Disclaimer: I don't own The Tudors - it is a Showtime original series based on real people, none of whom I created.
The drabbles in this fic are a mix of the Showtime series The Tudors and the actual historical characters of the Tudor period.
Each drabble in this chapter is set in a different modern AU.
Warnings for a panic attack in one of these drabbles (titled Panic)
Modern AUs
Reunion
Charles' niece Mary shows up on his doorstep at ten minutes past midnight on the 18th February, the day of her eighteenth birthday, and immediately demands her mother's address.
He (trying to work out when he stopped being the guy who could down pints and shots like they were water, stay up for forty-eight hours without sleep and still look semi-human at work, and instead became the one who fell asleep on the settee in front of Match of the Day) tries not to yawn and invites her in for tea.
"I'm sorry none of the others are here," he tells her as they wait for the kettle to boil, "your aunt took the girls to Edinburgh and little Henry is staying over at one of his friend's houses."
"That's okay," Mary says quietly, "I … well I didn't exactly have a chance to let them know I'd be coming."
Charles' grip tightens around the mug. Henry is his best friend and he hasn't interfered so far in the mess that has come out of his divorce from Catherine, but the way Mary has been treated by her father … well, Charles isn't ever sure he'll look at Henry the same way again, best friend or not.
"Your mother doesn't live too far away," he tells her, "but she'll be fast asleep at the moment and I don't want to wake her."
Mary's expression falls. She understands, though – Catherine's cancer treatment is going extremely well and the doctors are positive about her progress, but she's been very tired recently and no one likes to disturb her at night.
Charles tries to cheer her up, distracting her with more tea and plenty of biscuits, telling her stories he remembers from her childhood.
He's careful to avoid obvious references to her father, choosing instead his memories of her interactions with her mother, cousins and aunt. He also entertains her with a spirited re-telling of the disastrous time he and Tony Knivert took her and her cousins to a theme park and made the mistake of letting Mary have a hot dog, cotton candy and a huge ice-cream just before she'd gone on the biggest rollercoaster in the park (suffice to say, he never did get the smell of vomit out of his favourite jacket, and he and Tony were never allowed to babysit unsupervised again).
Mary falls asleep on the sofa about 5.30am, despite gallant attempts to stay awake.
Charles gently covers her with a blanket and goes for a shower, knowing he won't manage to get a nap himself.
When he comes back downstairs, she's still fast asleep, snoring softly.
He scribbles a quick note for her in case she wakes up, grabs his phone and heads out of the door.
When he arrives back forty-five minutes later, Mary stirs slightly at the sound of the door opening.
She looks at him in confusion, "what time is it? Did you go somewhere?"
"Had to pop out for a bit," he tells her, "it's just after 6.30."
She sits up immediately, "can I have mama's address? She'll be awake now – she's always been an early riser."
"No need to rush," he tells her.
"I just really want to see her," Mary says wistfully, "it's been so long."
Charles grins, "I'm glad to hear you say that."
Mary's look of confusion turns to pure, unadulterated delight when he steps aside and reveals her mother standing in the doorway, tired but beaming when she catches sight of her daughter.
Mary vaults over the settee in an impressive feat of gymnastics and throws her arms around Catherine's neck, half sobbing, half smiling.
Catherine is in tears too, murmuring in a quick mix of English and Spanish as she hugs her daughter tightly.
Charles side-steps them and goes outside, closing the door behind him.
They deserve a private reunion, after all this time.
He decides to head to the bakery a few roads away. Fresh croissants for breakfast sounds like a good idea.
He walks away, whistling to himself.
Today is a good day.
Panic
It's stupid really, she thinks, to be triggered so easily.
There is a police drama on that she's previously really enjoyed, but then she watches a scene with a fierce argument between a controlling, angry father and his scared teenage daughter.
She's watched such things before, has seen worse without it affecting her, but somehow this particular scene gets to her.
It's been a long week – her father has been parading his new nineteen-year-old girlfriend Cathy Howard around, all the while insulting his previous wives to all who will listen; Bess, all of eight years old, has declared she will never marry because all it seems to do is cause misery; Mary's beloved mama is undergoing a further round of chemotherapy; and the papers have been full of another set of stories with all the gory details of her father's marital adventures and infidelities.
