Author's Note: This chapter was murder to write. For whatever reason, I just couldn't bring myself to even think about writing it. I couldn't get my head wrapped around what I knew needed to happen in this chapter, and my narrating character put her stiletto-clad foot down and said, "No way in hell will you make me do this." Then yesterday, the Angst Gods descended and kicked me in the ass. Hard. And all of a sudden, for whatever reason, it was child's play to write the end of the story. Yep, the story's ending, as all stories must. And frankly, I'm relieved; much though I love the Big Four [angst, grief, pain and death], this was heavy even for me. Must get back to fluff and smut for a while...

So, the fifth and final chapter of this story covers acceptance, the final stage of the grieving process. And now it's time to hear from the one character we haven't yet; Jimmy's sister and Joey and Josh's mother. Yep, that's right, it's time for Roxie to talk. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Jimmy or Joey or the Streets. Still own Josh.


I woke up, suddenly and for no particular reason. Blinking in confusion, I glanced around into the darkness. When had I gotten to my room? When had I ended up naked in bed?

A glance down at the tattooed arms that held me safe confirmed that I was with Billie. That thought calmed me considerably; he must have brought me back here. Sighing in relief, I sat up, kissing his forehead when he frowned and stirred. As he shifted and fell more deeply asleep, I eased out of bed, pulling on a silk robe and grimacing at my stiff, sore back. I pointed my finger at the smoldering logs in the fireplace, and at my silent command a fire sprung up, throwing light into the darkness. I sighed as I sank into one of the two armchairs before the fire; if only I could illuminate the darkness in my mind so easily.

I had been having these memory blackouts since the accident. Large chunks of time could pass, where I would be perfectly coherent and look for all the world like I was fine. Then I would snap out of it without any recollection of what I had been doing. The blackouts terrified me; what if next time I wasn't with family? What if I made a mistake in ruling Arcadia while in blackout mode? What if something happened to someone I loved, and I was in this waking coma?

I stared into the fire blankly. One week since the accident. One solid week since I'd lost my boys, since my brother had killed them. It was hard for me to fathom. As both a Saint and as Billie's wife, I was used to things happening quickly. Evil people attacked us on a whim, my children blew things up, Billie got hurt while trying to look after the kids. But, as quickly as things happened around here, they were reversed just as quickly. Evil was (usually) easily vanquished, I could fix anything my kids destroyed, and I'd healed Billie more times than I cared to count. There was nothing in my world that I couldn't control and manage.

This, though… this was something that couldn't be reversed, something I couldn't change. My boys were dead, and it was final. Even I, the strongest Saint in the Guardians' arsenal, couldn't reverse what had happened.

I hate death. Always have, since Jimmy's and my father died when I was ten. I've died more than once, but have always managed to elude Death's grasp at the last moment; I dread the day I have to forever leave the ones I love. But this, the fact that I had lost two of my children… this was worse than death.

I stood quickly. I knew myself well enough to realize that I'd never get back to sleep now. But I didn't want to sit in my darkened chamber, especially not when I knew that Billie would yell at me for not waking him so he could keep me company. My mind made up, I slipped out the French doors and cut across the grounds to be with my boys.

As I walked, I snapped my fingers, instantly changing from a lightweight silk robe to jeans, a flannel button-down shirt of Billie's, and Converse so the dew on the grass wouldn't get my feet wet. I brushed aside the branches of the enormous, ancient willow tree, where three members of my family were now buried. I could learn to really hate this tree…

I sank onto the marble bench before the graves, numbly staring at my brother's urn. The Guardians had been adamant that his body be destroyed, that every precaution be taken to prevent his Ashurian magic from returning. As head of the Toralean Saints, as Queen of Arcadia, it had been my duty to see this done. I had to stand and watch my brother's body be immolated, had to speak the spells binding him into this urn, so he could never return and plague us.

Sometimes I wonder if the Powers live to break me.

Jimmy had been my world, once upon a time; my big brother, my protector, my best friend. Then along came his damn powers to fuck him up completely, and to utterly destroy our lives.

Jimmy hadn't received his magic from the Toralean Guardians, as Henderson, Jinx, our kids and I had. His power came from the rival Powers, the Ashurians. I won't bore you with the full history, but once upon a fucking long time ago the Toraleans and Ashurians were one big happy family. Then they began fighting over who would rule Arcadia. Long story short, the Ashurians lost, and they've been causing trouble ever since. Trouble that drew to a head when my family and I received our magic. Where Henderson's, Jinx's and my magic was geared towards healing and protection, Jimmy's was hell-bent on destruction. And when he resisted his destiny, his powers drove him insane.

