So this is just the first of a collection of one-shots I'd like to do, tracing some of the events that have occurred in Tom and Carl's life. Or at least, events that I think occurred in Tom and Carl's life. For those of you that think that slash is a squick factor get out now. This chapter might not be heavy on the male/male romance, but you can bet your bottom dollar that future chapters will have it. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

Tom and Carl entered Betty's hospital room as Seniors.

They'd known for a while that Nita's mother was getting worse. They saw it engraved in the corners of Nita's mouth, lurking in Dairine's eyes and screaming in Harry's movements. Theirs was a solid grief, palpable and strong. It effected more than her immediate family, however; Betty's losing fight to cancer was also etched on Kit's face, in the way he would stare at Nita as though it was his world that was ending too. It had also made its mark on the rest of Kit's family; perhaps his mother's was most obvious, as she had been helping oversee Betty's case for some time in her capacity as a nurse. Even Ponch was devastated by Betty's slowly worsening health, if the howls that Annie and Monty had given were any indication.

Tom and Carl did their best to help in unobtrusive ways, unwilling to intrude on their barely contained grief. Instead, they reminded everyone that they were always willing and ready to lend a friendly ear, something they'd been taken up on more than once. They'd made meals for the Callahan family on nights when they knew that Betty's chemotherapy or other treatments were running late, knowing that Nita and Dairine would refuse point blank to leave and Harry wouldn't have the heart to send them away. Not that he could enforce it, since his children were wizards. Tom in particular had visited Betty occasionally during the day in the hospital when things got so bad that it wasn't possible for her to remain at home by herself any longer. While her family was at school and work respectively, Tom would come bearing stories of the fantastic worlds he and Carl had seen, hoping to ease the boredom of long hours stuck in a hospital room.

Even so, it was unprecedented for Betty to specifically request for them to visit her before the rest of her family had the opportunity to arrive. When Carl had received the call, he and Tom had exchanged significant glances, though Betty refused to specify what it was she needed from them- she said only that she needed the wizards Tom and Carl, not her friends. Carl had commented that the two weren't mutually exclusive, but Betty had remained adamant that they comply to her request.

So they entered Betty's hospital room as Seniors, as she had asked, and as soon as they saw her, both Tom and Carl's eyes went flat and opaque, as pain and rage filled every line of their bodies. They couldn't help it; they knew a little too well how much it hurts to lose a mother, in no small part because Carl had lost his a couple years ago and Tom had been right there through the whole thing. So they ended up adjusting themselves slightly, not quite touching each other, because human contact would cause them to break down, and they couldn't afford that, not here, not now. Not when Nita's mother had all but demanded they come as Senior wizards. So instead they angled towards each other, taking what little comforts they could, with Tom perhaps half a step behind Carl as they took in the changes that the Lone Power had wrought.

What was once a dancer's slimness had turned to a flesh and bones caricature complete with nearly translucent skin and trembling hands. There was a sense of weight to Betty's body, when before she had floated, and a listlessness lingered in her limbs. Her hair had long since disappeared thanks to chemo, and the few wisps that remained were practically colorless. She was hooked up to a thousand machines, it seemed, regulating her heart rate, her breathing, her nutritional intake, her pain. Worse of all were her eyes, however, for that was where the minions of the Lone Power shone as dark points that squealed with glee, knowing that they had succeeded, knowing that they were speeding the entropy of the universe one death faster, and causing pain to a person that had outwitted It more than once in the past.

It was obvious from a single glance that Betty had a matter of hours left.

Carl's hand fisted, moustache practically bristling while Tom simply set his generous mouth in a firm line, raising his head, facing down the Lone Power's work as they had done before and would do again. Then Betty blinked, and the points of darkness vanished, reminding the two Senior wizards that this was not a beaten woman despite all appearances; she had prevailed over the Lone Power both that fateful day when Nita had tried her spell, and every moment since, accepting her death with a grace that neither Senior had been exposed to before. Even now, a shadow of her former glory, there was a steadfastness and surety in her gaze.

She let them take in her appearance in silence, gazing back evenly. When they seemed disinclined to break the silence, Betty smiled slightly, and there was genuine warmth and joy in the gesture. "Tom, Carl, come here," she said, and though her voice was raspy and weak, the same peace and happiness from her smile practically radiated from her voice. She gestured weakly, and Tom and Carl nearly ran into each other and the machinery, causing barely-averted disasters in an effort to keep her from spending energy unnecessarily.

