Author's Notes: Save for characters you don't recognize, the characters and situations herein are not mine. This story is meant solely for entertainment purposes. No infringement is intended.
Thank you to Alamo Girl and SpikesSweetie for their love, support and a few smacks upside the head. (But I LIKE using the same descriptors over and over, Mel! Hee.) My RAWesome Statler, you are my hero and I wubs ya THIS much. Beebo—if you're reading this, I'm shocked. And you will be very confused. But I love you anyway.
I'm applying some liberal generalizations regarding schooling in the O.Z. Just go with it. As Angela Montenegro said on "Bones", "It's best to just ride it out, like an earthquake." Hee.
This piece takes place in the RBFOD 'verse, but it's not necessary to read "Scrutiny" or "Antietam" to understand this puppy.
This one's for Lattelady. It didn't come out the way I intended, but then again, does anything I do make sense?
The spring breeze flowed warmly through the outside amphitheater, sending bright green leaves and soft pink petals into a circular dance around both blades of grass and honored guests. The first sun had reached its peak in the sky, and the second was ascending in a bright arc behind its brother, leaving varying and soothing shades of yellow in its wake.
The rustling of the leaves and the wind were drowned out by the excited chatter of friends and family gathered outside the gates of Central City. Many in attendance remembered when there was nothing to celebrate; no graduations, few weddings. For many annuals, only funerals or battle scenes seemed to bring the citizens together.
Many believed it was a miracle sent by the gods that in the twenty annuals since the downfall of the Witch and the reclamation of the O.Z., that the landscape—both political and physical—had only been dotted by minor skirmishes from a small group of resistors. It had to be divine intervention that Central City College was graduating its largest class to date, for many of the graduates hadn't even been born when the events of the double eclipse occurred. Their parents, somehow, some way, found the strength to move on and provide their children with lives they had never known—ones free from tyranny, one where tears turned into smiles, where hope and faith were as readily available as guns and munitions had once been.
One graduate stood to the side and watched the lines of friends and family walk toward the chairs set up for the ceremony. Her blonde hair whipped in the warm wind, and she couldn't help but smile and hear her mother's voice in her head. Anytime the wind blows, that's your father telling us he loves us. It was a story the graduate had known by heart since she was five annuals old. Her parents met during the Witch's reign, fought both the regime and each other—the girl knew how stubborn her mother was, and from the stories she'd heard about her father being equally bullheaded, those fights must have been knockdown, drag-out affairs that should have had a referee in the Realm of the Unwanted—fallen in love, quietly gotten married, and gotten pregnant.
Her father never knew her mother was expecting; not in life, anyway. But the graduate and her mother both knew he was looking down at them from the heavens, proud and smiling, teasing his girls with dancing fireflies, fluttering butterflies and the blowing of the wind.
People had often asked her if she missed having a father. She always found it to be an odd question, for she'd only known a mother's love, and had no idea what, if anything, it was lacking. She was probably seven or eight annuals when she'd posed the philosophical question to her mother—are we a real family?
Her mother had said that the definition of family was fluid; there was no right or wrong answer. Family is nothing more than a state of mind, she'd said. The only thing that defines family is love, little one. And you have more of that than anyone else in the Realm.
Looking out over the crowd, she spotted her family, as eccentric as a group of people could ever be. Her mother was talking animatedly with one of her aunts, and her uncle was chiming in, his hands swinging so fast and freely that her grandfather—oh, how he hated that word—had to duck several times in an effort to avoid being hit.
She couldn't help but giggle at her godmother, who was sitting next to her grandfather, and no doubt complaining about her state of dress. She imagined the words coming out of the older woman's mouth: This is ridiculous. I look like an overdressed monkey. I wore flip flops to my graduation, for heaven's sake. And whose idea was it to have the Queen hand out the diplomas? It'll take forever.
The blonde saw her mother turn suddenly toward her, as though she'd felt her daughter's gaze when it landed in her direction, and the younger woman briefly waved hello. She and her mother had long ago perfected the art of silent conversation—a necessity living in the castle with so many verbose personalities fighting for dominance—sometimes in the same body. With a cock of her head, her mother asked if she wanted company, and the graduate shook her head slightly. Her mother nodded once and returned to the conversations around her, but the graduate noticed the older woman looking over at her periodically, just to double check her daughter's comfort and safety. She may have been nineteen annuals old, but her mother had said, firmly and on more than one occasion, that she'd always be the little girl who, when she was four, fell asleep under the Queen's desk, causing the entirety of the Royal Guard to fan out and search the lands and woods at Finaqua for hours on end. She could be dangerous when left to her own devices.
She'd scared the mobat shit out of the maid who came in to clean the Queen's office, popping up from her nap just as the woman was dusting the front of the desk. Her grandfather said she gave the Queen herself a run for her money in the getting into trouble department. She'd never told him the Queen had been the one to suggest hiding there when playing hide-and-go-seek with her cousins.
