Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing. I am also not a singer; Sarah Brightman and Andrew Lloyd Webber own "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again".

Pairing: Thomas Cromwell/ Elizabeth Wyckes Cromwell, Angst.

Summary: 472 Years ago, July 28th, Thomas Cromwell was put to death at leisure of the King.
There is nothing I can write that is a fitting tribute to the man, but I tried.

"Thomas, come back to bed – it's Saturday." Elizabeth Cromwell yawned, peeking out from the cocoon of the comforters to find her husband at his small writing table, his side of the bed cold – empty for a long time. The rain beat against the roof, dull, constant, and lulling. The air was crisp in the bedchamber, though Thomas had stoked the fire. Thunder rolled in the distance.

"There is much I must do, go back to bed, Bess, it is early." The clock on the mantle had yet to chime six. Elizabeth's blue eyes came into focus as she became more awake, she rolled her cornflower gaze and propped herself up on an elbow. She gave her husband a very serious expression.

"The only thing you need to be doing is me. Come back to bed." She arched her back a little to further her point and smiled wickedly as from across the room she could see her beloved's eyes darken. He looked back at the page before him. Thunder rolled, low and deep, closer than before. Finishing the word he was writing he sat the quill aside and with a wolfish grin crossed the room to his wife.

Elizabeth moaned a happy little moan as he rejoined her in bed, reaching across the large expanse of their mattress to pull her against him. He kissed her with all the power of the thunderstorm going on around them, large hands making the thin cover of her night gown useless. She clung to the front of his shirt, pulling him as close as she possibly could. A clap of thunder shook the windows around them but they were too lost in each other to notice.

~X~

Liam was not hired to think. He was hired to clean and manage The Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula. And that was what he did. Thinking was not really required. So no, he did not think the Tower was haunted. He didn't think it was logical given the number of prisoners and executions that the old stone walls had seen. He didn't think at all, it wasn't his place.

Yet sometimes as he went about his business he'd see things. At first he thought it was just his mind playing tricks. The emaciated figure, the deathly pale woman obscured by a long black veil was not real. She was not a ghost just a manifestation of every stupid story he'd heard in the servant's quarters since he'd received his job. The first few times he'd pushed her from his mind and chose to ignore what his eyes had seen.

And then he'd heard the weeping. It was not the ethereal whimper described in tales or the shrill wailing that brought chills and terror to his spine. Instead it was a heart wrenching sob, the kind of sound a person made when they had lost everything they had ever loved. It was the kind of cry his mother had when his father passed. It was the kind of anguish he had had when his mother died; joining Pop not long after he was buried.

The weeping echoed through the chapel, but Liam found the crying ghost soon enough. She was stretched along the floor lying over one of the stones, her golden head buried in her veil and in her arms. One thin hand was stretched out, pale fingers curling around the lip of the stone where it had been pried up and replaced. A lover's ring reflected the candle light the worn inscription only partially legible. None the less the recognized the ring and he recognized the stone. He recognized the woman.

"Lady Cromwell?" He asked softly. She made no reply, other than to claw a little more fervently at the seal of the stone which separated her from her husband's body. Liam felt a pang for the woman and did not ask her to leave. He went back to his work and by the time he had finished the sound of her weeping had faded into the sounds of sleep brought by heartbreak and exhaustion.

~X~

"Elizabeth." His voice was calling to her but it was so faint she wasn't sure if she heard it or wished it. "Elizabeth!" He called again. Oh how she loved to hear him say her name. It was such a common name, Elizabeth, one everyone used, everyone said – to her or to others. But no one said it quite the same way he did. He could make that plain name, that ordinary name sound so special. He made her feel special. Always had. It was his voice. Before she had realized she'd fallen in love with him she'd fallen in love with his voice.

He could read her a shopping list or the dullest, most obscure, complicated law he'd ever written and she would hang on his every word. Tears began to fall anew.

She would never hear him say her name again. Never hear him joke or whisper endearments. She would never hear his voice again.

The bells tolled and slowly Elizabeth began to wake from her tearful slumber. The stone floor was cold beneath her, though so was everything else. Since that July day she'd never felt warm again. She sat up slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the empty chapel. As a young woman she had thought this place had been beautiful, the colors the stained glass painted on the floor had been like nothing she had ever seen before.

