Feather Bed

Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer, I therefore do not own any thing.

Author's Note: Not only do I not own anything I am also not qualified to argue religion. If you are qualified I still don't want to argue, it's not nice to attack an unarmed opponent. This is just a bit of fluff that came to me after reading some of the Cromwell - centric fanfiction and I used it to soften the blow of his death in 3.08.

Summary: Either he as alive and the last year had been a grim nightmare or the good Sir Thomas More had been wrong. Thomas Cromwell in Heaven. Warning: fluff.

Thomas Cromwell became aware of his surroundings. He was on a feather bed. Either he was alive and the last year had been a grim nightmare or he was dead and the good Sir Thomas More had been wrong.

"Open your eyes Thomas, I know you are awake." A female voice said playfully. It was a voice he hadn't heard in years, and one he'd missed with all of his soul.

"Elizabeth?" He asked opening his eyes. Brown met blue.

"Hello Thomas." He sat up with the same force used to hurl boulders for miles and a speed that brought his forehead in solid contact with another. Cromwell say back rubbing his head, although he felt no pain, even if he had he wouldn't have registered it. He was face to face with his wife, his Elizabeth.

"Beth!" He exclaimed embracing her, hands and lips everywhere at once, he nuzzled her hair; he kissed her lips, his hands finding that she was indeed his beloved. She responded with kisses and caresses of her own.

But how? He lost her thirteen years ago – sickness had taken away all that was good in the world. He had been shattered. But now he was whole.

"You're dead Thomas." Elizabeth said bluntly once his lips relinquished hers. Her manor, her voice it was what had drawn him to her those years ago. That as well as her eyes, her smile, and her wit. Her perfection in his eyes.

"This is-"

"Heaven? Indeed it is." She finished. He had been so afraid – so afraid of hell, so afraid that not only was his Reformation wrong but that everything as wrong. "Don't get a head about you; Heaven is for those who believed not those who believed one thing." Beth said reading his mind.

"How?"

"I do not know, nor is it my place – or yours, to know. It is." He toyed with one of her curls as she spoke, it had been his habit in life, to be doing it again in conjunction with all he was being told should have blown his mind, but it had not. Acceptance was all that he felt.

"So that means-"

"Sir Thomas More is here,"

"Does he-"

"He is enlightened." She cut off his thought.

"More enlightened than he was? It is possible?" He was dead but sarcasm was alive and well.

"Don't be snide, he acted has he thought best – as did you. You're definitions differed but that does not undermine the man." She took his hand and held his eye. He understood that now, it took his Elizabeth to make him see. What would he do with out her – what did he do without her?

"You did just fine." Elizabeth said, "No I cannot read your thoughts, just you. You have always been an open book to me Thomas." It was true; she was the one person he allowed himself to be completely as he was.

"I love you so much." He whispered pulling her close to him and holding her, determined to make up for their separation with one touch. "I dreamed of you every night, I wrote to you, so often I thought you were still with me, I could hear you in my head, I could feel you."

"I was with you Thomas," Elizabeth said pulling back and cupping his cheek, "Just as you were with me. We had a bond that death could not break. Our love never died although we did." In her eyes he saw true heaven; he saw a love that was his everything. It was said that God is love. God was shining in Elizabeth's cerulean gaze.

"Would you like to see him?"

"Who?"

"More. You need his forgiveness, your guilt…" she was right, she was always right. He took her hand, restoring her to her rightful place beside him.

To describe heaven he could not. Just like he saw Elizabeth – it was her hair, her eyes, her body, her smile, but her outfit he did not know. He was more aware of other things, not physical but spiritual. Pure light. Pure love. Pure knowledge.

"Sir Thomas." Elizabeth said addressing a man. He turned. It was More, hat and all. Cromwell froze: what could he say to this man? They'd disagreed; he'd brought about the man's sure death with the Act of Succession and that Oath. Neither had thought the other had a place in their heaven.

"Oh Thomas, you'll get alone fine, we do and I was the reformer in the family, remember?" Elizabeth laughed. She had truly been reform minded; his reformation was merely her torch. "You have more in common that you think." She added giving him a little nudge. He turned to stare at her.

"Like what?" In life he would have been appalled, but now he was simply skeptical.

"You both love uppity women for one." She flashed her mischievous smile, the men laughed. But the mirth was short.

"You're well within your right to strike me." Cromwell said, "I deserve it."

