Not my strongest, I'll admit, but I did just start school. I can't believe this is the end! Crazy. Absolutely crazy.

As always, I own nothing.

"Daddy?"

Bert looks up from the tray he's preparing. "Yes, Beth?" he asks his daughter.

"When is Mum going to get better?"

He sighs, his lips drawing into a thin line. "Y'know, Beth, I can't tell y' that exactly. Your mum's doin' 'er best, but we 'ave t' be patient."

It's been four days since Bert and Mary visited Uncle Albert. Though Bert still hadn't been thrilled, it was her decision to make and he had promised to stand by her no matter what. The whole process, once Uncle Albert had completely made sure that this was what Mary wanted, hadn't taken long, hadn't even been complicated. Albert had taken Bert aside before, warning him that though everyone has a different response to the loss of immortality, these first few days were going to be, for lack of a better term, hell as Mary's body learned to handle a life with substantially less magic. She had been just fine, if a little tired, long enough for him to get her home, just in time. He's thankful they sent the kids to Mrs. Corry for the day because the moment they step through the door, Mary had stumbled and collapsed into his arms, complaining that the room had started to spin. He hurried her to bed and ever since then she's stayed there, fighting off a bad fever now that her body has to fight it without magic to help. He can only hope that once she comes through it, he will never see her so ill again.

"I wish she'd get better," Beth comments. "Nothing's fun without her."

Bert pulls his daughter into his arms. "I know, Beth, I know. Me too. But y' know she's doin' 'er best. She'd never let you an' your brother alone like this if she could 'elp it. Be patient, love. We all 'ave t' be. Now go play with your brother."

Beth leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "Love you, Daddy," she says offhandedly before scampering off to find Chris.

He smiles, noting that she's skinned her elbow, probably hanging around her brother. Chris can get a little rough when he forgets how much smaller his little sister is. Mary tends to laugh and remind him to be careful, but Bert will watch them vigilantly, ready to leap in the moment Elizabeth gets hurt. His wife teases him for being so ridiculously overprotective, but he would do anything to keep his little girl safe.

With that same smile on his face, Bert gathers up the tray and goes into the bedroom he shares with his wife. "Mary," he whispers, trying to see if she's awake.

Bert heaves a sigh when he sees her and puts down the tray again. Mary has kicked all the sheets off the bed; she's covered in nothing more than her nightgown that is clinging to the thin layer of sweat on her skin. Her hair is plastered to the sides of her face and she's thrashing around; instantly he recognizes that she's having a nightmare. He takes a rag and dips it into a pitcher of cool water he's placed on the nightstand for this purpose.

He sits on the side of the bed and lays the wet rag across her forehead; she stops tossing and turning, so he dips the rag again, pressing it under her jaw and to her wrists, trying to cool the blood running through her body.

She lets out a small whimper and it breaks Bert's heart. He'd give anything not to see her like this. The pitcher nearly falls to the ground when he dips the rag once more in a hurry, not bothering to squeeze it out. He pulls her into his arms and puts the cloth back on her forehead. "Shh, Mary, shh," he comforts her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "'s all right. I'm 'ere. I'm right 'ere."

After a few moments, her eyes flutter open. "Bert?" she coughs.

"Mary!" he nearly yells and she winces. "Sorry. 's just… you're awake!"

"Have I been asleep long?" Her voice is weak and terribly nasally.

"On an' off," he answers casually. "Three days."

Mary's eyes spring open and she tries to get out of bed. "Chris and Beth must be-"

He closes his arms around her waist and pulls her back against him. "They're just fine."

"But-"

"Mary, you're sick. I know y' don't understand this, but y' need your rest."

"Bert, I have to-" She's cut off by a coughing fit. He just gives her a pointed look and she collapses back against his chest. "Is it going to be like this every time I get sick?"

"No," he promises. "This is pretty bad."

"This is miserable."

"'ere, have some soup," he directs, getting up and grabbing the tray he brought in.

"I'm not hungry," she says.

"Y' need t' eat something. Now open." He brings the spoon to her mouth and waits patiently until she does as instructed. She only hesitates for a moment and even allows him to bring several more spoonfuls to her mouth before pushing it away.

"I don't want anymore."

"As you wish," he agrees gallantly and presses a kiss to her forehead. "'ey! Your fever's broken!" She smiles tiredly. "I love you. Get some more rest, love."

She pulls the covers up around her and murmurs, "Thank you, Bert. I love you."

0ooo0

"Dad? How's Mum doing?" Chris asks, looking really concerned. Elizabeth isn't quite old enough to understand exactly what is going on, just that her mother is sick, but Chris has some inkling.

"She's doin' just fine," he smiles. "She's on th' mend, I think."

"Dad, what's going on?"

"What d' you mean?"

Chris gives him a look that he inherited from his mother. "Mum never gets sick, Dad. Never. What's wrong?"

Bert sighs. He was hoping to not have this conversation. "Chris, you're getting old enough t' understand this. Let's go sit down."

Chris looks worried but follows his father into the living room. "Look, Chris, your mum… Well, y' know your mum's… special."

"With her magic."

"Right, which you got some of. But your mum… she 'ad a lot of magic an' that meant… she was different. An' her magic, it meant that she… well, Chris, y' remember 'ow a while ago, we 'ad t' go t' that funeral for your mum's friend? An' we talked about 'ow eventually everybody's got t' move on?"

