Chapter Text
This truly is peace.
It’s not Heaven, it’s not God. It’s peace.
There’s no fear or doubts or self-punishment. There are only tranquil feelings that brush through my soul. Something relaxing. It soothes your loud past and the anxiety that you felt once.
It’s nothingness. It’s good.
I am carrying on, my little puff.
Before I can even think about what is going on, about what this pull means, I reappear in another place.
I don’t know where I am, but I know what this feels like. I’m back on Earth. I’m almost solid, but…
I’m a Visitor.
That’s impossible. I don’t have any unfinished business.
I look around to a numerous family with so many people and different types of couples.
I recognize no one. I don’t know where I am. Why am I here? I’m about to apologize when I meet a pair of eyes I feel in love with, so many years ago.
“Natasha!” Malcolm shouts and stands from his seat, even when I can see the years are getting to him now. He’s still so lovely. I hug him and I sigh contently as I feel him solid against me. “You’re here,” he squeezes me tighter. As much as he can with 73 years on, if I’m correct. I always wished to grow old with him, watch him wrinkled and white hair.
“I am, my love,” I cry.
“Basil told me you came back last time the Veil lifted. That he couldn’t see you,” I back away from him, not so much, because I’ve got 2 minutes.
“I did,” I say, “I met his roommate instead.”
“The Mage–,” I hear another familiar voice, older and deeper, “he kidnapped Baz so you wouldn’t be able to Visit him,” I leave Malcolm’s warm, strong arms to turn around and I’m surprised by seeing Simon Snow, older and softer, stronger, still with red, dragon wings behind him. And a tail that moves around.
“Snow,” I say as I’m still in shock from watching him sitting right here.
“Actually, that’s not my–,” he starts, but he’s interrupted by another voice.
“Nothing, Snow,” I turn to look at the voice and my eyes water at the sight of my son. “Hello, Mother.”
I hurry to get my arms around him, and he stays put (great spell in other contexts).
“Snow is here for–,” he tries to excuse himself.
“I love you, Baz. I love you with everything you have. Vampire, gay, it’s all you. I love you and I always will. I would never hate you, my little puff. I missed you,” he finally wraps his arms around me.
“I missed you, mum,” he sinks his face on my neck and I lean into him. Pressing a kiss on his head, on his hair, on his forehead; anywhere I can.
I move away to hold his face into my hands, and I wipe his tears; he leans into my touch.
“I’ve never hated you,” I continue, he closes his eyes as he hears my voice. “Never. And if I had stayed alive, I would have loved you with the same intensity I do now,” he opens his eyes and watches me with such pain and vulnerability that it makes my heart sink. “I died because I was trying to protect you and your father. I don’t hate you. Do you understand?” he nods and another tear falls. “I’m so proud of you, of the man you’ve become,” he places his hand over mine. “I love you and I’ve been there for you all these years. I was in the Catacombs. I was there. I was listening to everything you had to say, every complain about anything, I heard you,” he rolls his eyes.
“How embarrassing.”
“It was not. I loved it all. The days you came filled with happiness for getting into the football team or when you mastered the spell you used to freshen the flowers you brought to my tomb. A few flourishes of your own,” he laughs but it’s wet. It’s a sob. “When you couldn’t handle the pressure. When you were down. I was there, my son,” another tear that I wipe. “Thank you for coming back every day to the Catacombs. You’re the reason I was sane after all those years in the dark. Thank you. I failed you as a mother when you thought I would despise you, I don’t. I love you, so much it hurts,” he hips, and I kiss his forehead, his crooked nose, his tears. He holds both of my forearms.
“Thank you, mum,” his voice is trembling. “I can’t say how much that means to me.”
I know what it means. I was there listening to how he would want us to be proud of him, just him, not his grades or his magic. Our son. I’m proud of my Baz.
He sniffs and wipes his face, to take me by the back to introduce me to everyone.
I’m happy to find Lucy there finally hugging her son. Both of them crying.
Basil ignores them for now, they’ll talk about it.
“This is Penelope and Shepard,” he points at a lovely couple, both with glasses, a black man with a tiny woman on a skirt, sitting on his thigh. They wave and I do so back. “This is Agatha and Niamh,” he points at two women: a tall, wide woman with a blonde, skinny woman holding her hand.
