Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 - Rain

The rain fell from the heavens in sheets. Pounding the grass, pavement, and city life in a torrential downpour. The autumn storm dumped its full potential on an otherwise busy London. Streets were crowded with cars; buildings crowded with people. All getting to where they needed to be to continue life through wind and rain. Children packed into classrooms and gyms for their lunch hour. Office workers kept glancing out the window as if willing the rain to stop before their afternoon commute. Rain was common in London, life didn't stop because of it.

Somewhere in the city, a couple was not at work and a child was not in school.

Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his blue eyes fixed on the figure sitting in the chair near the window. She was wrapped in a blanket, her face turned towards sheets of water falling outside the window. She looked peaceful. Her head tilted just slightly as if listening to sounds that weren't there. Mycroft didn't speak, quietly watching the woman he loved till death parted them.

Her auburn hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders, her pale skin was even whiter after these days. Her blue eyes were free of makeup, but they had a hazy quality that was so unfamiliar to the people who knew her. Like a fog had wrapped her up. Her body was draped in a dressing gown as well, and her slippered feet stuck out from the navy blue blanket.

Naomi Holmes had grown ill two weeks previous. She'd started hearing voices, overwhelming voices that echoed in her head with unceasing persistence. Initially she'd dealt with it, but eventually it took its toll.

It'd been too much for even her. Her mind along with her body slipping into a fog that no doctor had yet been able to explain. Their current specialist thought it must have been a psychotic and nervous breakdown, and the mental decrease had put a strain on her body as well. In between talking nonsense and having little awareness of the world around her, she was wasting away.

He couldn't bear it.

"The angels are speaking again." Naomi's voice was soft, but Mycroft heard her still. She hadn't turned away from the window. "They're…busy. Their voices are loud."

"What are they saying?" Mycroft asked softly, for what must have been the hundredth time. They'd had this conversation before and yet he always continued it.

"Dean Winchester has been saved. It is beginning. Beginning. All of it. The good man raised from perdition. The beginning. All of it coming down."

Mycroft was beginning to hate that name. He'd looked it up, of course. Dean Winchester was a convicted felon in America. Reported dead more than once. And seen alive just as many times. Credit cards were traced, aliases were discovered. Mycroft found himself in a world that few knew existed. His contact at the London Chapter of the Men of Letters gave him the rest of the answers he needed on the supernatural. Save for one: how to help his wife.

He would have entered the room then, save for a little tug on his suit coat. He tore his gaze away from Naomi to meet big blue eyes a foot down.

"Daddy, is Mummy going to be okay?"

Zariah Hope Celestia Holmes was all of ten years old, with dark brown hair, dimples, and those bright blue eyes that twinkled behind glasses frames when she laughed. Beautiful like her mother, clever like her father, with the curiosity of a Holmes and a constant need to cuddle. Currently, however, she was frightened. Mycroft saw it in her quivering lip and decreased appetite, as well as in her disinterest in going out horseback riding.

Mycroft wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. "I don't know, love," he said honestly.

"I go in to talk to her, after school. But she's not the same. She's listening to the angels," Zariah said quietly, her little brow pinched in concern. "I wonder what they're saying."

"Why don't you find Mrs Warner and see if your dinner is ready. I'll be down as soon as I'm done here."

"Okay." Zariah nodded solemnly, waiting one more moment to simply be there in his embrace. Moments later she'd gone.

Mycroft straightened to his full height and walked into the room, braving the emptiness that had settled into his chest. He ached to see her like this. To see but a shadow of who she used to be. He missed her laughter and her coy flirting, the fierce anger and the deep love that went along with this beautiful force of a superiorly intelligent woman.

He stopped in front of her chair, kneeling down in front of her, hand on the armrest. He took her hand with his other. "Naomi?" He asked softly. "Darling, I'm right here."

"The angels are talking to me," Naomi said again, still looking out the window. "I don't know why."

Mycroft closed his eyes momentarily, gently running his thumb over the back of her hand. "I don't know why either, dear. Can you tune them out?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Naomi's spoken words smoothed seamlessly into a song, something old and from decades ago when she'd gone to church with her parents. A hymn for the children.

All night, all day.
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
All night, all day.
Angels watching over me.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
Angels watching over me…

Her voice was quiet, but she sang all the same. She'd always been a gifted vocalist and musician, but even that faded now. Based on past events, Mycroft was certain there was no talking to her now. She'd be stuck in the song. And with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he stood up without speaking. He'd come up later to be with her, try and coax her to eat something.

However, this time was different. Naomi did something else. Her eyes focused as they hadn't in weeks, and she gripped Mycroft's hand tightly. Wide blue eyes met his and her words came quickly, without the light quality of previous times. A warning, one that made her voice fill with serious dread.