They all looked at each other, and laughed, helplessly, both unable to stop and unable to keep a slightly bitter edge from appearing in their voices. The bitterness lingered a little longer in Betty's voice and face than in Tom and Carl's, and the pair saw the effort it took to set that bitterness and sadness aside. However, she did manage, and returned that intense gaze to them.

For long moments she didn't speak. It didn't seem as though she knew how. Finally, it was Tom who voiced the question, "What can we do for you?" as they sat on her narrow hospital bed. The unspoken, 'as wizards' hung in the air loud and clear, even if the words themselves remained silent.

Betty stilled, the confidence and warmth fading as she lay there on her hospital bed, breathing softly. She looked about to say something, but she was abruptly coughing, pain taking over her features and twisting them. The cough was wet and hacking, and rasped against both Carl's and Tom's nerves; they could sense the Lone Power in the sound. When she finally lowered the hand she'd used to cover her mouth, it was flecked with blood. Both Tom and Carl looked at her with mute sympathy. Carl searched around in his pockets, withdrawing a tissue that Betty used to clean her hands.

"I'm dying," she said as she did it, and there was a flare of absolute agony on her face before she managed to school most of the emotion away. "I'm on more pain medications and medicines than I can count. And I know better than anyone that they're simply not working anymore. These days, between the pain and the fevers and the medication, I'm not truly lucid more than one day in four, and I know that watching me fall apart is killing my family." The last words were strangled, a raw and open wound. She tried for a moment to blink away tears and failed. She angrily tried to dash away the tears, but she didn't have very good control over her limbs these days, so it took several attempts. Tom and Carl sat, hearts tight with sadness, holding back their own tears with little more success.

It's not fair, Carl, Tom whispered into his partner's mind. It's not fair, not like this. He knew he sounded like a child, but death like this was so senseless. It wasn't the death of a wizard going out in a blaze of glory to save their world. It wasn't some dramatic exit. It was just the slow, steady, inexorable sucking of life for no other reason than because this woman's daughter had dared to stop It's plans. It was petty and cruel in such a personal way.

I know it's not, Carl agreed, swallowing hard. So we have to remember to fight for other mothers and daughters. We can't let It win. We have to support the people around us, turn this death into new life and thwart It's plans. And we also have to remember where loved things go in the end.

Timeheart, Tom murmured, and the word was a curse for a moment. Timeheart, he said again, and this time it was a prayer.

"I'm tired," Betty finally whispered into the heavy silence, and her voice cracked. More tears oozed out, dripping slowly down hollow cheeks and there was no sight of the strong woman they glimpsed earlier. Carl turned away, clenching his eyes shut while Tom put a hand over his aching heart, biting his lip. Betty's voice was broken as she continued, "I need your help."

Tom glanced at her sharply, mouth going wide with shock, unable to help his first, instinctual thoughts. "We can't do that," he told her urgently, needing to make her understand. "Even if it would release you from your pain, it would spread entropy that much faster. It would taint us, make it that much easier to take the next life. You've got to stay strong-" Tom petered off, confused at Betty's blank look.

Suddenly her expression cleared. She made a little huffing noise that might have been a laugh, and her tiny smile brightened her face and brought it momentary color. "Not help like that!" she scolded gently, and there was a ghost of laughter in her voice. "I should have been clearer. Achieving It's ends is the last thing I brought you here to do!"

Tom's expression lost it's confusion, and he looked a little abashed. "Sorry, but the way you were talking," he said, motioning helplessly.

Betty shook her head. "My words were vague at best; I can't exactly frown at you for reaching the conclusion you did." Her expression muted a little, and she continued, sober and earnest, "I need your help to remember why I'm making this choice."

Now she was hesitant, the corners of her mouth tightening briefly. "Can you…" she paused, then hurried to justify what she wanted to ask, "I mean, I understand if you can't, and it wouldn't upset me in the least if that was the case, but I thought it might be nice-"

"We can't say yes or no," Carl interrupted rather gently, "until we know what you want us to do."

Betty closed her eyes, clearly gathering courage. "Can you recite the Wizard's Oath?" she asked, voice small.

"The Wizard's Oath?" Tom questioned, looking nonplused. He exchanged a look with Carl.

Can we?

Well, there's not exactly a rule that says 'Wizards are not permitted to share the Oath with non-wizards', Carl responded. It's an unusual request, I'll admit, but isn't the Wizard's Oath an oath to life itself? And if Betty isn't dedicated to Life, I don't know who is. So if she says it will help her, then wouldn't we be doing her a disservice by refusing?