"And go to heaven," Chris fills in.

"Exactly. Well, your mum, she was an exception t' that rule. An' that killed 'er. She'd 'ave t' go on forever without you or your sister an' she loves you both too much for that. So she 'ad t' give up a lot of that magic of 'ers, t' make it so she'd be like us."

"Mum's normal now?"

Bert laughs. "Well, I still think she's pretty extraordinary."

Chris rolls his eyes. "You're just saying that because you love her."

"I do," Bert agrees, then reaches over and ruffles his son's hair. "An' I love you an' your sister too." Chris rolls his eyes again. "More than you'll ever know 'til you 'ave your own kids."

"Gross, Dad."

He chuckles and pulls a struggling Chris into his arms. "Y'know this was a lot easier when you were little," he grumbles.

"He's eleven, Bert. He doesn't like to be hugged."

Bert and Chris both look up. "Mum!" Chris cries, jumping out of Bert's arms and running into his mother's. "You're alright!"

"Of course I am," Mary replies, smoothing his hair.

"Mummy?" Beth questions as she comes into the room. Her face lights up. "Mummy!"

Mary drops to the floor to hug her daughter too. She closes her eyes and breathes in, finally able to smell again.

"I'm glad you're feeling better, Mummy," Elizabeth says.

"Thank you, darling." Mary looks up and sees Bert waiting patiently. "Children, why don't you go and play outside for a moment," she suggests. They automatically do as instructed and Mary straightens up.

"Feeling better?" he asks, slowly approaching her.

"Much, thank you." She smiles when he pulls her into his arms.

"Never do that t' me again," he orders seriously. "I 'aven't been so scared since Elizabeth was born."

"Well, I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."

"So 'ow do you feel?" he wants to know, curious. She looks just as beautiful as always, but there is a certain weariness about her that is entirely new.

"Tired," she admits. "A little empty, if that's possible. It's odd, not having that much power at my disposal. Uncle Albert assured me that it does become easier, so I'm grateful for that."

"D'you regret it?" he inquires quietly. He's worried about her answer; if she does, there's no way to fix it.

"Not a bit," she answers with a bright smile and kisses him. "I get to grow old with the man I love. How on earth could I possibly regret that?"

"I love you, Mary Mine." His thumb caresses her cheek as he rests his forehead against hers and their noses brush. "An' I'm never goin' t' stop sayin' it."

"Oh good," she responds. "Because I shan't ever tire of hearing it. Now, we should probably go supervise those children of ours."

At the reminder of Chris and Beth, Bert has to grin. He really does consider the pair his greatest accomplishment and every time he thinks of them, he's reminded that Mary Poppins, the great, once seemingly untouchable, Mary Poppins is in love with him, that she's chosen to spend the rest of her life with him. Nothing could possibly make him happier.

0ooo0

Mary studies her face in the mirror, pursing her lips as she gazes critically at herself. It's been several years since she stopped touching up her appearance with magic, allowing herself to age naturally. At first, she had refused to let herself show signs of aging—her vanity was too strong to allow her youthful beauty to fade—but eventually had given in to the process. And while she is happy to have the chance to grow old with her husband, it's sometimes difficult to accept what comes with that. Her face is somehow softer now, not quite so flawless as it once was. She's even starting to develop lines around her eyes!

"What are you doin', love?" Bert asks, poking his head into the washroom.

She sighs. "I have wrinkles," she pouts, annoyed with herself for even caring about something so trivial.

"News t' me!" he exclaims. "Where?"

She glares at him.

"No, really!" he defends himself, stepping closer and peering at her face. "Where? All I see is th' beautiful woman I married."

She rolls her eyes at his cheesiness. "Here, Bert," she says, pointing at the lines that have appeared around her eyes. "And here."

He chuckles. "Mary, those are laugh lines!"

She heaves a giant sigh. "Call them what you may, I don't appreciate them!" Biting her lip, she thinks aloud, "I could just snap them away."

"Don't you dare!" he insists.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bert pulls her into his arms, fitting her snugly into his embrace. "Those are my laugh lines! Do what you want with th' rest of ya, but keep those."

She frowns, furrowing her brow. "What on earth do you mean by that?"

"They're mine," he shrugs, reaching up and gently tracing the offending lines, careful not to poke her in the eye. "They only go where smiles 'ave been. An' you've made me th' 'appiest I've ever been, so I like seein' that I've made you 'appy. I mean it, Mary. You're th' mother of my children an' the love of m' life. You'll always be th' most beautiful woman in th' world t' me no matter what you do, but I love those lines. They only serve t' make you even more beautiful than ever. Do what you want about everything else, if it'll make you 'appy, but just leave me those lines. Y' look stunning."

Smiling softly, she leans forward and catches his lips with hers. "Alright," she agrees with a sigh. "Your laugh lines can stay."

He grins. "Good. Now, come t' bed, love. Y'know I don't sleep as well if you're not next t' me."

"Thank you, Bert," she says quietly.

"For what, love?"

She gestures around. "For everything."

"No, no, no," he disagrees. "I should be thanking you."

"For what?" she laughs.

He copies her sweeping gesture. "For everything."

And with that, he tugs her off to bed, pulling his wife into his arms and kissing her soundly before settling in for the night. Mary rests her head on his chest and drifts off to sleep, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, secure in the knowledge that her children are safe in their room, her husband loves her, and that she has the rest of her life to look forward to. She's never felt happier.