am, because I can’t take this any longer. I’ve tried so hard to do what they want,” Anne’s voice broke. “And they’re never satisfied.”

Grabbing Anne’s hand and pulling her closer, Kat made sure they were face to face. "You are my cousin. You're loyal and caring and you would kill anyone who looks badly at your friends. You're the life of the party, always encouraging people to be their best self. You are educated and smart, even though you tend to hide it. You're human and you have emotions just like anyone else. You are Anne Boleyn."

Choking back tears, Anne threw herself into Kat’s arms. “What if I can’t be that? What if I’m not who you want me to be?”

“Oh Annie, I don’t want you to be anyone but yourself. No matter who you are, I’ll still love you.” For a moment, Kat thought Jane must’ve been rubbing off on her because of the sudden role reversal. But Kat didn’t mind being the one to comfort her cousin, especially when she needed it so badly. 

Anne flopped back on her bed, taking a giggling Kat with her. “Can you stay with me tonight?” Anne asked, her voice small.

Rolling to the side so she could face her cousin, Kat immediately agreed. “I’d love to stay with you Annie. But we should probably change into pajamas. And you need to eat something for dinner.”

Kat started to get up, but Anne pulled her back down, hugging her tightly. “No, Cousin Cuddles first.”

“Cousin Cuddles are the best cuddles,” Kat mumbled contentedly.

Before they knew it, both cousins had fallen asleep together, safe and sound.

----------------------------------------

Tag list:

It would not stop.

The constant feeling like something would go wrong.

Katherine Howard could not tell if it was the anxiety, or if it was something else. She physically felt okay, and everything seemed fine, but for the life of her, the girl could not put her finger on that bad feeling. Being so lost in her thoughts, Howard was found, brows furrowed, staring down at her food, rather than eating it. Of course, this raised concerns with her cousin, Anne Boleyn, and Jane Seymour. Boleyn’s face began to reflect the concern when she raised an eyebrow. Seymour had more of a sad-looking face, but nonetheless, the worry was quite present.

“Katherine?”

“Hey, Kitty… you okay?”

The two voices snapped Howard out of her trance. She looked up, shaking her head seconds after her attention went to the two women. “Yeah, yeah! Just had something come across my mind is all. I’m fine, really. Guess I’m just getting the typical pre-show jitters everyone gets,” which wasn’t a lie, either. But, Katherine did feel a pang of guilt in having to be dishonest with Jane and Anne. Howard was one of the Queens who always got some pre-show anxiety, alongside Catherine of Aragon– (much to everyone’s surprise)– and Boleyn. It wasn’t a rare occasion, though, considering they had just about an hour before they had to head to the theatre. It wouldn’t seem like much now, but this feeling Katherine Howard was having was not a good one.

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During the matinee, Katherine could not shake off that constant thought.

But she was not alone. The feeling had begun to haunt her cousin Anne.

Anne Boleyn’s eyes began to glance around the audience, knowing that Katherine was in the middle of delivering the roast of the century to Jane, Catherine Parr, and Anna of Cleves. A certain man had caught her eye up in the upper level; the second row in the left Circle Slip of the Arts Theatre, to be more precise. Something about that blond hair. And cold, blue eyes. Something about the way he was leaning on the railing while he sat began to bother Anne. Her attention snapped right back to the show when she heard Katherine say, “I can’t even begin to think of how I could compete with you all. Oh wait, like this!” to signal the start of All You Wanna Do. But even with her focus on the show, Boleyn’s glances kept going back up to that strange man.

“I think we can all agree I’m the ten amongst these threes!”

What about him bothered Anne Boleyn so much? She did not know. 

Was it his face? No, he seemed to be fairly attractive. Was it the way he stared at all of them? Possibly, since he seemed to be rather uncomfortable when Aragon brought up Leviticus and Mary in No Way. He also looked disgusted during Boleyn’s spotlight in Don’t Lose Ur Head. He looked very, very abhorred with Haus of Holbein and Anna of Cleves. But his eyes when Katherine Howard was singing screamed danger, and Anne could see it. Her frequent glancing that first day saw him tense up upon a few lines:

“Tall, large, Henry the Eighth. 

Supreme Head of the Church of England. 

Globally revered, although you wouldn’t know it from the look of that beard.”

And the end of All You Wanna Do, as far as Anne could tell from where she was on the stage, had him gripping the railing tightly. Was anger the reason he furrowed his eyebrows, or something else? The distance was not helping her much. Overall, she was picking up a few assumptions just from the one matinee show. This guy was either a historian that pretty much agreed with Henry VIII’s horrible decisions in life, or someone the Queens knew personally. What Anne decided to think though, was the former. Maybe this guy was just a historian and unimpressed with the show, right?