Tom nodded shortly and turned back to Betty. "We can't think of any reason why not, but I should warn you I don't know what will happen. You don't get wizardry unless it's offered to you first, and we can't do the offering. Only the One and the Powers That Be can do that."

Betty shook her head slightly. "It's not about becoming a wizard. I'm too old and too ill, I'd imagine. No, I just want…" she bit her lip, and then said in halting words, "I'd like to know what my daughters swore to fight for at every opportunity, what you swore to fight for. I can't ask this of them, not now. It'd be too…final. I want…" she trailed off, looking frustrated at being unable to coherently explain. "I want to understand what is, in its own way, the core of wizardry, the start of wizardry. I need to remember that when I chose to die," and here her voice quavered for a moment, "I was making the right decision for my family." The devastated look was back, but she still attempted a smile. It fell woefully short. "I want to understand whatever is possible for me to understand so I can…," and she thought for a moment before being suddenly inspired and saying, "so I can put aside fear for courage."

"And death for life," Tom murmured.

"When it is right to do so," Carl finished. Then he reached forward, almost impulsively, and hugged Betty tightly around those frail shoulders. "I think you already understand the most important aspects of wizardry," he muttered into her ear.

Betty hugged him back. "Probably," she agreed, "but a little reminder never hurt anyone."

"No," Tom acquiesced, "it probably doesn't." There was a beat of silence. "Carl?" Tom asked, looking at his partner. He held out his hand.

Carl searched Tom's face, then grabbed Tom's hands. They didn't even have to open their manuals for this, not now, when they'd been wizards for well over twenty years. Not when the minute they'd joined hands, they could feel wizardry bubbling through their veins, could hear the universe quieting for this Wizard's Oath, being spoken here and now.

"Shall we use the Speech?" Tom inquired.

"Yeah," Carl answered. "For this…yeah." They needed no further words.

Tom nodded. Then the pair opened their mouth's, gazes locked on each other, not Betty, because this was a raw encounter for them as well, and they couldn't do this without each other, and began, "In Life's name and for Life's sake, I assert that I will employ the Art which is it's gift in Life's service alone, rejecting all other usages. I will guard growth-" And here they jerked, stopping, pulling their gazes away from each other in order to stare at Betty, who had spoken the words perfectly, despite not know what they were, despite not knowing the Speech. The pair faltered, losing their steady beat.

"And ease pain," she continued in their wake, and there was infinite agony and exhilaration in that voice.

It broke the spell, and Tom and Carl found the beat again, the beat of a million trillion hearts and souls and beings in the universe, picking up where they had left off, and so did Betty, continuing the Oath as though she was fluent in the Speech and knew the Oath by heart. Three voices, not two, twined around the words, "I will fight to preserve what grows and lives well in its own way; and I will change no object or creature unless its growth and life, or that of the system of which it is part, are threatened." As Betty spoke the words- or maybe they were busy speaking her- the pain faded from her face, she sat straighter, color returning to her cheeks. The presence of the Lone Power in Betty's body faded, not gone completely, but diminished. "To these ends, in the practice of my Art, I will put aside fear for courage, and death for life, when it is right to do so- until the Universe's end."

When they finished, Betty sat there as the reality of the hospital room reasserted itself. Tom and Carl marveled at her expression. There were no words for it; it was the expression of someone who had figured out the reason for the universe and found it to be greater than they imagined. Betty briefly seemed more real than the room they occupied. Her inner glow faded a little and the two wizards gaped at her. Betty smiled, brightly, brilliant, and Carl was shocked that the room didn't implode from the intensity.

Tom and Carl both tried to speak, but Betty cut off anything they might have said with a raised hand. "In wizardry, you always get what you paid for."

Carl wanted to know what she had paid for, exactly, to put that expression, that intense joy and serenity and love on her face, but instead he found himself asking, "And the price?" Though his tone was tight, his eyes were worried and deeply sad.

"Life," Betty returned simply. "I've got until 2:37 tonight, and then I'll die at 3:04."

Tom blanched. Unable to things of anything else, he said, "That's oddly specific."

Betty shrugged a little. "It's one of the things that I paid for," she responded cryptically. She studied the two Seniors before her with new eyes. "Thank you, for that," she said, and her eyes warmed with the words. "Thank you so much. I am not afraid." The tears were starting again, for Betty as well as for Tom and Carl. "And I'll miss you, desperately, for everything you've done for me, because you have treated me like family, but also for my daughters, and the things you've done for them. You're helping them flourish into good people." Betty's eyes streamed, and her voice was choked, but Tom and Carl could tell that she meant her words deeply, and were moved by them.