"They're coming for me. For us. The demons are coming."

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Spark

On August 28, 1968, a daughter was born to Robert and Helen Carter. The nurse and the artist, respectively, were residents of Seattle, Washington. Their first and only child they named Naomi, a miracle after being told they would be unable to convince. With auburn hair and bright blue eye, she was the light of their lives. Her parents doted on her from birth on. As a child, she'd been deathly afraid of attending church, convinced God hated her. Robert and Helen were patient and there was nothing but love there.

Naomi Roberta Grace Carter grew up with an intense passion for learning and always strove to be the best she could be with almost zealous intent. She was clever, ambitious, and strong. Sundays were spent at the Lutheran church and in mandatory rest, but every other day of the week, the young girl pushed herself. And her efforts landed her at Princeton University on the other side of the country by the time she graduated early from high school.

The triumph and celebration were short-lived.

During Naomi's second year of university, her parents perished in a car accident. A drunk driver hit them in a head-on collision; they were dead on impact. Just victims of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Naomi's whole world flipped over overnight. Although her inheritance was significant, there was a gaping hole in her heart that would never heal. With no extended family and few true friends, she was left with no one to lean on. She'd never expected to be an orphan. Therapy was of little help, just as it had been when she was young.

Life moved on, whether she was ready for it or not.

Finding herself alone, and preferring it that way to avoid getting hurt, she threw herself into her studies and work. Two years later she graduated summa cum laude, and landed herself a job with the CIA. A perfect career for an intelligent and ambitious young single woman. The move to Washington D.C went smoothly and she settled into a small apartment by herself. Alone still, but things were better that way.

She was only twenty-six years old when things again changed in ways she'd never expected.

She'd been flown to London to correspond with MI6. and several other foreign intelligence agencies at a conference of sorts. More of a quiet exchange of ideas and strategies rather than a serious threat assessment. The center for this event was small, and exclusively private. As one might expect for a selection of intelligence agents to want to be. The building itself was once a castle, and there was plenty to see within its stone walls. After her trans-Atlantic flight, Naomi found herself wandering the premise in the hours before their meetings were to start.

And it was on her explorative jaunt that she found a painting that caught her eye. Nineteenth-century religious art by an unknown artist, depicting a war between angels and demons. Naomi, who'd dabbled in painting herself prior to her parent's death, had always found an appreciation for art and art history.

She stopped to admire. As was common, she found her thoughts drifting into the life of the paining itself. It'd been years since she'd gone to church or thought about angels or demons. The decision had been based on mix of anger at God for taking her parents away and a busy work schedule. Though there'd been a number of her mother's works she remembered, the one that stuck out most in her mind was an angel, clothed in white and bathed in sunlight. One of her mother's favorites, it had hung above their piano. She always said it was their angel of music. It was in storage somewhere now. Dusty. Unseen. Abandoned.

A male voice pulled her from her thoughts. "It was reframed in the early twentieth century. Fire damage. Though the framer tried to achieve the same late eighteenth style, it is still obvious."

Naomi glanced over to meet the blue eyes of a tall man. He was dressed in an impeccable black three-piece suit, complete with red tie and pocket square. She spied a pocket watch chain as well, likely antique but well-maintained. Dark hair, prominent nose. Easy on the eyes. She didn't let her thoughts linger too long, smiling politely. "To some, perhaps. I found my eyes drawn to the painting itself, rather than its frame."

"I see everything."

There was no tone of humility in his voice. And that fact made Naomi smile even more. "You may have seen it all, but you were wrong. This painting is from the early nineteenth century. The brush style gives it away." She reached to trace some of the brushstrokes in the air. "Here and here. Only an experienced art critic or student would be able to tell."

"Impressive," the man said simply. There was a slight pause, his eyes drifted over the work of art before returning to her face. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. You must be Special Agent Carter."

"You are well informed and my accent certainly gave me away," she replied, letting her smile grow. She extended her hand. "Call me Naomi, Mr Holmes. If we're meant to spend four days in conference, it seems only right."

"Mycroft, please," he replied. He took her hand in his to shake. His hand returned to the pocket of his trousers moments later. "Four days. I'm certain we'll get quite a lot done in that time. I look forward to it."

Naomi watched him curiously. She would be looking forward to it as well. Little did she know that first meeting would be the stepping stone to late nights next to the fireplace, shared lunches, and discussions on everything from history to philosophy to government. Quite a lot can happen in very little time, she'd come to discover.