That first show could have not ended sooner. But as the lights on the stage went somewhat dim to allow the six ladies to exit, Anne Boleyn paused and allowed the others to go in front of her. She kept her gaze on that very man, and watched him stand up, turn around, and head on out of the seating area. The fact that she was the last one to leave concerned Cleves a bit. Right before she could even reach the dressing room, the queen in red put a hand on the green queen’s shoulder. “Moment mal, Anne. Was stört dich? Du hast anscheinend nicht dein gewohntes Lächeln am Ende der Show gehabt,” the German gently gave the shoulder a squeeze. Boleyn found herself sighing. “What’s going on? You normally smile and you were barely holding one up today by the end of the show,” Cleves made herself translate what she had previously said. 

“I don’t know, honestly. I guess I thought I saw someone that Maggie knew in the audience. It was weird. I’m normally not out of it either. Anyways, if Aragon took the couch, she’s going to regret it. It’s my nap time,” the cheeky grin came back to the ruby lips. A nod from Cleves, and the two were well on their way to the dressing room. Was Aragon on the couch? Absolutely. And Anne 100% kicked her off of it just so she could lay down and sleep after she changed back into her comfortable clothes. No space buns, no makeup– just a giant hoodie and some sweatpants. 

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The other dressing room was a little more lively for a good while.

Katherine Howard was up on her feet, bouncing around with energy. Catherine Parr had decided to join her this afternoon. What were the two doing while Jane Seymour took the time to answer some tweets and messages? Dancing. The two ladies were dancing, which was almost the catalyst for Jane setting her phone down and joining them. In fact, she just wanted in on the fun. The three danced around for maybe half an hour, before a yawning Katherine Howard took to the couch to take a nap herself. Parr and Seymour stayed awake, with Parr looking for her notebook and Seymour going back to the tweets and messages.

“Cathy, look at this,” tapping her counterpart on the shoulder, the blonde woman moved her phone to be between them both. “It’s us with our kids!” If there was one thing Jane Seymour loved about the fans they had, it was all of the fanart of them with their kids. A smile was brought to Catherine Parr’s face as she looked up to meet Jane’s eyes. “If there’s one thing I have always appreciated, it’s that they know we aren’t the only Tudors that kicked some serious ass.” The laugh both of them shared was quiet, as to not wake Katherine up from her post-show nap. 

The calligraphy pen twirled around Parr’s fingers for a solid minute or so before she finally began to write. Each queen had their thing to do post-matinee if it was a two-show day.

Catherine Parr wrote notes about her performances.

Jane Seymour responded to fans. And to as many of them as possible, too!

Both of the Beheaded Cousins slept their time away.

Anna of Cleves did various things, such as meditate and listen to music.

Catherine of Aragon normally left the dressing room to find a quiet spot in the theatre’s backstage to pray.

This normal routine was going to be shaken up a little too much. So much that Boleyn and Howard were too tense to take their usual between show naps.

––––––––––

The same seat every damn time.

Who the hell was this guy?

And why was he now looking so bitter towards Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard?

Three weeks since the mystery man had first caught Boleyn’s eyes in the middle of a performance. But now it was a pattern. Two night shows and a matinee, and always on the exact same nights. Exact same seat, exact same everything. This was starting to piss Boleyn off, and scare Howard. He looked at them with more than just malicious intent in his eyes, to the point that Katherine sometimes blanked on her lines. It was to the point when Anne was singing, she’d put more emphasis on “Hold up, let me tell you how it went down.” just to spite him. This historian guy, or whoever he truly was, did not settle well with the cousins.

But on the night of a Sunday performance, the Queens all got a rude awakening they were not ready for. And the two to be given the first wave were none other than the Beheaded Cousins themselves:

Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard.

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This tension was so chilling that it even caused Anne to fumble a few of her lines. Even the infamous “Yeah, I read.” was not the usual confident, snarky remark it usually was. Having made eye contact with the mystery man while trying to deliver the line was definitely part of it, and for a moment there was a stiff awkwardness in the air. They’d recover quickly, of course, but the general consensus between the group was that something was wrong, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. 

The man quickly left, before the end of bows, and somehow located an usher and told him he was an old friend of the girls’. The girls weren’t too akin to refusing to meet people, so immediately after stagedooring and meeting fans, they all headed backstage to meet whoever had requested a personal meet and greet. Kit’s the first through the door and she stops dead in her tracks. Those eyes. They were the same bright blue eyes that she saw in her dreams at night, the same eyes she stared into right before… well… 

She swallows, backing up a little. Anne comes crashing through the door, chaos embodied, and happily dances around for a moment before noticing the anxiety seething from Howard’s small frame. “What’s wrong, love?” Kit simply points to the man, and Anne’s heart drops to her stomach as well. She too, can’t look away from those crystal eyes. The blond hair. The everything. 

Anne can barely talk above a whisper could even tell it was him would make the situation less real. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe he was just another person. One can hope, but no luck there, Anne. She can feel Kit shaking, and reaches to take her hand, letting out a shaky breath and considering shouting for Parr. 