Explaining her connection to the Royal Family was headache inducing, and had been from day one. She'd known from a very early age that her home situation was vastly different from those of her classmates, no matter her mother's efforts to make it more "normal". Her uncle had pointed out that, just like the definition of family, normal was subjective. Of course, he'd proceeded to map out examples on his chalkboard for the next three hours, but she had to love the man. She never would have passed chemistry if it wasn't for him.
She couldn't help but grin at the motley crew gathered front and center for her graduation from the school of medicine. Two Queens, two Consorts, a Princess Royal, the Royal Advisor, the Royal Viewer, the Royal Heirs—though, at present, they were distinctly absent—and her mother, the Royal Medic.
They had been there for her first steps, her first words, her first everything. Hell, who else could say that the Queen of the O.Z. was not only her godmother, but had been the second person to hold her after she was born?
The graduate smiled and leaned against the wrought iron gates, her curly blonde hair still whipping in her face. She laughed aloud and looked to the sky, watching as a white cloud all but winked at her as it floated by. Don't worry, I see you too, Daddy, she thought, and I love you just as much.
"Hey there, Miss Valedictorian."
The graduate turned and grinned. "Hey there, Princess."
The dark-haired, light-eyed young woman made a face. "None of that, thank you very much. I'm trying to be incognito."
"Oh, yeah, because the Royal Seal on your cloak isn't a dead giveaway at all, Em."
"I swear to Ozma, I'm ready to burn this thing. The only reason I'm wearing it is because Grandmother insisted."
The blonde laughed. "And your mother still can't say no to her."
Emily threw her hands up, and the graduate had to blink to clearly see the princess and not a mirror image of the girl's mother. "The woman has run the damn realm for twenty years," she said disbelievingly, slipping into her mother's Other Side speak in her frustration. "She stood up to the darkest power we've ever known, jumped off cliffs, was thrown of balconies, survived almost twenty years of marriage to my father—the most frustrating man on any side—and yet the woman can't stand up and say, 'Hey, Ma, these ermine cloak things? Really not our thing.' There. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"
The graduate felt the vibration of someone running their fingers against the iron gate behind her, and turned, seeing the other princess coming around to stand with her sister, an amused look on her face. "Em, I really don't think Ashby is in the mood to hear you bitch right now. I tell you what; I'll step on the edge of your cloak, we'll rip it and turn it into a rug, okay?"
Emily motioned to her sister. "And the voice of reason arrives in the nick of time, to once again save me from myself. Thank you, my dear Julia."
"Anytime, little sister," the older princess replied, leaning against the gate next to the blonde, who had returned her gaze to the sky. "You look rather pensive, Miss Graduate. Care to share with the rest of the class?"
The blonde smiled, ducking her head slightly and toeing at the grass beneath her feet. If she'd known him, she'd have realized that her father did the exact same thing when he was uncomfortable or embarrassed. "Just thinking about my dad, that's all."
Emily stepped to her and took the blonde's hands in her own. "He would be so proud of you, Ash. I think we'd be forced to place money on who'd embarrass you more; him or our father."
"I don't know, I think Uncle Ambrose may be a dark horse in that race," Julia interjected. "Remember how excited he was when she got accepted in the program? He didn't stop talking about it for weeks. And he definitely wasn't glitching."
Ashby caught sight of her mother motioning to the stage, and she looked down at her watch. "Showtime, girls," she said, giving them each a quick hug.
Julia held on a second longer than her sister, and whispered teasingly, "Don't trip, Ash. That would be bad."
Ashby rolled her eyes, but grinned nonetheless. "Thanks for the advice."
Julia pulled away, smiling broadly, the spitting image of her father. "Anytime, dear one. Anytime."
The blonde stepped toward the staging area for the graduates, her borrowed flip flops smacking between the grass and her heels as she walked. She caught her godmother turning red from trying not to laugh, finally losing the battle when the Queen caught sight of Ainsley noticing her daughter's footwear for the first time.
We'll make it an Ozian tradition, DG had said before slipping Ashby the shoes the previous night. Each Cain girl must wear the flip flops on the day of her commencement. Or maybe at her wedding. That'd work, too.
Ashby saw her mother turn to DG, who bit her lip in a valiant, but ultimately futile, effort to keep her laughter inside. She leaned over to the medic and whispered something Ashby could not decipher from her present distance from her family, but it must have been trademark DG, for the blonde physician—now the first of two in her family—could not hold in her snort of laughter, and tried to hide her giggles behind her hand.