Four and a half days later, after the sun had set on their last day, Naomi collapsed onto a plush king-sized bed with closed eyes and messy hair. Her breaths came in heaving pants, exhausted from the consensual activity. With some effort, she grabbed the cream-colored sheet to cover her naked body and then curled towards the other occupant in the bed. He was also breathing hard. She nuzzled his bare shoulder with her nose and kept quiet until she could properly think again, memorizing the sound of his ragged breaths.

"Now what were you saying about the director?"

Mycroft laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. He turned on his side to face her. His hand reached up, almost tentatively, to trace her flushed cheek. "Nothing of importance, though he is sleeping with his intern. Hardly new. And completely obvious."

"Indeed, I noticed her skirt." Naomi decided his touch was both comforting as a home and electric as a thunderstorm. This intriguing man was more than a casual fling, she already knew she wanted to keep him. She smiled softly at him while she searched his face, wanting to keep this moment forever. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I did," Mycroft replied in quiet humor, knowing it wasn't the deductions she was referring to. He too smiled, something soft and rare. "You've been stimulating company, now both physically as well as mentally. Did you enjoy it? This is…not an activity I have had too much experience in."

"Neither do I," she replied quickly. "But I did, very much so. We did well, for the little experience we have." She turned her head to kiss his palm, and immediately enjoyed the surprised look on his face. She'd learned in the hour previous that this was one area she could surprise him more than most.

Mycroft turned his fingers to sweep over her mess of auburn hair. "You are a rare exception, Naomi. I hope we can…see each other again?"

"You're a rare exception as well, intriguing in a number of ways. I could probably ramble, but I don't need to, do I?" Her eyes fluttered closed, though she had no intent of sleeping yet. She had more plans. She paused the space of a breath. "Tomorrow will not be the last you see of me...if that's alright with you."

Mycroft closed the distance to press a soft kiss to her lips. "Perfectly acceptable."

In the months that followed, the two of them kept contact through phone calls and letters. They were always long, with an ever-present (even if it was unstated) undercurrent of affection. So when Naomi was given an opportunity to be transferred to London, she jumped on it with determination and excitement. London was hers for the taking. And it's appeal was more than the city itself. Its appeal was a man who made her feel more like herself than she'd felt in years. For she'd unintentionally fallen in love with Mycroft Holmes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 - Sunrise

"Mr Holmes?" The graying nurse stepped into the waiting room, glancing once at his parents before centering in on the man himself. "She lost a lot of blood, but the surgery went well otherwise. She's been taken to recovery. The baby's being taken to our NICU for now."

Mycroft sagged back into his seat, a rare show of emotional exhaustion. "Can I see her? Either one of them?"

The nurse smiled softly and nodded. "I'll take you to your wife first. Your daughter is stable, I promise, but it'd be better to wait."

Mycroft hesitated, glancing once at his own mother and then stood up. He'd changed from his usual three-piece suit into something decidedly more casual, a dress shirt and trousers, with a loose jacket over top. All a little rumpled now from the hours of waiting. "Very well."

"We're here, Mikey, if you need us," Violet Holmes squeezed his hand and then let him go.

Mycroft didn't even correct his mother about that ridiculous nickname and let the nurse led him out of the room.

The pregnancy had been an accident. Upon their marriage two years previous, Naomi and Mycroft had never truly decided against having children, but it hadn't been on their to-do list yet. Naomi's career with the CIA was blossoming, and she was frequently traveling or going on field work missions herself. So when they found out in the autumn of 1997 they were expecting, it came as a bit of a shock.

It was an unexpected blessing, serendipity, but had turned their world over again. Just like falling in love had.

Unfortunately, the pregnancy was not without its complications. Naomi had been excessively ill through the months following and had to be rushed to hospital late one April night a month and a half before her due date. She ended up needing an emergency cesarean section at thirty-four weeks.

Mycroft followed the nurse until they slipped quietly into a recovery room. Naomi lay still in the middle of a bed, propped up just slightly with pillows. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she'd been to hell and back. Mycroft moved in quietly to the opposite side of the nurse. He took Naomi's hand. She was so cold, and still frightfully pale, but definitely alive. He leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Naomi hummed and fluttered her eyes open again. While she'd been awake a little while now, she still felt exhausted. "Mycroft?" She whispered his name, trying to get her bearings again.

"I'm here, darling," he said, smoothing her hair back from her forehead. "The baby's doing well, everything went smoothly. You did it." The nurse worked quietly next to them but neither paid her mind.

A ghost of a smile drifted over Naomi's exhausted expression, she reached for his hand. "We did it," she murmured. "I never…told you outright, but I'm so happy. I'm so happy we're going to be parents. She's going to be amazing."

Mycroft held her hand closely, pressing a kiss to her fingers. "She is, just like her mother." That drew a laugh from Naomi and the two slipped into a pondering companionable silence. Quietly anticipating the change that had come over their lives.