The others trickle in quickly after, the ‘mystery man’ still just staring at the two cousins with ferocious intensity. The last to enter, though, is Jane Seymour. The metaphorical mother of the group, the caretaker, any other synonym you can think of. Jane is never one to cast judgement. She walks in, and despite the obvious tension, says a polite hello to the man. He simply nods in response. 

Parr joins Anne at the hip, whispering to her. “Is he what’s got you all rattled, love?” Anne lets out a small nod. “It’s him.” 

That statement reaches Jane’s ears and immediately her demeanor changes. She stands up a little straighter, setting her microphone down on the dressing room’s main table, and just looks at him. She moves a little closer, pushing the other girls behind her, and she can only say one thing. 

“...Henry?”

He steps forward, and while the other girls move back, Jane stays planted to her spot. He smiles, trying to turn on the charm, reaching for her hands. “The one I truly lov—” He’s cut off by a slap. Yes, Jane Seymour just slapped a man. He brings a hand up to his red cheek, eye showing that it indeed, hurt. Cleves stifles a laugh.

“Don’t ever associate that word with me. You don’t know what love is.” A few tears well up in the blonde’s eyes, but refuses to let them fall. Not for him. “Love isn’t keeping your wife from holding her newborn child!” Her voice breaks slightly, but she takes a deep breath, centering herself. 

“You all look so different.” The scruffy voice chimes, and immediately Kit visibly tenses up. She, unlike Jane, is unable to hold the tears in. Though they flow silently, they flow heavily. “There’s no need to cry, Katherine… or should I say ‘Kitty’, now?” 

“Don’t speak to her. You do not have permission to do that.” Jane moves to block his view, but he simply repositions himself. Anne elects to go in for a dig. The devilish smirk returns, though small, and she gives Kit’s hand a squeeze before moving a tiny step forward. 

“You know, mate, if you’re still having trouble… you know, with your little friend, we can get you a prescription for Viagra. Or Cialis, plenty of options.” She emphasizes ‘little’ by using her thumb and pointer finger to indicate his size. It makes Kit smile a little. The silence in the air was broken by a stifled laughter. That had to be the funniest thing Cleves ever heard Boleyn say outside of the wit written in the script. Aragon gave her a nudge, but even she agreed with the sentiment.

The blond man, finally revealed as the reincarnated Henry VIII, just narrowed his eyes. “How funny, laughter coming from someone who couldn’t perform.” Anne’s smirk went away, as she looked back towards Cleves with a hurt expression. Cleves’ grin was gone, with gritted teeth behind a closed mouth replacing it. Aragon let out a sigh. “That’s low for the man who so easily says he believes–”

“Catalina, don’t even get me started on you either.”

Not a single comment from Catherine Parr. She just stood there, feeling herself drift between a rational mind and pure impulse. Did this guy just come back to insult them, and get a second wind to take Katherine? Oh no, that was not happening. She saw it all, too. Jane’s reddening face from holding back the tears, Cleves’ rather tame anger, Aragon’s scowl… Kit’s pale face from the fear, and Anne being powerless. Jane Seymour honestly, had lost her mind way before Catherine Parr did in this scenario, but… there was always going to be a breaking point for the quiet one.

“So you and your whore cousin think you can just slander my name like that? I’d have you both back at the scaffold in front of the Tower if I had–”

“Scaffolds don’t exist anymore, you twat,” Boleyn hissed under her breath. 

“Enough, Henry.”

This was where Parr had enough. The other Queens gave a glance at their surviving counterpart, who wasn’t even looking up at him. She was staring at the floor, but for now. “Cathy, you should probably not… y’know, say anything,” Boleyn barely managed to get that sentence out, considering the crushing feeling she had inside of her chest. All that got as a response was a laugh.

“The survivor, Catherine Parr. Tell me then, my love, are you just as stubborn as you were back then?” He got every other one to crack, but little did he know that he would be the one about to shatter like glass. “Because you should’ve been the one to meet an untimely fate like your counterparts here. Of course, new body means a second chance at being able to–”

Henry stops when he sees Parr’s shoulders shake a little. She’s… laughing?

That’s why she was looking down. When she did look up, one saw her smile shining on like a light. Safe to say, Catherine Parr was about to tear someone apart. “You’ve still got quite a loud mouth for an old man. Tell me, did you ever finally learn to take care of yourself, you bobolyne? Thinking you have any right to talk to the mother of not only your damned son, but also the woman who was loyal to you for twenty four years?! And even better, the one you so graciously called your sister after your marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

Jane felt a little insulted that she had to take a jab at Edward, but had the feeling it was necessary considering the situation. Hopefully Parr would apologize for it later on.

“Okay, okay… fair. Not bad, Parr. But why do those two get to wear shiny chokers while the rest of you have crowns? Does it further emphasize my point that Anne Boleyn’s just a hell of a tempting woman and that Katherine Howard–”

The smile from Parr’s face faded. The anger was present and everyone was mortified to see someone so quiet speaking up like she was. With vitriol in her voice, Catherine Parr officially lost her temper. 

“You KNOW exactly what the fuck happened, Henry.”