Now she hated it. The chapel was cold and dark, full of weeping angels and severe monuments to severe people. The light filtering in through the windows had no warmth. Beneath the floor were the bodies of both sinners and of saints. None of it seemed right. Not for her Thomas, not for their love.

He didn't deserve to be shoved under the floor, lumped into a category with the nameless; the others who had died by the King and were only remembered by their families and their infamy. He deserved to be buried with his family, beside his children – beside her, where he would be remembered as a loving man. A smart man, a funny man. Her man. Not just a body under a stone.

"Elizabeth!" This time she was certain she could hear his voice. It was loud, and clear, and firm, just as it had been when he had been with her. It was his serious tone, the one he used when he wanted her attention and she had been too busy joking or flying off the handle. He had been her ballast in all things.

She turned around, peering about the room, searching for the source of his voice. For the figment of her imagination. She found him crossing the room towards her, dressed in the dark breeches and coat he favored since they had been young and newly wed. New tears, ones she did not think she had in her to shed sprang to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. He looked so handsome, so healthy, so real.

But he was gone and she was alone.

"Thomas," she whispered. He was before her now, taking her hand in his and pulling her to her feet. His touch was feather light and icy cold.

"How-how are you here?" She asked him, her hands wrapping around his and hoping to never let go.

"I am never truly gone." He replied. "But I needed to speak with you and I hoped that perhaps if you could see me you would listen." He gave her one of his wry little smiles. "There is a first time for everything, is there not?"

"You-you've come b-back to-" She could not finish the sentence. It was so like Thomas to come back from the dead just to get one last bit of banter in. If she didn't adore him she would hate him for being so cruel.

"No, it's something more important than that. Elizabeth, my only, you need to stop living like this." She tore her hands away.

"Living like what?" She asked angrily, "Thomas I am living in mourning! My husband is dead! He was taken from me! He was murdered! Thomas you are gone." More tears fell. Her throat felt bloody and raw, she was dizzy, she was sick.

"But Bess, you're not living! You are wasting away in this church; you have become a fixture here like one of the weeping angels. But Elizabeth, you are a person, love, you are alive." Thomas crossed to her once more and gathered her up in his arms. His embrace was like winter itself but Elizabeth did not care; she clung to him with all of her might. In this moment all of her wishes had come true. She could feel his lips on her crown and the way his large hands combed through her long hair.

"I have wished for so long that you might be here again." She told him softly.

"I know. That is why I have come because you need to say good bye – we need to have closure, and it is not found sleeping on the floor or wondering the court like a ghost when you are a woman. Elizabeth, you need to begin to live again."

"I can't, Thomas, I can't. Not without you."

"Yes you can, love; you're stronger than you think." He cupped her cheek with a large hand, thumb brushing away the tears that stained her face. She looked up into his dark eyes and saw the love that had been there when he was alive. Their vows were a lie; even death would not stop their love.

"I will never remarry." She told him firmly. His serious gaze softened and for a moment she could see that silly little flame of masculine pride flair once again - the one that lit his eyes every time they appeared together in court, when he could walk with her on his arm and tell every jealous man that she was his.

"I am not asking you to. I am asking you to try to live. To be with people again. To be happy, to smile. No more memories, no more tears, no more lamenting. You and Gregory are still alive, his children are still growing, there are still reasons to be happy, to enjoy life. I want you to do that. You can miss me and you can love me still. That doesn't mean that you cannot smile. Please, Elizabeth." She reached up and pulled his dark head down towards hers, locking their lips in a fierce kiss.

When she opened her eyes again, after her lungs had lost their last bit of air she was alone in the church once more, a Broad smile illuminating her face.

~X~

You were once my one companion
You were all that mattered
You were once a friend and father
Then my world was shattered

Wishing you were somehow here again
Wishing you were somehow near
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed
Somehow you would be here

Wishing I could hear your voice again
Knowing that I never would
Dreaming of you helped me to do
All that you dreamed I could

Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental
Seem for you the wrong companion, you were warm and gentle

Too many years
Fighting back tears
Why can't the past just die!

Wishing you were here again
Knowing we must say goodbye

Try to forgive
Teach me to live
Give me the strength to try!

No more memories
No more silent tears
No more gazing across the wasted years

Help me say goodbye
Help me say goodbye!