Hours later, when Naomi was finally settled into a room, they were given a chance to hold their new baby girl. Mycroft took her first, wide eyes and truly amazed stare as the nurse placed the tiny neonate in his arms. He hadn't held a baby since Sherlock was born, over two decades ago now. His heart clenched just a bit, hoping that his little brother would want to meet the baby soon. He put that aside for later thought.

"Mind the head, you. She's doing really well," the nurse said in a light Irish accent. She adjusted the little white cap on the head and smiled at Naomi. "I'll give you all a little privacy, use the call button if you need anything."

Naomi hummed her understanding, but her eyes were on her husband holding their new baby.

Mycroft moved over to her, slowly, and sat on the edge of the bed so she could see. He was terrified he'd break her, but she seemed fairly content to just sleep in his arms now. "She's beautiful…and so small," he whispered.

"She'll grow, she has big shoes to fill after all" Naomi gently brushed the baby's soft cheek with her fingertips. "Zariah, our little sunrise."

"Our little one."

Mycroft wanted to burn this memory into his perfectly organized mind. He wanted to keep this moment forever, as emotional as it was. This little innocent life he was now responsible for. A life created out of pure love and commitment. The best of both of them. Potential just waiting to be freed and encouraged. He felt a tightness in his chest, an uncommon emotional reaction. But in the privacy of this family, he allowed himself the vulnerability.

Naomi met his eyes in quiet understanding and smiled softly. "I love you both, forever."

Mycroft, with as much care as he'd ever taken, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. "We love you too."

Zariah Hope Celestial Holmes grew up with a family who loved her. Her parents, while certainly over-protective, secretive, and strict, were also understanding and open within the privacy of their home. Her only set of grandparents doted upon her and were essential in helping around when Naomi needed to go back to work.

The girl showed early signs of being intellectually gifted, just like her father had, and dove into her studies with passion. When the time came, they sent her off to a prestigious school that would allow her to excel and encouraged her learning. By age six, she fluently spoke three languages and was already a proficient pianist. She took horseback riding lessons and dance, along with advanced studies. Both Mycroft and Naomi were exceedingly proud of their little girl.

Years passed, life was good. The husband and wife worked hard, each at their own chosen job. Both in relative secrety. The little family wasn't perfect, but it was theirs, and they had devoted to one another. Through sickness and in health, in the good times…and the bad times…

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - Sunset

"They're coming for me. For us. The demons are coming."

Mycroft stared down at her frightened blue eyes, all at once processing what she was saying. It made sense, oddly, for if angels were speaking to her, demons couldn't be far behind. He'd gotten enough confirmation with his contact of the London Men of Letters that demons and angels existed. For some reason, Naomi had an insight. He squeezed her hand. "The demons?"

Naomi stood up in a scramble, struggling with the blanket she'd been tucked under as well as her own dressing gown. The darkness and stench of the creatures filled her, dragging on her very soul. But she felt clearer than she had in weeks. "The demons, they're here. They feel so…dark. Like…suffocation. They're here…in the house…" She still had him by the hand and her eyes grew wider still. One name was on her lips. Their most precious creation. "Zariah."

There was such and urgency in her voice and her earlier statement still rang in his ears, Mycroft felt his heart drop. Their little girl against demons. The two of them went running together, out the room, down the hall, down the stairs, and through the rest of the house towards the kitchen. When they finally got there, the sight before them was like a waking nightmare.

"Took you long enough." Mrs Warner, their housekeeper, stood in the middle of the kitchen with Zariah's back pressed against her front. She held the kitchen knife to the young girl's throat. The shiny silver blade pressed right against Zariah's jugular. The girl stood very, very still, save for uncontrollable quivering. Her cheeks were already stained with tears.

Naomi stopped just inside the door, her hand still clutching Mycroft's. "Please. Don't harm her," she begged quietly. "It's me you want, and I will come willingly. Please don't hurt my little girl."

"You make the mistake of assuming I care what happens to your spawn," the demon spat back. She used the knife to gently caress Zariah's pale cheek, dragging a faint red line. The girl shuttered under the blade.

"Mummy," she whimpered.

Naomi's next move was exceptionally quick. She'd counted on that. Inside her dressing gown had been a gun, and as a mother, she would do anything for her child. Including shooting their housekeeper.

Mycroft knew his wife had a gun from her field days with the CIA. It was usually locked in the safe. But the movement was so sudden, he was partially taken aback. Only for a split-second, of course, because his brain worked exponentially fast and his body moved before anyone blinked. The bullet from Naomi's gun hit the demon in the center of the forehead. It wouldn't kill it, but it was enough of a distraction that Mycroft was able to wrench Zariah from the possessed housekeeper's arm.