Aragon felt herself go to cover Katherine’s ears as her goddaughter began to lose her composure. “You KNOW why they have to wear those. You know damn well the crimes you fucking committed against them both, especially Katherine! She was a child, Henry! A fucking child who got manipulated and used! I want to hear nothing from your mouth, you snoutband! You have nothing to defend yourself with!”

Wiping a tear or two away, Jane Seymour began to lean into Anna of Cleves for some form of comfort. Even the German was surprised to be hearing the resentment coming out of such a powerful and rather cool-tempered woman. Just as Henry went to open his mouth, he stopped.

“Oh no, no sir! You have no right to talk here! Anne Boleyn lost her head over what, your delusions that she was out and about with men when you were just going around like you weren’t married? And because of that, she has to struggle to change her name? Are you actually insane or some shit?” The northern accent Parr had was thick. She was angry, and her voice said it for her if her facial expression did not. “Jane Seymour never got to hold Edward because you took him straight away for his christening. And she had to sit there, alone, in bed! Suffering through illness until she died without saying goodbye to her baby boy!”

Boleyn goes pale. Where did this anger even come from? She had no idea, but Parr was scaring her.

“My damn godmother was near a saint with all of the bullshit she had to put up with! Twenty four fucking years, and it wasn’t Anne who ruined the marriage. It was YOU. Aragon did some insanely remarkable things despite how you treated her! And Cleves! You just decide to take Cleves and humiliate her because she wasn’t beautiful enough for you? You’re an absolute wandought, Henry! You brought a Spanish lady and a German lady out of their comfort zones all because you didn’t know how to use your damn brain!”

At this point, Aragon had managed to sneak off into the dressing room, with Cleves now being the one to hold Howard. Boleyn was now hugging Seymour, actually terrified of not just Henry, but Parr.

Henry began to go pale. He was not going to recover from this.

“Who am I missing… let’s see, Katherine Howard? No, I got her. Anne Boleyn? Also got her. Jane Seymour? Check. Anna of Cleves? Check. Catherine of Aragon? Oh, yeah, her too. Would you look at that… I’m the only one left. Surprise surprise, the fucking survivor surviving again and this time, she gets to give it to you the exact way she wants to.”

“Cathy–”

“Shut up you lot. My turn to finally talk.”

A flinch from the group. Aragon had to take glances in and out of the dressing room.

“Oh wow, Catherine Parr. The survivor. The one who draws lines in arbitrary places, blah blah! She had two other husbands, what good could have she done being a Tudor queen? I DIDN’T TAKE ANY OF YOUR BULLSHIT IS WHAT I DID. Those books that everyone rumoured a woman was writing? Surprise, you tallowcatch! It was me! I’m the famed author of Tudor history. And I published under my own name once your pitiful body finally died. That can’t be that bad, Cathy. What a sad excuse for a sob story, right?”

Katherine Howard began to tremble more than she already was in Anna of Cleves’ arms. Catherine Parr made herself stand face to face with Henry.

“Ah, right, because she survived she deserves the backing vocals. WELL GUESS WHAT, HENRY? I’M HERE TO STAY. I HAD TO GIVE UP MY LIFE, MY LOVE, AND WHATEVER ELSE I WAS DOING TO TAKE CARE OF YOUR SORRY ASS. You might have forced these women into submission but no, I am not going to submit to some sad old man. You took away their rights, you took away their children… and poor Katherine…” A laugh. “You took poor Katherine’s childhood. You turned her into a disgraced whore. She is not and will never be one. She is a victim of your bullshit.”

“Catherine, my love–”

“No excuses now, Henry. I’m through. Your love ran cold years ago. And call me love one more damn time. See what happens.”

“My love–”

The weight of the sleeves helped Parr send her fist flying into his face. He stumbled back, feeling a warm sensation drip from his nose. Blood. He… was bleeding? “You actually got the nerve to punch an English King? You’re a mad woman, Parr. I’ll have you thrown on that scaffold just how–” A second punch, and this time, there was an audible crack of sorts.

“You wear a crown, but you’re no king. You’re a disgrace to human life, Henry. And this is for all of the women you hurt, manipulated, abused… and killed,” a lunge forward. The third strike was to his jaw, and the fourth was a solid kick to the chest with her heel being the first thing to make impact. Henry, having been taken by surprise from every hit, stumbled right back into a pair of men. Shaking her fist off, some of the blood ended up getting on the floor, and part of it remained on her hands. 

“I’ll be back, Catherine! Mark my damn words! Let go of me, you imbeciles!”

“Like hell you’ll be back!”

And just as she took a step forward, Aragon went to hold on to one of her arms. “Someone help me hold her back!” Aragon needed the help. Parr was under such a fit of rage she was dragging her godmother across the hallway. Seymour had to let go of Boleyn to try and hold on to Parr’s other arm. She slowed down, but still had enough adrenaline surging through her to keep going. Cleves just gave Howard a gentle kiss on the cheek before running over to help the other two ladies. No arms? No problem. She just held on to one of Parr’s legs.

