"The Journey home"

Summary: The night of Francis' death, Catherine watches over a very distraught Mary.

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing about CW's "Reign."

AN: Was getting all in the feels knowing that my perfect show is ending. ONE SHOT. Sorry kids, can't do much more than this. This is about as much "Matherine" as I have.

"What was the hardest part for you…after Henry died?"

Catherine currently sat with Mary in the library. The fire roaring before them was doing very little to keep the icy grip of grief at bay. Sleep evaded the Queen Mother this night as she knew it must be for Mary. She'd found a robe, grabbed a bottle of the Medici family's finest Bordeaux, and gone to Mary's chambers to find her exactly as she'd thought she would; sitting on a cleanly made bed…staring lifelessly at Francis' side, holding his pillow while inhaling his scent. The scene before her was all too familiar.

Without even acknowledging Catherine's presence, Mary allowed the Queen Mother to slip her own robe over her shoulders.

"Mary, follow me. You won't sleep as long as you remain in this room, and you need rest."

Reluctantly, Mary allowed herself to be pulled from her marriage bed; the most sacred place where Francis had held her countless nights; given her pleasure as his wife and Queen. It was a place of reverence somehow to Mary now, and she desperately wanted to be anywhere else but in that room.

Catherine had contemplated returning with Mary to her own chambers. However, Francis' portrait that was drawn when he was a boy was too haunting to face this night.

Catherine reached over with a sad smile at Mary's question and poured the young Queen, who was more like a daughter to her now than ever, another glass of Bordeaux. Catherine was determined to force Mary to rest, even if that meant getting her drunk to do so.

She poured herself her first drink of the night and only one, as she fully intended on watching over Mary until dawn. Taking a small sip, she adjusted her position on the divan, before giving a small almost inaudible laugh to Mary's question.

"The throne room."

Mary, Practically downing her glass before turning her tear-stained face towards Catherine, looked quizzically back at her.

Catherine drifted back in time as she explained her response, "The morning after our marriage, Henry and I were too caught up in each other to notice that we were ridiculously late to greet our court as the next King and Queen of France. Henry threw himself from my arms telling me to hurry and get dressed and he would retrieve me in an hour."

Pausing, she drank more of the wine, allowing its' warmth to be a temporary comfort to her; a false sense of security in her own pain.

"My ladies rushed in to dress me and Henry burst through my door mere seconds after I was finished. He practically drug me to the throne room, except for the many small alcoves he found to pause and pull me into for a few moments at a time." Mary laughed a bit at that thought. She'd wished she'd known Catherine and Henry when they were happy. Stories that were told made it sound like they couldn't get enough of one another.

"He stopped just before entering and facing our court, knowing his Father would be furious at our tardiness. He took both of my hands and made me a vow…that I would never have to face the people in that room alone…he would always be by my side…no matter what. He swore that I would never find a day where I would sit on my throne and not have him with me."

Tears were threatening just beneath Catherine's nostalgic gaze into the fire before she turned her eyes back towards Mary. Her voice was soft and deathly calm beneath the deafening sounds of the fire permeating the darkness of the room around them both.

"And do you want to know something? He never broke that promise. It was the only promise Henry never broke to me. No matter how many mistresses warmed his bed, he would always meet me at my chambers and would walk hand in hand with me all the way to the throne room. As he would walk me to my throne, he would always motion and say "My Queen," seating myself before he did."

The room fell silent as she was pulled back from her past. The fire was doing nothing now to warm the cold within her bones.

"The day after he died, I woke and began the day as normal. I looked at that next day as my duty to carry on as routinely as possible. I went to the throne room, not giving it a second thought. Just before walking through the doors, the realization came crashing over me like a wave. I almost went running back to my chambers, but a hand gently grasped my arm and I turned to find Francis standing there. He offered me his arm and walked me all the way to my throne." She smiled at Mary who's tears were flowing freely a the mention of her husband.

"He never told me that."

Catherine shrugged, "My boys are more like their Father than they ever want to admit. Henry always believed in the fairytale love like Francis. We never found ours. I blame myself for that." Catherine reached and grasped Mary's hand in her own gently, "but I thank God every day that my son found his."

Gripping Catherine's hand tighter, Mary began to sob loudly. When she could find the feeble strength to speak she croaked out, "Does it ever go away? This ache inside?"

Catherine's eyes closed against emotions at Mary's question. It sent a knife through her very core. She knew exactly the sort of pain Mary was speaking of. Catherine shook her head, confirming what Mary already knew. Taking a steadying breath, Catherine raised her eyes again, "It's always there, my dear. But it does become duller with time. It makes itself more profound when memories make an unwelcome appearance. However…I've started to welcome that ache. I've begun to need it in some sort of odd way…I believe it is our journey home. That ache keeps us connected to who we truly are and what we truly love. In time, you'll know what I mean. Even if you find yourself in the arms of another man, which I sincerely hope you do someday, you will still feel that ache. It will always connect you back to Francis just as mine does to Henry.

Mary nodded, holding her empty glass out to Catherine for more wine. The Queen Mother refilled her glass after releasing her hand from Mary's. As Catherine watched Mary take another generous gulp of the sultry liquid, she noticed that familiar blush in Mary's cheeks as well as the glassy eyes that too often accompany inebriation. She knew sleep wouldn't be too far away from the Queen of Scotland.

Mary tucked her legs beneath her blanket and sighed, wiping tears from her cheeks. "You know Francis is shaking his head at you comparing him to Henry."

Catherine laughed and nodded, "I believe he probably is."

Silence stretched for a bit before Mary spoke again. Her voice was as quiet as falling snow, "I feel him. It doesn't feel as if he's left me."

A sidelong glance from Mary was given to Catherine who smiled at her, "I suppose that's because, my love, he hasn't. He never will."

She sighed again, this time, it was heavy and tired. Catherine made her move standing quickly after setting her glass down on the table before them. "It's time to try and sleep Mary." She moved towards her grabbing a pillow that she'd stationed on the divan for just that purpose, "Lie down, my dear."

Mary obeyed allowing the heavy blanket to encase her worn out heart, her head falling heavily onto the pillow that Catherine set beneath her brown curls. Catherine pulled the blanket tighter around the young Queen's shoulders as Mary's eyes slipped shut from the effects of fatigue and alcohol. In a motherly gesture she sat beside the divan on the unforgiving floor, stroking Mary's forehead before whispering, "sleep now, my dear. I'll be here when you wake." And she would. A servant would enter the next morning to find Catherine still sitting by Mary, watching her sleep peacefully.

AN: That's it, loves. Shoutout to my peeps out there still keeping this thing going. Cheers to "Reign" for an awesome ride. I hate every bit of the dropping of this show from the CW, but whatev's. Let's keep the love alive in the fiction world, friends!