"Go!" Naomi shot the thing again, this time in the eye.

The demon screamed in frustration, hands outstretched as it tried to grab for Zariah again.

Mycroft pulled Zariah out of the way and towards the door, only to be met with another demon. This one much taller and a brute of a man. Mycroft put himself between the demon and his daughter. His mind raced to find a way out, eyes darting to the nearest window and searching for something to stop the demon with.

It was because of this he didn't see it happen. He heard Naomi cry out, sharp and pained. Everything from that point happened in slow motion. He felt the demon in front of him grab his collar and throw him back. He was pushed into Zariah, who squeaked as the two of them tumbled back into the wall. He had a line of sight on Naomi.

She was on the ground, blood pouring from a stab wound in her stomach. The red stain coated her dressing gown, white shirt, and the hand that was trying to hold the knife in place to avoid further damage. Mycroft knew enough that unless she got medical help now, his wife was going to die. Time was crucial in any serious wound.

Not that the demons planned on leaving any of them alive, and they did have the advantage against the three humans.

The demon that had thrown them was advancing with a club fit for bashing heads in. It seemed most likely to be the weapon that hurried Mycroft's end.

Mycroft wasn't looking forward to it. He pushed Zariah up against the wall and angled her so she could make a break for the window, keeping his body in between hers and the demon's body. "You will let the girl go," he ordered sharply.

"I think I have an idea where I want the girl to go." The demon laughed mockingly at him and raised the club up for a swinging blow.

Fortunately, he didn't get the chance, because a silver blade pushed through his back and out his chest. His body and skeleton flickered like a dying lightning strike and then collapsed.

The person responsible for that was a tall man with blond hair and emotionless eyes, wearing a suit that spoke of American tailoring. He barely glanced at the fallen demon or the humans. Whatever he was, he made for the second demon, giving it the same treatment. Mrs. Warner's body landed halfway across the room in a motionless pile.

"Naomi," he said, staring down his nose at the woman bleeding to death. "You've made a proper mess of this, haven't you."

"Angels." Naomi caught Mycroft's eye, shifting herself as if she'd crawl across the room to be with him. "They're angels and they're here for me…" Her gaze drifted back up to the blond. "Please…don't hurt them."

"I won't if you cooperate."

The angel snapped his fingers and two more men in suits appeared. Mycroft thought he heard a soft flutter of feathers, which fit with Naomi's declaration. Any thought of going to be with his wife was taken away as the two creatures closed the distance. One grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away from Zariah. Mycroft scrambled but the angel man was much stronger than he was.

The other took the girl, though he seemed to be a little bit more gentle with her than the other was with Mycroft. Eventually, the two of them were standing in the middle of the room. Zariah had been let go. She crashed into Mycroft and buried her face into the fabric of his suit to sob. He wrapped his arms protectively around her as if that would shield her from the heartbreak that surrounded them. He stiffened slightly as the point of one of the blades went right into the small of his back. Just a push away from being thrust into his spine. A warning. A threat. Mycroft sported a firm upper lip and breathed slowly to maintain a calm that had earned him an icy reputation. It didn't help near as much as he would have liked.

The blond one used a cloth to clean the demon blood off of his silver blade, casually, like had all the time in the world. His emotionless eyes fixed on the woman bleeding to death on immaculate floor. "Now then, Naomi. Are you listening?"

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - Supernova

"I'm listening... please, don't hurt them…" Naomi was getting weaker by the second and her body slumped against the bottom cupboards of their kitchen. Her blood poured out of her, covering her abdomen and the usually pristine kitchen floor in a river of red. She didn't have long and she knew it.

The blond angel crouched to maintain eye contact. "You don't remember me, do you? How could you forget your best student? I can't decide if I'm offended or not." He twisted the blade in hand, thoughtfully, as if he was going to use it. "I'm Bartholomew. And you obviously have no idea what's going on, do you?"

"You're an angel. I've been hearing voices," Naomi breathed.

Bartholomew was obviously getting impatient. Probably a good thing, since Naomi didn't have much time left. "You hear the voices because you were an angel once. You ripped out your grace for some unknown reason and disappeared to earth to live as one of these smelly hairless apes. I really had no idea why, just look at them." He jabbed a thumb at Mycroft and Zariah over his shoulder. He paused to collect himself, flashing a too polite smile to cover up the obvious disgust. "Now, I'll make this very easy. I need you back on our team. I begged for your spot because you have a gift, sweet Naomi. And we need it now more than ever. You are going to take back your grace and join me back in Heaven."

"Why…would I do that? I'm… not afraid to die."