"You're right, but it does nothing." More said, Cromwell nodded.

"Thank-" More's fist connected with Cromwell's face. But that was it. No pain. His eyes did not water; his nose and lip did not bleed.

"Feel better?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not really." "Didn't feel a thing." The Thomases said.

"Forgive me?" Cromwell asked extending his hand,

"For I have sinned." More finished shaking his rivals hand and putting their grudge to rest.

Thomas and Elizabeth left more and walked, simply enjoying each other's company.

"My head is attached – right?" Thomas asked after a time, stopping. He had not thought about it until that moment. More had been in one piece as well. Elizabeth crowed with laughter.

"It is on as straight as it ever way." She kissed his forehead. "He has allowed so that each person here is in the best condition to receive him. I am not sick." She smiled.

"And I have my head."

"It is a very handsome head. The elderly are of sound mind and body although he grants stability, not youth."

"What about the youths that die? The babies, the children?"

"I do not know, perhaps Alexandria and Margaret should explain."

If Thomas's heart had still worked it would've stopped at his wife's words. Alexandria Grace had been their first child. A beautiful baby girl, he'd held her in his arms and fell in love. That day, May 15th, 1510, he'd vowed to protect her no matter what. To do everything in is power to make her safe and make her happy. She was only a few hours old and he'd surrendered himself to her. Gregory was born two years later and his life was complete. A beautiful wife whom he adored, two children he planned to spoil, a job that provided a comfortable living.

And then one night when Alexandria was five she came to their bed feeling ill. She did not improve by morning. For three days and nights he and Elizabeth took turns sitting with their daughter and keeping vigil at Church. They confessed to and atoned for every sin, they lit as many candles as they could, said rosary upon rosary, prayed to every saint, and paid the priests as much as they could. And yet it did no good. June 3rd, just after her fifth birthday God called Alexandria to him.

It was then that Elizabeth broke with Rome. The Church had done nothing but take their money and demand ritual. She didn't want someone to talk to God for her; she wanted to do it herself. Only then would she know that it was done, only then would God truly hear her. Thomas had been unsure; one did not have a direct line to God, only the Church.

And then they lost Margaret and Thomas knew – the Church did not have the ear of God.

Elizabeth had been pregnant when Alexandria had died. He prayed for a daughter, not to be a replacement of Alexandria but an extension. God gave them a girl. Margaret Anne.

She did not make it out of the nursery. She died at the age of one and was buried beside her sister along with is faith in the Church.

When he had prayed to God for a daughter, God had listened. When he asked a priest to pray to God to keep their daughter with them God had taken her. It was painfully clear that the Church had failed them. Thomas joined his Elizabeth in reform, and when she passed he carried on, for he knew it was what she would've wanted.

His musings were cut short but cries of "Papá!" In a flash he was embracing two young women; his heart knew them even if to his eyes they were strangers. He cried for a joy he had never known. Elizabeth cried as well. A father was reunited with his daughters.

"Let me see you." Thomas said pulling away, this – this meeting, was his deepest desire while he lived.

They were beautiful, exact replicas of their mother, a blessing for he would not make a handsome daughter. Neither seemed to be the age they would've been had they lived, they were instead of in descript age – neither children nor mature women.

Alexandria was tall and slim with his dark eyes but her mother's smile and light hair. Margaret was shorter with his tight curls and raven locks; if her hair was straight it would rival Queen Katherine's in length.

"Hello Papá." Margaret said. He was awed by all he had missed, all that he did not yet understand. "It is good to finally speak with you." It was possible, he broke down further.

"My girls. My girls." He gathered them to him, tears flowing freely.

"My family." Elizabeth sniffed, crying herself.

"Not quite." Alexandria pulled away, Gregory as suddenly visible.

"How?" He asked, unsure of how many shocks he could handle.

"I told you," Elizabeth said wrapping her arms around his waist. "I was always with you and you were always with me." He understood. Drawing his daughters to him they watched Gregory.

He was no longer wanting; he was no longer scheming, no longer worrying. He was right where he should be, beside his wife, with his daughters, watching his son grow. He was united with his family. He was truly in heaven.

Thomas Cromwell was finally at peace.

Alexandria is named for the story 'Never Just Simple Friends' by Diary, a good read. Margaret stems from the fact there seems to only be eight female names in Henry's day and Anne, Katherine, Mary, and Elizabeth are all in use or over use.