Boleyn pulled her cousin into a tight hug, feeling a shaky exhale leave her body. “Kitty? Kitty, are you okay?” Just a nod. Howard was terrified to open her mouth after seeing the ungodly wrath unfold before her eyes. “I-Is… she mad at us, Annie?” Quiet and almost inaudible. The poor girl was terrified to even talk out of fear that Parr was not just angry at Henry, but at them too.

“Catherine Parr, what in God’s name has gotten into you?” Aragon furrows her eyebrows. “This is not you. What is going on? Talk to me, please.”

Anne reaches to take Kit’s hand. “She’s… upset. Not at us, I promise.” Anne had to admit, all of the ferocity coming from Parr scared her a little bit. The yelling reminded her a little of when Henry first stormed in and accused her. Of course, she would set it aside, but it was scary in the moment. She looks in Kit’s eyes, which are now full of tears, sighing and pulling her into another tight hug and rubbing her back. “It’s okay, babes… He’s gonna go away and we will be okay, I promise. The girls aren’t gonna let him get to us.” Kit just buries her face into Anne’s shoulder and lets out the remainder of what she wouldn’t let out in front of Henry. Thank goodness the men had taken him into another room until the police arrived. 

Anne pulls out of the hug for a moment and then walks Kit outside. “You look absolutely knackered, love… maybe we should head home as soon as all of this is over. Do you wanna change into something else? C’mon.” They both decide to change, but do so in the staff bathroom rather than in the dressing room. On the off chance Henry was able to see into the dressing room, they didn’t want him to see anything. Anne also thought a door with a lock was the safest. 

Once they finish hanging up their costumes, the two settle into the couch, and just hold each other. Anne hums a little of La Vie en Rose, and quickly, Kit falls asleep. Anne doesn’t mind. They were all done with the day, it had already put them through the ringer. 

There’s an apparent veil of exhaustion amongst all of the women, except Parr.

Sure, Henry had been apprehended at this point and he was stuck with his hands cuffed behind his back, but that didn’t stop him from being inches away from Parr’s face with a very devious smile. “I’ll be back, Catherine. And you six will have to deal with me all over again. Especially Kat–”

“Like hell you are!”

Catherine Parr broke her left arm free from Catherine of Aragon’s grip, and her right arm from Jane Seymour’s. The right hand took a vice-like grip on his shirt collar before her left fist came swinging at full power, and thensome since the weight of the costume added force. That impact had a very, very nasty sound to it. Even Cleves flinched at it, soon seeing the blond man fall straight to the floor with a bloody face. “Get anywhere near us and I will have you laying your head on a prison bench just how you made poor Katherine and Anne lay down as you murdered them!”

The officers picked up the unconscious Henry, and kindly thanked Jane, Anna, and Aragon for their cooperation. Parr however, got a warning, but that was about it.

Giving it a moment, knowing they would be out of earshot at this point, Parr releases a rather annoyed grumble. “He’ll fucking pay for his crimes against all of you. I swear on my life he will rot in a prison cell for what he did. If he thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and come back here to take us for fools, he’s wrong,” she almost hissed at the end. The thickness of her accent was making Aragon concerned, since to see someone as rational as her goddaughter be in such a state was a rare experience. Cleves and Seymour both looked up with mortified faces. Ever seen revenge personified as human? No? Now you have.

And her name was Catherine Parr.

“What in heaven was that?” Maggie asks, getting up and peeking out into the hallway. A small laugh. The thud was actually loud enough to wake the cousins, and they both get up, confused a little, and sleepily walk to join her at the door frame. Anne rubs her eyes and yawns, looking at Henry, now being pulled up by two police men. 

She glances to Parr, and then to Henry, and upon sight of Parr’s hands, she lets out a small, startled gasp. His blood was actually on her knuckles. Probably mixed with her own, if her knuckles had bust. Kit has a similar reaction, coupled with hiding behind Anne at the sight of the wicked man. “Cathy… let me help you get cleaned up. Mags, can you grab the first aid kit out of my backpack?” 

“Let’s just go home, first.” Parr says, a little cold, while watching an officer take Henry away. She wanted to watch up until he was inside of the car, so she could ensure he was going away for good. The other officer asks her a few questions about the situation, and she tells him everything that happened, down to the fact that they would be filing a restraining order, and that Henry was not allowed to see their show again. 

––––––––––

The six women had gone home after waiting… maybe an extra ten minutes after Parr finished talking to the police officer. The car was dead silent on the ride back to the house, too.

“I’m actually mad about the fact that he’s actually attractive now,” Boleyn rolls her eyes as she walks in after Seymour. “I’m kidding, obvs. But how is he alive? We’ve been free for… who knows how long now and he comes back? What did he want, anyways?” Seymour turned to face Boleyn, giving the brunette a gentle pat on the head. “It sounded like revenge, but I think Cathy has the actual answer to that. We can talk to her when she’s a lot calmer, though… she’s very…”

“Upset, angry… name it, I am probably feeling it.”