"Because if you don't I will kill your family. I'll skin the child alive first, burn her pretty blue eyes out of her head. Then, I'll slowly and methodically cut every limb, and I mean every limb, off of that man until he's screaming and begging for death. And you'll die too, only after I've made sure you've learned your lesson."

"Naomi!" Mycroft shifted, only to have the blade pressed a little more enthusiastically into his back. He sucked in a breath and squeezed his arms tighter around his daughter. Zariah was quiet and completely still in his arms, so helpless and vulnerable.

The choice was very simple actually, for Naomi. It took one look at Mycroft's face, and the messy head of dark hair that was what she could see of their daughter. She'd do anything for them. Even venture into the unknown, lose herself, even die or surrender to a fate worse than death. Because she knew in the deepest part of herself that this angel was right. She had been one of them before. She'd turned her back and sinned. Now she was facing the consequences.

"I'll do it," Naomi gasped weakly, slumping back against the wall. "Please just don't hurt them. Don't….hurt them."

"Good girl," Bartholomew put his angel blade away and took out a vial. Inside was a shimmery glowing form unbound by physics or space. Naomi's grace. "I'm going to break this and you're going to take it willingly. It wants to be back with you." He cupped her cheek to hold her gaze to his. "You are going to die, Mrs Holmes, but the angel you are supposed to be will be reborn. Just as it should be."

Naomi forcefully tilted her head to look up at Mycroft, struggling for breath herself as tears ran down her cheeks. His eyes were wide and scared, beautiful blue eyes she'd always loved so much. Eyes their daughter had inherited, their precious little girl. This was for them. Always for them. "I love you forever," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry-"

"I'd look away if I were you," Bartholomew interrupted Naomi's last words. Without giving room for an answer, he shattered the glass of the vial on the tile floor.

White hot shimmery grace broke free of its containment. It swirled in the air once but rushed immediately to its other half. Naomi could do nothing but accept it. It was hot and painful, burning her from the inside out. Like she'd just been put into the center of the sun. All at once she began filled with light, too bright to even look at. Mycroft pinched his eyes shut, pinning Zariah to his abdomen so she wouldn't look. The heat, light, and sound were too intense, too much. It culminated in an explosion that rocked their home. Glass shattered. Heat expanded. The floor shook like an earthquake.

And then the light vanished. It was over.

Mycroft chanced opening his eyes. There was only Bartholomew in his field of view. The knife against his spine pulled away, and his daughter still shivered in his arms. He straightened up, trying to square his shoulders and keep a stiff upper lip.

Even if he knew his wife, his partner, one of the only people who'd ever truly understood him, had sacrificed herself. Only a pool of blood was left where she had been.

"Where is she?" Mycroft demanded.

"She's gone, ape," Bartholomew answered, turning slowly to face him. "You probably won't see her again. What with the Apocalypse coming and all…I give the two of you a year, maybe two." He flashed a smile and straightened his tie. "So there's no need to be killing you here. Go about your daily lives, whatever you humans do, your time will come soon enough. If she doesn't snuff you out herself."

Mycroft had no chance to respond because all at once the angel vanished. They were alone. Left to cope with the loss of a mother and wife. His normally brilliant and quick mind had been flooded with emotion and heartache in the space of a moment.

Zariah still quivered in his arms, and Mycroft shifted slightly so he could catch a glimpse of her face, gently cradling her head. In the face of everything else, their little girl was alive. It was a blessing, Mycroft wasn't sure he would have been able to even function if she'd been harmed. "Darling," he said softly. "It's over, they're all gone."

She sniffled, but didn't speak for a long moment. She turned her face up. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks were blotchy with tears. "Are we going to die?" Her voice came out a hoarse whisper.

"No, no, of course not, little one. They're all gone, they won't be coming back."

"Where's….Mummy?"

Mycroft sucked in a breath. There was no specific answer to that question, he didn't know. How to cope when Naomi was just…gone. She wasn't dead, exactly. There wasn't a body to bury. Bartholomew had said it himself, the human was gone and all her memories were now a part of some angelic consciousness. "I don't know, love," he said. "But I don't think she is coming back."

"Bu-ut I want her to, I want my mummy…" Zariah's words dissolved into tears and she pressed her face into his chest again and sobbed.

"I know, I know." Mycroft closed his eyes, trying to delay his own emotional reaction. How was he supposed to cope with Naomi's loss, he didn't know that at all. For all his massive intellect, he was useless. Mycroft pressed a kiss to Zariah's head and held her tight. "I've got you, love."

Chapter Text

Chapter 6 - Black Hole

Mycroft would continue. His life in the hours, days, weeks, and months following Naomi's disappearance wouldn't just wait for him. There was work to do, a child to feed, a murder of a housekeeper to cover up, among all the usual chores that went along with being the British Government.