“This is Wellbelove?” I ask, looking at Baz and I hear a couple of laughs. From Agatha and Simon, holding his mum.
“So, you talked about me to your mum, Pitch?” Agatha mocks him, but he rolls his eyes and ignores her. He’s fond of her.
“These are my siblings,” he points at two grown-ups who look exactly the same, and someone older, black hair short and a young adult man. “These are Petra and Sophie,” he points at the twins. “This is Mordy, Mordelia,” he points at the oldest sister, “and Swithin, my brother,” he points at the man. “This is my biological mother,” he specifies. I wave at them all. Shyly, because I’m a complete stranger for them.
Basil takes a breath after introducing everyone, but we’re still missing some people.
“You know Fiona, and–” he says, pointing at my sister, with my wedding band, holding…
“Nicodemus,” I say. “Yeah, we’ve met.”
“Tasha,” Fiona says, but my time is running out.
“Hello, sis,” I say. “I love you. Don’t make any more stupid mistakes,” she’s about to complain, but I stop her with my hand. “I’m happy for you two.”
“And–,” Basil continues, but he gets interrupted by a girl that must be old enough to go to Watford. He takes her in his arms, and she reaches out a hand to me. “This is Luz Natasha, your granddaughter,” he says, and I look into his eyes. “We named her after you two,” I glance at the girl, and she looks like a face I used to look at when I was in the Catacombs.
Long, heavy, black curls spilling from her head. Brown skin, like mine and Basil’s if he hadn’t been bitten; and freckles scattered around her face. A widow’s peak and a face that’s been made for growling.
I can feel Lucy next to me with her son.
“This is your grannie, love,” Basil says to his daughter, and she smiles at me. Her blue, greyish eyes wrinkling at the corners, like Lucy’s and Simon’s.
“You married Snow,” I say as I watch a red tail wrapping around Baz’s wrist.
“He bewitched me body and soul,” Snow says, Baz rolls his eyes. Just like he used to when they assisted Watford.
“Pride and Prejudice,” I approve and nod to him.
“Baz read it to me after I took his last name,” Simon grants. Baz just looks at him. “Simon Snow Salisbury-Grimm-Pitch.”
“Long ass last name, if you ask me,” Fiona says from the back.
Lucy and I hold our sons, now married and with a daughter who holds our names.
We’re starting to fade, and they notice it. He presents me the last person. Lucy holds her son.
“This is Daphne.”
“Thank you,” I say to the woman who’s sitting next to Malcolm, holding his hand. She’s pretty. “Thank you for taking care of my family. I know they can be needy sometimes,” I joke, and she laughs with me.
“Malcolm, you’re an adult,” I say as Malcolm hugs my leg to keep me from walking away. He’s sitting on the floor, with my leg between his crossed legs and his arms, leaning his head in my thigh.
“No,” he pouts and grips my leg harder. I sigh.
“I can’t give the two of you the attention you all need at the same time,” I say to him, over the crying of my son. “Malcolm,” I say harder, but he just shakes his head.
Sometimes marrying and having a child is like having two kids.
“Thank you,” I cry out to Daphne who’s now standing, and I hug her.
My time is running out. I’m starting to fade.
Lucy kisses her son once more and stays by my side.
“I’ll carry on just like you did,” I see how my words affect Basil, because he thought I wasn’t listening, he was wrong. “I was there, my son,” he smiles sweetly, tears reappearing in his eyes.
I take Lucy’s hand, but it doesn’t touch her, we’re almost gone.
“I love you, my rosebud boy,” Lucy says, and Simon starts sobbing. “I visited you, that night, after Tasha did.”
“Mum–,” he sobs, Basil holds him.
I look at Malcolm and he smiles, fondly, not in love, but loving; his heart belongs to someone else now. I smile at him and his wife.
I smile at my sister. To my Basil’s friends and his siblings. And his daughter and husband.
“I love you, Baz.”
“I love you,” he replies.
“I was there, my love. Always. Remember…” it’s almost a whisper, but he hears me. I know he does:
“I’m here, my little puff.”