“We all are, love…” Anne goes to her, gently taking her hands, looking at them carefully. One’s very busted up, and the blood has now dried and solidified. “Let me clean you up, c’mon.” She motions to the kitchen, and the two head in there, Parr sitting on the counter while Anne gets the first aid kit out. “I’m not ashamed of what I did today.” Parr stares at the floor, expecting some sort of lecture or argument to happen, but it doesn’t.

“You protected me. That’s all I could ever want.” Anne kisses her quickly on the cheek before pouring some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze cloth. Before she starts to press it to Cathy’s knuckles, she looks the girl straight in the eyes. “Don’t be mad for how much this is going to hurt, please.” 

While those two work on that, the other girls drop their bags next to the door and slump into the chairs around the kitchen table, an apparent awkwardness in the air. Jane is the first to speak, and it’s absolutely filled with regret and apology. “Ladies, I am so sorry I lost my cool today. I shouldn’t have gotten so ‘up in arms.’ He just… I never…” She’s tearing up a little, and Kit offers a hand for her to squeeze as she tries to work through her words. She takes a deep breath, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face. 

“I never got to tell him all of that. All of the resentment.”

Cathy grumbles from the counter, agreeing with her statement. “He sure got a taste of all of my resentment.” Her cheeks were reddening, and Anne doesn’t know what else to do past wrapping the girl’s knuckles, so she lays a kiss on them, hoping that will calm her down. “Shhh… no need to get worked up over that toff, not again.” Her hand goes to hold Parr’s face. “Let’s be happy, okay?” 

“Jane, we all had every right to react the way we did. Even Cathy had a right to bash his ugly face in.” Kit nods reassuringly, and the other queens mumble words of agreement, Anne and Parr silently making their way over to the table. Something about Parr’s energy was off, but the queens wouldn’t question it for the time being. They were all rattled, it didn’t take much to see it. 

“I just feel that as the mother of the group, I reacted rather rashly. I think–” She has to hold back some tears. “I think I should’ve composed myself.” This ends with the ladies all essentially tackling Jane with a group hug, even Parr, though not really seeming to want to participate. It was getting late, anyways, and it was almost time for her to begin her nightly writing. It would help.  

Anne clears her throat. “I think you did perfectly, Jane. He’s an absolute tosser for thinking he could face all six of us at once.” Kit laughs in agreement, and the two head upstairs. Parr quickly dismisses herself, Aragon trailing quickly behind after giving Jane a tight hug. 

Cleves takes Jane’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Gute Nacht, Jane. Versuche nicht zu viel darüber nachzudenken.” Jane sighs. “Still don’t speak German, love.”

“Try not to think too much about it.”

“Catherine,” Aragon knocks on the open door, furrowing her eyebrows. “Mija, what got into you today? That isn’t you. Where… where did you even go?” A sharp look from the sixth wife to the first, before it softened up. It eventually became more of a look of shame as Parr’s eyes went to the bandaged hand. She really did do a number on herself, but that blond haired Tudor nightmare deserved it. She wasn’t wrong, was she? Or, had her morality become such an ambiguous grey area that maybe it was wrong for her to have sucker punched the man who beheaded Katherine Howard so unfairly.

The shameful eyes look up, seeing Aragon’s concern despite the slight scowl. “I’m sorry, Lina. I… no se. Yo lo vi y... Me congelé. Es como si todo el sentido racional dejara mi cuerpo y me quedara con impulso. Lo juro, no... siempre así. Tu lo sabes! Aunque asusté a todos, no?” The hurt in her voice was evident. Parr knew she became the morally ambiguous of the group, which was normally not the good thing. Aragon’s expression lightened up just a little as she approached her goddaughter, and pulled her into a side hug. “Sucede, amor. Pero no te enfades tanto con alguien tan horrible. Seguimos amándote, y siempre nos preocuparemos por ti. Ninguna de nosotras te tiene miedo, y eso te lo prometo.”

Those last words gave Catherine Parr just a little bit of hope. Catherine of Aragon gave one last hug to the woman before heading on out the door, but not without “Don’t stay up late.” being the last thing she said to the sixth wife. 

Kit and Anne stand in the hallway, chatting before going to their rooms, which were across from each other. “Lock your window, Annie, please.” It’s evident that Kit is still very worried about Henry figuring out where they live or figuring out how to get in. Anne nods, despite the fact that they lived on the second floor.. “Of course.” The girls hug and in a matter of seconds, they are both behind their respective closed doors. 

Kit leans against the door for a moment after closing it, but not locking it, and a few silent tears fall before she starts to change into her pajamas. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” She mumbles to herself, turning on her string lights and turning off the main light of the room. She debates what kind of music to listen to, mulling over it for a few minutes before turning on some classical. It was different, but it would work. 