Poor Mrs Warner had perished in a car accident. At least that's what the death certificate said. That's what her family would be told. It seemed kinder than the truth of the matter. Faithful employees didn't deserve to be host to a demon, shot by their employer, and then killed by an angel.

Naomi was another story. There was no body to bury, it had exploded in angel light. Mycroft was at a loss. For what seemed the thousandth time since the angel voices first started. His whole world had flipped in on itself, his mate, his partner, the love of his life was gone. Dead, for all intents and purposes, so officially dead she would be.

Everyone died. It was a fact of life, one he had accepted. Death, however, was still not kind. It was raw and real. And it left a trail of broken hearts behind.

Their daughter had retreated into a shell and hadn't come out. Quiet, reserved, like ice in many ways and an uncontrollable storm in others. She cried herself to sleep in his arms more than once as the days turned into weeks. There were no horseback riding lessons or giggling at the dinner table. She declined dancing with him and practicing piano. She read most of the time, disappearing into books and other worlds to escape her reality.

Zariah had been given a leave of absence from her school. She was already years ahead of other children her age, her success and studies would not suffer. Her mental health and development were much more important. It didn't take long for Mycroft to find a therapist for her. The woman was the best in her field and specialized in children's grief. He flat out refused to see one himself, denying the need. He simply threw himself into his work.

To anyone else, Naomi was dead. There was a beautiful dark grey headstone for her at a cemetary in London; a little dove at the top, her full name written in script, and a short tribute. Mycroft hadn't designed it, his mother insisted on taking care of that herself, along with the funeral. He was quietly grateful. Naomi had no other family, it was only them. She'd been a Holmes completely and wholly for many years.

Four months passed in a blur of emptiness and work. Mycroft still expected to see Naomi when he came home, or when he had a meeting with the CIA, or when he woke up in the morning. But the halls were empty, her office taken over by another, and her side of the bed was cold.

Zariah's wellbeing was first in his mind, but he struggled with being the father she needed and deserved. Thankfully, he had help from his parents, even Sherlock would come a bit more frequently to spend time with the girl. The brothers never said it in so many words, but they found ways to help each other.

Mycroft's work continued. To the outside observer, there was nothing wrong. He still wore his wedding ring. He still made decisions that determined the fate of nations. He remained above and private. He was the arrogant and superiorly intelligent man who had softened only through the love of an ambitious and passionate woman.

It was four months to the day since she'd left, a cold winter day blustered central London in snow flurries and sharp wind. Mycroft shook out his umbrella prior to his appearance in his secret bunker office. However, that same umbrella clattered to the ground when he opened his office door.

Seated in his chair, hands folded on the desk like she belonged there, was Naomi. She looked different, dressed in a grey suit, white shirt buttoned all the way up, but it was more than that. Might have been the deep look in her beautiful blue eyes. Her auburn hair, which had been so soft to the touch, was in a delicate bun at the nape of her neck. Her pink lips were pulled into a small smile.

"Hello, Mycroft."

He'd always loved the way she said his name. He remembered their first meeting so clearly. Even if her accent had subtle tells of her life in England, he'd loved her voice always. He wanted her. He wanted to hold her, to ask questions, to tell her about their daughter. But he was frozen in place.

"Naomi," he said softly, uncharacteristically fumbling for words. "I…thought you…you were…"

"I asked for a favor. I had my body rebuilt, reconstructed. I'm fond of this one, for a number of reasons."

Mycroft found the ability to approach and he did so quietly. He stole one of the chairs from the front of the desk to sit by her. Hands clasped, eyes locked on her. He didn't touch her for fear of either chasing her away or putting them both in danger. He found himself in a curious position to be unable to deduce anything about her current state. Other than she'd gone back to whatever angels did.

Naomi smiled again, and it was soft and sure. The longing in his eyes tugged at her memories of her humanity. Except this time she could not give in to that longing, she could not fall to temptation. She reached for his hand. "I can't stay," she said. "There is too much to do. But I wanted to see you, to have you see me. And to promise my protection."

Mycroft gripped her hand like a lifeline. "Protection from what?"

"What Bartholomew said is true, we are to bring in the Apocalypse," Naomi confirmed. "It is why I ran away all those years ago. I though if they didn't have me, things would just continue without interruption…" she paused. "But I can't escape what I am and what we must do. This must happen. I'm under orders. I cannot disobey again. People will die, people you know, destruction will be rained down upon the Earth, I am sorry. I wish things could be different. I will try to protect you, but there is a chance it will not be successful."

He felt four months of grieving suddenly bubbling up to the surface. He struggled to hold on. "Zariah's not doing well."