From the moment I realized my brother was schizophrenic, I'd known that he would end up dead. His powers were destined to kill him, and even if they hadn't, he would've been killed in the Streets. I'd known for years that Jimmy would meet a violent end, so I'd spent the last 21 years resigning myself to someday losing him. Frankly, I was surprised that he'd lasted as long as he had. So I was resigned and accepting of his death; maybe it was better for him that way.

But never, in my wildest nightmares, had I ever seen his demise coming like this.

I knew what had happened that wretched day, as clearly as if I'd been there. One of my powers as the Jesus is the 'gift' of prophecy. Similarly, I can read what's happened in a place, almost as if I'm seeing a movie in my mind. When I got to my brother's decimated house that day, the images had hit me instantly, holding me prisoner.

Josh had been down in the Streets, playing video games with his favorite uncle. Jimmy had gotten irritated when Josh repeatedly beat him at Halo; he hadn't taken his medications that day. Then Joey had walked in… and Joey was the visual clone of one of Jimmy's least favorite people. He'd snapped, losing his control and his temper, and had attacked Joey, mistaking him for Billie. Joey had fought back, and fought hard, trying to protect Josh… but Jimmy had been slightly faster. He'd unleashed a wave of magic that had instantly killed them all, and destroyed his house to boot.

The moment Jimmy had unleashed his deadly magic, I'd known it. I know it the second anyone uses any sort of magic in my kingdom. I'd gone to his place as fast as I possibly could, but it hadn't been enough. I hadn't gotten there in time, and as a result my sons had needlessly died.

It wasn't fair, damn it. I was the Jesus of Suburbia! It was my job to save people! Why had I failed in saving my children? Why had they been taken from me?

I looked at Joey's headstone, and hot tears filled my eyes. My beloved firstborn, my eldest son and heir… my sweet Joey was dead. It was a crushing blow to me. I had held such dreams for him. He would be the finest king Arcadia had ever seen- both a warrior Saint and a Solomon. And Stella would be beside him, his Queen of Sheba, his guiding star.

It hurt to know that my dreams had died with my son. But beneath the grief was pride. Joey had died fighting- fighting to protect his brother and himself, fighting to uphold what he believed in. So though I grieved my baby's death, I knew he had died a hero, and perhaps I could lay him to rest with that thought.

Jimmy's death had been inevitable. Joey's death, while painful, had something of a purpose. Josh's death was totally and completely senseless.

My baby boy had been an innocent. Too young to fight, too young to even use his magic, really, though I know he had tried at the very end. Josh had been a dynamo, a ball of energy and potential. Now I'd never know what my youngest son would grow into. His murder had been entirely meaningless, unnecessary. How could I possibly accept what had happened to him?

I stared at the bust of my son, remembering how he had been in life. Always moving, always laughing, always in trouble, never happy unless he was causing chaos somewhere. But despite his predilection for pandemonium, Josh had always promised me that he would grow up to be a good guy, that he would fight harder even than Joey.

Josh was gone now. But I remained. And I could still fight.

I sighed and tilted my head back, looking up at the stars. I had spent my whole life fighting. Fighting for survival at home and in the Streets, fighting Jimmy's decline into madness, fighting for Billie's attention and love and then fighting to keep our marriage intact, fighting evil, fighting for my life and my crown. I was tired, so very tired of always having to battle something.

But, I was the Jesus of Suburbia. I was Roxanne Sotera, Queen of Arcadia. If I didn't fight, who would?

Yes, I had lost my brother and my sons to the evil of the Ashurians. But the way I saw it, I had two options. Either I could shut down and lose myself in my grief- a path that I knew would without a doubt lead back to the Streets and a Novacaine addiction- or I could attempt to work through the grief, and live on.

Well, I may get sick of struggles, but I'm a fighter.

Drawing a deep breath, I stood and walked away, back towards the palace. My boys were gone, but I was still here to fight for them. I had memorial statues to design, a kingdom to run, and a war against the Ashurians to plan. I would do my duty, so no other woman would ever have to endure what I did.

And maybe through the work, I would find peace and acceptance for the loss of my sons, and forgiveness for myself that I hadn't been there to stop it.