Anne, on the other hand, immediately goes to lock her window and pull the shades closed, which was slightly saddening because she did enjoy looking at the night sky before she fell asleep. She sits on the edge of her bed for a moment, deep in thought about Cathy. She had to admit, the girl she saw today was one she had never seen before, and one she was pretty afraid of seeing again. That fire, while endearing… shook Anne a little. She has to force herself to shake off the thought that anger immediately translates to a person being anything remotely similar to Henry. 

“Right, then… bed it is.” Anne shuts off her lights and lays down, picturing that starry sky in her own mind. It would do. 

Jane settles in with the current book she was reading, a copy of Pride and Prejudice. A story of true love, one could say, and the text was actually helping to calm the blonde down about the events of the day. Aragon peeks in for a moment, and Jane gives her a soft smile, an unspoken agreement that they would be okay.

Though it seemed as if everyone was settling down, Catherine Parr had a storm bigger than a hurricane brewing inside. 

––––––––––

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

Catherine Parr let that be the only sound to fill the silence. Normally, it would be music or something, but not tonight.

The calligraphy pen in her hands danced around her fingers, barely having touched the pages of the open notebook. Her vision was still blurred, much to her own surprise. Wrath was a powerful thing, and to have something take over the body for an amount of time would lead to consequences later in the night. In her case, it was a very horrid case of insomnia. While she dealt with insomnia most nights, she had the slightest feeling this was not the typical time to go to bed at 2 in the morning case. The pen began to slow down in her hand, and she held it still for the first time that whole night.

“It’s not the first time you write about how you feel, Cathy. It’s fine. It’s perfectly fine.”

It was not fine.

No matter how many times she told herself it would be fine, she could never believe it. Catherine Parr saw her hand shake, just the slightest, every time she wrote. Every memory from the last few hours was hazy, but simultaneously at the forefront of her mind. The usually clean lines of her penmanship were just the bit off from the feelings. Word after word, the anger began to flow onto the pages like water flowing down a river’s stream. So shaky, and so violent were the movements of Parr’s wrist. In comparison to the surprisingly smooth transition from thought to thought, her actions made her look a little crazed. One could even say she looked oddly desperate to finish writing.

Almost as if she was running out of time.

She was a writer in her past life. An author, really. The woman wrote books, psalms, meditations… name it, she probably has a manuscript of it somewhere. But this? This was not her. This frantic drive to write and write until the pages could take no more and the ink began to go through them was not Catherine Parr. In a way, it was almost symbolic. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.

There it was again. The ticking of the clock.

Time was no longer a relevant thing for Parr. She just let the time go on.

Last she could remember, it was midnight. But nay, the clock spoke otherwise. A glance at it revealed it to be four in the morning. Her hand and wrist were cramped up, and the tears that she felt falling were drying on her face. The pages had become full of nonsensical phrases, mostly a result of the anger still in her system. But that anger began to fade from anger into a depression.

Why couldn’t she be stronger?

Why didn’t she do enough at the moment?

The pain finally struck her heart. Silence began to be her worst enemy, and something she thought she’d never do is what she did. Parr slams her hands on the desk, crying out, almost as if it were a scream or cry for help. The scream was enough to wake up Catherine of Aragon in an instant. A second and third one woke Jane Seymour and Anna of Cleves up. The fourth one got to Anne Boleyn. In a worried hurry, Aragon got out of bed and ran down the stairs to get to the door before almost ramming it down with her own body.

“Cathy? Mija, what’s the–… Cathy?”

What she saw was a torn woman in front of her. Her bandaged hand had a little blood seeping through the ends. Some of the curls were sticking to her face, and her eyes were all puffy and red. Aragon gently pulled Parr up and into a tight embrace. “Escúchame. Todo está bien, Cathy. Estamos en la casa.” Normally, Aragon had a commanding nature that gave off the feeling of someone being safeguarded behind a wall, but this was one of those moments she was willing to let her wall down. Parr’s grip tightened, with the tears coming back and rushing in like an ocean’s grey waves.

Catherine learned just a smidge of Spanish for her godmother. Enough to get by with a conversation or two, but she was not fluent in any way. “Duele, Lina,” a sniffle. “Todo esto duele y no hice lo suficiente para ayudar.” And there was something about her goddaughter using Spanish in such a defeated manner that made Aragon crack a little on the inside. Her own eyes were welling up with tears as she looked to the door.

Seymour, Cleves, and Boleyn.

All three of them with wide eyes and fairly concerned expressions. But it was Anne who saw the tears forming in Aragon’s eyes and threatening to spill. The two lock eyes and it takes everything in Anne to not crack too. She gives Aragon a look that says, ‘Let me try.’ Lina nods and gives Cathy’s hand a small squeeze, and Anne goes and kneels on the floor in front of her. 

The other three stand in the hallway, knowing it was probably best to give the two a moment. “Did that not wake Kitty?” Cleves pauses, and then points in the general direction of Howard’s room, loud classical music streaming through her closed door. 