Her therapist Susan has told her before that the panic attacks and anxiety will not always be predictable. What does not bother her one day may upset her a week later.
She can't think of Susan's words and advice right now, though. She can only remember heated disagreements, screaming matches and heavy silences; her father's cold refusal to allow her to see her mama for almost four years; his harsh words, accusing Mary of being an unfilial, disobedient disappointment of a daughter.
Henry Tudor likes to present a good front, but his façade hides crumbling foundations.
Mary's mama is in Spain, having put an ocean between herself and her ex-husband; Anne refuses to be in the same room as the man she once loved so passionately, is scrupulously polite to him over the phone only for Bess' sake, and still flinches whenever she hears a raised male voice; Jane lies buried in a graveyard, her memory exalted by her widower only for the son she gave him rather than for her own self (Mary misses Jane's sweet kindness and warmth fiercely).
Edward grows up in a stupefied sort of awe of his father, the little boy watched so carefully that he scarcely smiles and rarely plays. Mary and Bess go to therapy, together and separately, and try to repair the damage their father's actions have wrought on their hearts.
And now, Mary sits hyperventilating on the settee, suffering another reminder that she is still scarred by the repercussions of her parents' nasty, prolonged divorce and the separation from her beloved mama.
"Breathe, liebling," a voice comes from next to her and Mary feels arms wrap gently around her.
Philip's embrace helps, anchors her to the reality that she is no longer a teenager trapped in her father's house and forbidden from seeing her mama.
She is at home, in a house that is hers and Philip's. She is not alone, she has the man she adores, the husband who made her weep for half an hour straight with his beautiful, romantic proposal, and whose vows brought tears to the eyes of almost every guest at their wedding.
She inhales and exhales loudly, trying to focus on the sound of Philip's voice.
"I'm here," he murmurs, "I'm here, Mary."
She loves him so much. He is always patient, never getting angry or frustrated with her. Philip's fury is all for her father and he has no problem telling Henry Tudor so.
Philip whispers into her ear, and though she can't focus on everything he is saying, she catches bits and pieces.
"I love you … I'm here … you're ok, liebling … we're at home together … I love you, Mary."
She feels herself calm down, relaxes into his arms.
"I hate it," she tells him, "I hate how I still feel like this."
"It's not your fault," Philip says fiercely, "never your fault. You'll get through this, Mary."
The first time he told her that, she didn't believe him, didn't think she could ever be anything but a shattered mess of a person. Now, though, she knows that it can get better, recognises that she is not to blame for her father's sins, can see the light at the end of the tunnel even when it sometimes appears to be so dark that she thinks she'll be trapped in her own head forever.
"I love you," she whispers to Philip as her shaking subsides and the world starts to feel normal again.
"And I love you, liebling," he smiles at her, kissing her softly.
She melts into his embrace, thankful as always for her husband, and lets herself fall asleep to her sound of his quiet, affectionate murmuring.
Cousins
"I hate her," Mary mutters vehemently, hands clenching so tightly around her mug of hot chocolate that her cousins are afraid she might spill it.
Margaret eyes Mary with some worry. She's a little bit too skinny (she often skips dinner to avoid having to eat with her new step-mother) and very pale, with shadows under her eyes that show she hasn't been sleeping enough.
"She's not entirely terrible," Frances says, stubbornly refusing to back down at Mary's glare, "I admit my mum hates her, but I think that's more about how Uncle Henry left Aunt Catherine – and possibly a bit of snobbery – than anything else."
"She made my father abandon mama," Mary hisses, "and she persuaded him to keep me apart from mama."
"It takes two," Margaret offers tentatively, "I know you love your father, Mary, but he isn't exactly blameless."
Frances and Eleanor nod their agreement. All three of Mary's cousins are well aware of her stubborn refusal to admit Henry Tudor's faults. She wants so desperately to believe everything that has gone wrong is all Anne Boleyn's doing that she won't accept that her father is more responsible for her traumatic separation from her mother than his new wife is.
"Why don't you talk to her about Bess?" Eleanor suggests quietly, "that might help."
