A/N:Written by GreenField! This is Exit Wounds by The Script, whom I love! Catherine of Aragon/Henry. By the way, I do really like Catherine...but I am Team Anne all the way. So pay no attention to my insults.

Queen Catherine of Aragon stood before the looking glass in her chamber, pushing back her hair to view the silver strands clinging to her scalp. Her hair, once auburn and as bright as her dowry jewels, had dulled to a plain brown with a faint reddish hue. Her face was lined with creases and lines, and her stunning green eyes had lost their fun-loving gleam. For a moment, she understood what her beloved husband saw in that woman, the temptress Anne Boleyn. She was so young and engaging and bright...and possibly still able to bear a child.

There was a sudden knocking on the door that startled her and made her leap away from the shining glass. She rose to stand in her most regal position, holding her head up high. One of her maids came scurrying in, a servant girl, come to change the bedsheets.

"Your Majesty" she whispered, awed, bobbing a deep curtsey, "Your Majesty, I must tell you..." she glanced towards the door, "I am a spy sent from the Spanish ambassador"

Queen Catherine frowned, stepping forward, "You have news?" she asked, the Spanish lilt still present in her voice.

"I do, your Majesty. We have heard tell that the King...the King is seeking a divorce. To marry the harlot girl. And he is one his way here...to have speech with you"

My hands are cold my body's numb
I'm still in shock, what have you done?
My head is pounding, my vision's blurred
Your mouth is moving, I don't hear a word

Catherine stumbled and clutched the table to steady herself. A strange whooshing sound filled her ears – she could see the servant girl talking, but could not actually hear a thing. She screwed her eyes closed, forcing away the tears that her mother had taught her never to release, trembling and icy cold all over.

"Your Majesty!" the servant girl looked alarmed, her voice suddenly cutting through the fog, "He cannot know that you know, your Majesty, really, he must not..." she hurried out.

"His Majesty the King!" one of the ladies in waiting declared, and her Henry walked in. Dear, sweet, boyish Henry.

Catherine could not even look at him.

And it hurts so bad that I search my skin
For the entry point, where love went in
And ricocheted and bounced around
And left a hole when you walked out yeah

She did not turn around, instead calling to mind the first day they had met. She had been in England for only a few days after a horrific journey, and it was her very first day in the London capital. She was young and beautiful, though hidden under the heavy clothing her duennas had insisted she wore until her marriage. Henry had then truly been the young boy that he still was at heart, with a round, cherubic face and gleaming golden curls. He was the most lovable little boy, and she knew that she would enjoy being his sister through her marriage with Arthur.

And when Arthur had died...everything had seemed so bleak that she could pinpoint the exact moment that this ray of sunshine had entered her heart. He had come to visit her, to enquire after her health, and to tell her how much he missed his brother – though, of course, he relished the idea of being a King.

And when he became a King, he had married her. And loved her, all these years.

I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room
Can anybody help me with these exit wounds
I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose
And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds

Catherine had not yet even spoken to him, although he stood awkwardly in the doorway. She kept herself turned away from him.

"Madam?"

It was that that did it. The cold, informal word he used to jolt her back to the present, the name her servants and the courtiers called her to show her rank. He did not call her Catherine, or Catalina, as he sometimes had done when they were alone. She let out a cry, reaching for the handle that would open the door to her precious private chapel, the little closet whereby she repented and begged the Lord for His help. But she could not walk away.

She was the daughter of Isabella and Ferdinand, of course she could not walk away.

When they're leaving, the scars you're keeping
Exit wounds, when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping
Marks of battle, they still feel raw
A million pieces of me on the floor
I'm damaged goods for all to see
Now who would ever want to be with me?
I've got all the baggage, the drink, the pills
Yeah this is living but without the will
I'm blacking out I'm shutting down
You left a hole, when you walked out yeah

"I see that you have heard the news, Madam" said Henry coolly.

"My name is Catherine" Catherine whispered, "Do not call me Madam, like a servant"

Henry's temper flared – it had been worse since the influence of the Boleyn girl, "Do not speak so harshly to me, Madam. I am the King, I may call you as I wish"

Catherine's eyes widened in horror, knowing that he would never have spoken to her in such a way a few years before. He had always been a good and loving husband and prince.

"Husband, you break my heart" she said softly, forcing herself to take the agonising steps closer, "You are my husband in the eyes of the law and of God. It would kill me to lose you...in divorce"

"You have broken my heart by not giving me a son" Henry's eyes had narrowed into cruel slits, "And our marriage is not legal in the eyes of God"

He threw down his Bible at her feet, making her gasp.

"You should read Leviticus again" he hissed, "Good day, Madam"

I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room
Can anybody help me with these exit wounds
I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose
And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds
Wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping
Exit wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping

As he stormed out, Catherine bent down to pick up the heavy book that she had lived her life by. Her hands were still shaking. She put the Bible to one side and went into the little chapel, closing the door firmly behind her. She knelt before her figurine of the Virgin Mary, bought with her from Spain, and threaded her rosary between her fingers. Tears rolled silently down her aged cheeks.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven...hallowed be thy name..." she murmured her prayer in a desperate rush, sobbing too much to speak rationally and logically.

Lose your clothes and show your scars
That's who you are
That's who you are
Marks of battle, they still feel raw
A million pieces of me on the floor

Her long fingernails clawed at her skin as she spoke, wanting to tears the pain away. She could hear the sound of her heart throbbing in her ears and in her head, the blood pulsing both desolately and furiously around her body.

She would fight it, God knew it. She would fight against this divorce with all her might, for herself and her precious daughter, her little Mary. She would not lose to a harlot. Never.

I'm falling through the doors of the emergency room
Can anybody help me with these exit wounds
I don't know how much more love, this heart can lose
And I'm dying, dying from these exit wounds
Wounds ... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping
Exit wounds... when they're leaving, the scars you're keeping