The sunlight glinted off her mother's ring, and Ashby smiled again, wishing the wind would wrap itself around her one more time, as though her father were there, reminiscing with her. She'd always wanted to try the band on, but her mother would never remove it from her left hand. Her father had given it to her mother almost a full annual before they actually married, at the behest of her paternal grandmother, as a promise that if they were to see a future, they'd do it together. Her mother always had a faraway look when she talked about the ring—Adora's ring—and twirled it around her finger when she spoke of the windy Thursday morning when she and Jeb had stolen away to Central City and stood in front of the judge, declaring their intentions.
They hadn't told anyone what they'd done. They never divulged that it had been Adora's dying wish that Ainsley truly become part of the family. They never told a soul that their anniversary was Adora's birthday.
Her father had died six months later. Her mother was barely a month pregnant, and had no idea of her condition.
Ashby was born in mid-August, and in the most ironic twist, on Princess Azkadellia's birthday. She shared a birthday with the woman who had killed her maternal grandfather.
Ainsley's strong alto voice always quieted when she spoke of the day her daughter was born. It was a rebirth for all of us in so many ways, she used to say. Queen Lavender always said your name should be Hope, because you were the first tangible proof we had that we could—and should—move on.
Instead of heeding the former Queen's suggestion, her mother had quietly asked Wyatt Cain if she could use Adora's maiden name for her new little girl. The Tin Man had agreed, and she was christened Ashby Danielle Cain, after her grandparents.
A huge gust of wind blew through the crowd, sending dresses and programs flapping uncontrollably like wings in a tempest, and causing much of the congregation to hurriedly right themselves. Ashby caught sight of her mother and grinned as the activity around them reached a frenzied peak. As it always did, it took Ainsley a moment to respond, for when her daughter smiled, she looked exactly like Jeb. But her smile became just as big and knowing as her daughter's. Jeb was here, and making his presence and pride known.
After the dean of the school finished his remarks, DG—the Queen, Ashby reminded herself, here, she's the Queen, not the woman who's been known to throw you in the lake when your mother wasn't looking—strode to the stage on the arm of her husband. He leaned over and whispered something to the brunette, causing the Queen to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She tried to glare before she started her welcome, but the former Tin Man merely winked and returned to his seat, next to his two girls.
Ashby nearly jumped out of her seat when she felt a hand on the back of her neck. She turned to look discretely behind her, but saw no one. She still felt the pressure, though, a gentle brush of what felt like a thumb against her shoulder. She heard the whisper of the wind again; only this time, it was cold and nothing around her moved. The breeze was little more than a sigh, but she distinctly heard words as the draft gently brushed her curls back from her face.
I'm so very proud of you, my baby girl. I love you.
The gust floated in front of her, tickling her nose as it passed, and disappeared into the crowd.
She immediately sought out her mother, and noticed the older woman go rigid when her own curls blew away from her face. Ainsley's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand, her free fist grasping for the sheath of air as though she could capture it. Ashby saw her mother nod ever so subtly, and as her mother's eyes slid shut, tears sprung to the back of the younger blonde's eyes, wondering what her father was whispering to her mother.
She was caught somewhat off-guard when she heard her name being called. She stood on shaky legs, and took a moment to center herself before walking to where the Queen was standing, holding her diploma. DG was smiling widely, the pride obvious on her face. She enveloped her goddaughter in a huge hug, pressing a kiss to Ashby's porcelain skin.
"He was here, wasn't he?" DG whispered, and Ashby nodded against her shoulder. "I thought so," the Queen continued. "He wouldn't have missed it for the world."
When they separated, DG cupped Ashby's chin. "We are so proud of you, little one. You're carrying the traditions of both your families beautifully. I couldn't entrust them to anyone more worthy."
As Ashby looked down at the parties who were standing, applauding and whistling like there was no tomorrow—perhaps so boisterous because they knew what it was like to face the possibility of no future and they were determined not to let anything slip past again—she had to swallow around the flood of emotion that threatened to capsize her.
As she moved her tassel from one side to the other to identify herself as a graduate, she caught sight of a blond-haired, hazel-eyed Resistance fighter standing behind her family, his ghosting hand resting on her mother's shoulder. He winked and waved slightly before disappearing like vapor into the ether.
The ten most famous people in the O.Z. cheered as she was proclaimed Doctor Ashby Cain.
But they were not famous to her. They were simply family.
FIN
A/N, Take Two: So, yeah. I did the unthinkable squared. I wrote a next-gen fic, which I've never done before, and I broke my self-imposed cardinal rule of not having a pregnant mommy when a daddy dies. But the muse and I have been amusing ourselves writing missing moments for our beloved Resistance fighters, and this is the culmination of that, from Ashby's perspective rather than Doc's.
If people are interested in seeing the other missing moments, let me know and I'll post 'em over on Live Journal. That link's in the profile.
Thank you for putting up with our nutty selves. Charlie and I appreciate it.