Mary can't help but smile slightly at her younger cousin. It is true that Elizabeth is the main thing that can unite her and Anne. Mary, despite everything, adores her baby sister.
"I don't want to upset mama," she admits, "she was devastated by the affair, and then when the court awarded custody solely to my father."
She shudders at the remembrance of being shunted off to one of the Tudor country mansions, cut off from her friends, banned from contacting her mother, only rarely allowed to see her aunt Mary, uncle Charles and cousins. And then Anne had given birth and she'd been summoned back to London, expected to act like they're a happy little family when it is so far from the truth it is laughable.
"How can I even try and be friendly towards that woman when I haven't been able to see my own mama in years?" she continues.
"I'll ask dad to talk to your mother," Frances offers, "he'll tell her that you're just trying to build up good will with your father so he won't cause any problems later on."
It makes sense. Theoretically, Mary will be able to leave and live with her mother when she turns eighteen (in one month, three days and nine hours – she has a countdown on her phone), but they all know that with his connections, Henry Tudor could make difficulties when that time comes.
"Just try an olive branch with Anne," Margaret says, "who knows … you might be surprised."
Mary thinks of Anne. Of how she smiles and coos at baby Elizabeth while Mary's father mostly ignores his daughters. Of how her expression when she watches her husband flirt with Jane Seymour reminds Mary of her own mother's face right before the divorce. Of the flicker of guilt in her eyes sometimes when she looks at Mary.
Maybe her cousins are right. Perhaps Anne will surprise her.
Wedding
Mary's father doesn't come to her wedding.
His excuse is a last-minute business trip that he insists is incredibly important. She doesn't really mind, in the end. To be honest, she almost expects it.
Besides, though she'll never tell him, she'd considered not inviting him in the first place.
They're not close after all, there's too much bad history for that, and she knows his presence would have caused some distress – for her mama, of course, but also for five of Mary's other guests.
Anne Boleyn was once someone Mary hated, until she learnt to accept that her father was far more to blame for everything that happened. She and Anne have built a tentative alliance over their shared concerns for Bess, which over time has turned into a real friendship.
Jane Seymour was a balm after Mary's turbulent teenage years, sweet-tempered and kind. For a while it had seemed like Henry Tudor would settle down, especially after Edward was born. The traumatic birth meant a long recovery, though, and Mary's father, never patient, had sought solace elsewhere and eventually obtained a divorce.
Anna Cleves had never had the dubious pleasure of being married to Henry Tudor, but had instead met him online during his disastrous foray into dating websites. Mary still cringes when she thinks of all the horrible, rude things her father had said when he met Anna in person. The lady herself had been hurt, but hadn't held her father against Mary, and had been the means of introduction between Mary and Anna's cousin Philip, the man who would soon be her husband.
Cathy Howard was a whirlwind romance and marriage. Mary had been disturbed at first, given Cathy was seven years younger than Mary herself and gave off the impression of vapid frivolity. Now, though, she just feels sorry for how the cheerful, hard-partying but ultimately good-hearted younger girl had been so dazzled by Henry Tudor that she had married him before she could figure out what a controlling, bad-tempered man he could be under his surface charm. Cathy was quiet for months after the divorce, so quiet that Mary became seriously worried, but she seems better now, and she is blossoming as an intern at Burberry.
Kate Parr is the stepmother who almost was. Sensible and intelligent and kind, Mary thinks she would have appreciated Kate's maternal presence on the rare occasions that she visits her father. In the end, though, despite Henry Tudor's meddling attempts to destroy Kate's relationship with Jane's brother Tom, Mary's father had finally let the woman be. Mary finds Tom Seymour a little too smarmy and grasping for her taste, but it's clear that Kate loves him and is happier than she would have been married to the ageing, disagreeable, controlling, womanising man that is Henry Tudor.
It seems mad, the idea that Mary will have all these women in the same room for her wedding. Six very remarkable women, once rivals and enemies, now allies and sometimes even friends, united in their disapproval of Henry Tudor and their love for Mary, Elizabeth and Edward.
It's crazy and yet it's perfect too. It seems right to have them all there, a kind of closure to everyone's stories, a moment of healing.
Mary's father doesn't come to her wedding.
The day is better for it.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.