Anne takes Parr’s hands. “Cathy, please talk to me… please, love.” It takes Parr a moment to look into Boleyn’s eyes, which are also filled with tears at this point. “It kills me to see you hurting.” A hand goes to wipe some tears from Parr’s cheeks. It lingers there, cupping her cheek, Anne’s thumb reflexively going back and forth to wipe more tears as they fall. 

“It kills me to see you hurting.” Her statement is coupled with a small voice crack, and not one that you would usually find endearing. This was out of pure sadness and anger. She sighs. “I should’ve done more.” She looks at the floor, past Boleyn, though her head is now resting on the girl’s hand. 

“He’s the one that deserves to be on a scaffold!” She starts to sob again, leaning forward, and Anne catches her, in a sense. Shaking with anger, she lets it out, nearly soaking Anne’s shirt in a matter of seconds. “He deserves to die! Why is he here?” Her breathing becomes slightly erratic, heaving breaths joining in with shallow sobs. 

The three in the hallway silently elect to let the two work through it. It really seemed as if Anne was the only one who was going to be able to get her to calm down, even if only a fraction. Aragon lingers for a moment, and then decides finally to go back to her room, leaving the door open in case anyone needed anything. Jane does the same, but reads for a few minutes before going back to sleep. 

Anne isn’t sure what to do, so she stands both of them up, having to support Parr a little, and just holds her, swaying back and forth slowly. “Shh… babe… he doesn’t deserve your tears…” Anne, you preach this, yet you’re a mess too. Albeit, a mess because Cathy is crying, but a mess nonetheless. “He… he’s getting his karma. He has to watch us thrive. And he can’t do a damned thing to us. We’re untouchable.” She was also telling herself this. 

Parr nods quietly, latching on to Anne even more, as if letting her go would mean she’d disappear into thin air. Though she hadn’t actually said it, she knew she loved Anne. More than anything, and if punching Henry in the face was what she had to do to protect her, she’d do it every day for the rest of her life. 

“Can I sleep in your room tonight?” She speaks softly, voice scratchy as a result of the outburst. It was nearing five o’clock at this point, but it didn’t matter. With no hesitation, Anne replies with a simple “Of course,”  pulling away slightly to look Parr in the eyes. Those tired, red eyes, still wet with tears formed over a man who didn’t matter one bit. Not in this moment, he didn’t. 

The two make their way to Boleyn’s room, a twin bed being the only place for them, but it would be plenty of space. Anne lays down first, patting the small space next to her for Parr to join. It’s almost as if they’re out as soon as they cover up. 

Kit sleeps through all of this. Perhaps it’s the music blaring from her speakers, or the exhaustion from the events of the day, but it’s the first night the girl doesn’t wake up screaming. The other queens are really surprised to see her downstairs in the morning, looking well rested and pouring herself a cup of tea, seemingly fine. “G’morning.” She yawns, and the others just kind of look at each other as if reality has shifted. “Where are Cathy and Annie?” 

“In bed, still.” 

“Ja.” 

“I should check on them.” Kit says, setting her tea down. Cleves joins her, cringing a little when Kit knocks awfully loudly on the door and pushes it open. “Halt die Klappe, Kit…” Kit turns and looks at her, a puzzled look on her face. Cleves rolls her eyes jokingly, and then whispers again. “You’re too loud.” 

The sight upon opening the door is a combination of comedic and sweet. Parr is absolutely sprawled out on top of Anne, snoring loudly and taking up most of the bed. One of her hands is on Anne’s cheek, as if she had fallen asleep holding the girl’s face. Anne is awake, quietly scrolling through TikTok with headphones in. She looks at the two in the doorframe and smiles, looking down at Parr. ‘We’re okay.’ She mouths, and Jane and Aragon peek in, a small laugh coming from the Spanish queen. It warmed her heart to see the two all bundled up and Parr seemingly at peace, even if only for a moment. 

Parr makes a small noise and shifts, essentially pulling Anne closer and wrapping a leg around her. The ladies all smile, electing to leave the two alone. It was evident that everything would be okay, at least for now. Anne kisses Cathy on the forehead, letting out a happy sigh. Parr subconsciously replies with a small snore, and the two stay there, safe in each other's arms, for most of the day. 

A couple hours seem to pass and it’s about… noon, when Parr starts stirring. Anne notices this, and begins to smile. At least she was waking up. However, things were not going to go to plan, because in comparison to Anne, Catherine was a whole lot taller, and took up just a bit more space. Thinking for a moment she was still in her room, Parr went to try and roll to the other side of the bed, but immediately woke up at not having anything underneath her. A loud enough thudding noise got everyone’s attention.

The other four queens almost immediately ran to the doorframe, and Anne was sitting up.

In typical Boleyn fashion, she was laughing.

Parr on the other hand, was not very happy. “Ow…” Looking up, she just sees the green queen essentially laying back down because of the laughter, and a glance to the doorway reveals four others holding back laughter. “Oh haha, funny that Cathy Parr fell off a bed now is it?”

Through the laughter, Boleyn responds.