"I know you can't control what problems the Powers That Be send them, but keep them safe when you can. They look up to both of you a lot, and trust your opinions." Betty managed a small and genuine smile despite the tears. "And for good reason. Harry too, keep an eye on him and help when you can. Make sure he knows that he doesn't need to mourn forever. And Kit, make sure you watch him. Nita would be devastated if anything ever happened to him. Of course, also look out for each other, be careful and continue to love each other," they started, and she gave them the mother's stink-eye, "And don't give me that 'I don't know what you're talking about' farce because I wasn't born yesterday. The way you treat each other is the way all couples should treat each other. Lead by example." She thought for a moment, sniffling a little, and said, "I'm sure I'm forgetting things to say, but I'll just cover all my bases by saying I love you, and I'd better not see you in Timeheart too soon." Betty sat there, and though she was crying, she couldn't help grinning a little at the gob-smacked expressions on their faces.

If she had been inclined to continue, Tom and Carl would never know, because Nita burst in at that moment. She smiled brightly at her Seniors, and then even wider at how well her mother looked at the moment. "Hey, you look great today!" she complimented.

Dairine shoved past her sister. "Yeah, Mom, you do," she exclaimed, immediately coming over to sit next to Tom and Carl on Betty's bed. "Hey Tom, Carl, what's up?"

Betty closed her eyes for a moment, then put a worn and trembling hand on Dairine's. "Dairi, dear, could you ask your father if he can get someone to cover the store in the morning?"

Dairine looked at her mother for a second, confused. Then the blood drained from Dairine's face slowly. Tom could practically see her shattering. "Mom," she whispered, voice broken. She looked about to say more, and Carl could see the flush rising in Dairine's cheeks like she was going to fly into a temper, but her mother was already turning to Nita. Hands fisted, Dairine left again, eyes glassy.

"Nita, I'd like to see Kit tonight too, if it's alright with you." Nita was ashen as well, hand covering her mouth as though it could hold in her grief.

Nita swallowed dryly for a few moments and then licked her lips. "Yeah, Mommy," she said in a small voice. "I can talk to him right now, and he can be over in a couple of minutes. He can do the 'beam-me-up-Scotty' spell." She went silent, eyes slightly unfocused for a moment, and then they cleared. "Kit's on his way."

Harry came in then, and he looked no better than his daughters. "Honey," he said, turning the word into a plea.

Betty held out her arm. "We knew we didn't have forever, Harry. And this is it. The only thing we can do now is enjoy it. Now come here."

Harry moved in to hug and kiss his wife, face pale and drawn and infinitely sad, as were the faces of his daughters. Tom and Carl stood, backing away slightly from the bed. "Maybe we should head out," Tom said in an undertone, wishing that there was something he could do or say to make these people, who had become like a family to him, feel better.

"Nonsense!" Came from several throats at one. Tom and Carl looked at the Callahan family in surprise. Harry, Nita, Dairine and Betty had all said it at once, breaking any tension that Tom and Carl felt. Suddenly, even the small, cramped hospital room was comfortable enough for them all to remain.

"You're one of us now," Harry said, putting on as cheerful a face as he could manage.

"Yeah," Dairine chimed in. "Mom says you keep dropping by to tell her stories, Tom. Why does she get all the good stuff?" she complained, fragile smile on her face.

"You too, Carl. Tom can't be the only one with good stories," Nita teased, tightness in her mouth easing a little.

Tom and Carl exchanged a long glance. It looked like they were going to enjoy this night as if it were any other; now was not the time for pointless recriminations and sadness. There would be joy and love in the room this night.

It was about that point that Kit joined them, rushing in and carefully hugging Betty and Nita as tightly as he could manage. They spent their time sharing childhood stories, telling weird facts about themselves, laughingly exchanging playful complaints and teases. Tom and Carl did leave, eventually, with Kit, but they didn't go far. They were waiting for the call they all knew would be coming. So they lingered in the hospital cafeteria, sipping bad coffee and sharing painful glances and worried touches. The minutes dragged by, until 3:30 that morning, when Nita and Dairine came down, shattered, and Tom and Carl and Kit snapped into action despite their own oppressive grief, because even now Life was going on.

And even later, when the other important matters were settled and they were wrapped in each other's arms in the serenity of their own home, Carl said, "There's always Timeheart," which gave them both tacit permission to cry.

End