Where the Story Ends
D/c: Do not own.
Max lay a baseball glove on the grave before her, mouth twisted to keep sorrow at bay. She didn't know what he liked, not really, but then again, none of them did. Flowers would have surely been rejected, and she couldn't really fly to France and buy him a cup of coffee from his café…(it had quickly become his, in their brief interlude there).
The wind was blowing strongly that day, rustling the leaved in the trees, knocking those last few suckers off to join their friends on the floor.
She reached up, tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. He had only been seven after all, none of them could really forget that.
She pressed the fingers of her right hand to her mouth, pressed those fingers to the grave stone before her. It was all right, she supposed. They could all live on, for him.
It was the least they could do.
…
She landed rather awkwardly, backpedaling, as to not run into the mob that was standing at the door to her home.
"Momma!" she heard moments before being bum-rushed by four unmentionable beasts.
She hugged each of them in turn, as best as she could, and they clung to her, all chattering inceasantly, leaving her to wonder if they really were her kids, or if it was some sick joke and Nudge was their mother. Her warm gaze slid from the youngest, Mara, and her twin Tammy. At three, they were a handful, but so cute with their wide black eyes. The difference was easy, since Mara took after her mother with light hair, and Tammy the opposite. She moved on to Connor, the always-grinning six year old that always seemed to take the brunt of the twin's emotions (mostly because he would cause the upheavals, she supposed). He took a bit after his father, with his pale skin that almost refused to tan. Dean, at ten, was coming along nicely, and almost taller than his mother. His blond hair was darkening by the day, now almost a dark brown, with blue eyes that were unmistakably hers. "Where are Sorcha and Finn?" she asked, referring to the eldest two.
"Up here, Mom!" she heard Sorcha call from above.
Max tilted her head back, shielded her eyes from the sun, and smiled. Her eldest children slid from their perches in the trees above, and landed quietly on their feet beside her. Though she wouldn't admit it, they were her favorites. They were taller than her, taking after their father in height, and extremely slender. Their black hair reached their waists, and the only way to tell them apart was the slightly evident curves of woman-hood on Sorcha. Finn stood beside his twin, melancholic expression in usual place. She hugged Sorcha, and simply patted Finn on the shoulder, knowing his aversion to touching.
There was a rustling behind her, and she turned to see Fang standing almost immediately behind her. With a sigh of contentment, she slid forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his softly. His long arms slid around her waist, slender fingers pressing into the groove between her wings. "Welcome home," he murmured against her lips.
She turned shining eyes to her-their-children and looked back to him. "This is where the story ends." She murmured.