The first sign of grief flashed over Naomi's features, but even that didn't linger. "I am sorry, Mycroft. I cannot see her or stay with you, I cannot be a wife and mother. I am not…I'm not human any longer." She paused. "They did some reprogramming, one of the archangels took over. To ensure my allegiance. I still remember, I was allowed that gift, but I'm not equipped to be your companion. It is something you cannot understand."

Mycroft's jaw clenched. "Your daughter, our greatest creation in this world, still cries herself to sleep at night. She's lost weight, she avoids rooms of the house and hasn't touched the piano or paints since. The least you can do is come see her. Just once. Let her know."

"I'm sorry Mycroft. She'll recover in time."

He'd never been very good with people. When they'd had Zariah, he had been terrified he'd ruin her or she'd grow to hate him. Naomi's gentle guidance and logical approach to it had helped him through. So her denial to go anywhere near Zariah, coupled with his own grief, fueled a rare anger at the only woman he'd ever loved.

Naomi spoke again. "You have no understanding of what I need to do, what I have already done. You wouldn't want me near her if so." She took her hand away from him and sat up very straight in the chair. "I promise protection, that's all I can do. For what it's worth, I am sorry, Mycroft. I wish things had been different. I wanted to spend a life with you. I promised myself to you for as long as we had. I am just sorry our time has run out sooner than expected."

"I am too." Mycroft averted his eyes if only to try and hide the fact they were watering.

She left him with only one more word, and a softening of her features he wouldn't see "Goodbye."

When the soft sounds of feathers touched his ears and he was left with an empty office and an empty hand, he felt like he'd lost her all over again. She was gone, alive but not his Naomi. The woman he'd fallen in love with and made a life with was still dead. He stood, locked the door, and then collapsed against it. He slid to the floor and released months worth of grief in body-wracking sobs. No one would find him.

Mycroft was once again alone.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7 - Falling Star

The years following that last encounter brought the Apocalypse. People died, tragedy shook the globe, demons and angels walked the earth. Then just like that, everything came to a screeching halt, thanks to the Winchesters. They threw away the script. Heaven was in turmoil from the moment Michael and Lucifer disappeared into the Cage forever.

Angels strove to bring peace and order to that chaos. Neither would be achieved, even in the years following the deaths of the Archangels.

Naomi, Angel of the Lord, met each struggle with everything she had. She was thrown into a higher position of power over the angels. She was coerced into making a bid for complete control. Backed by a faction of angels she'd trusted, it seemed the best course of action. She did what she had to, to bring order to the Heavens.

But in that endeavor, she'd realized something. She was a monster. She was not beautiful or worthy. And everything she'd done crashed over her in a tidal wave of guilt and heartbreak. She couldn't bear it. She wished to go home, to crawl into Mycroft's arms and diminish. But that yearning could not be attained. There was work to do and she couldn't escape.

She'd underestimated Metatron, the Scribe, in the process. Her most serious mistake.

Sharp agonizing, indescribable pain hit Naomi the moment the drill pierced her skull. Metatron's hand held it there, pinning her to the very desk she'd spent so long behind, as he spat atrocities at her. The drill itself dug into her grace, her very being. The drill would kill her. The realization didn't hit until Metatron had walked away, leaving her immobile and dying.

Death claimed her slowly.

Suffocating darkness surrounded her, creeping over her inch by inch until the white light of home was gone and all that was left was black nothingness.

Nothingness was pleasant. There were no expectations. No pain. No death or suffering. No sacrifice. Just…nothing.

But this nothingness would be so short-lived. She felt pulled up, out of the depths. Like she was being lifted by two strong hands, taken out of the darkness and brought into the marvelous light. Rebirth was joyous. Invigorating. Lively. Exhilarating.

The pleasure did not last long.

Naomi jolted back to consciousness when her body disappeared underneath an ocean wave. Cold water threatened to claim her. She struggled back up with weak kicks, blindly reaching up to the surface, to the heavens she was no longer a part of. She heard shouting of various voices. And then someone grabbed her hand. They dragged her up out of the sea into a fishing boat.

Four hours later, Naomi was in a hospital in Helsinki, Finland. Warm and cared for, her bleeding skull patched, her bruises iced, her ruined suit discarded. They'd asked for details. She gave them few. 

"Mrs Holmes?"

Where she was curled up on the hospital bed under many blankets, Naomi glanced up from the tea they'd handed her. The nurse brought a corded phone over and placed it next to the bed.

"There's an international card, if you need to place a call. Do you have anyone to help you?" The nurse was kind, grandmotherly, with excellent English and a light Scandinavian accent.

"I…I don't know," Naomi said. "Thank you, though."

"Not at all, call if you need anything." Moments later the nurse slipped out the door.

Naomi studied the phone in quiet trepidation, a million thoughts running through her mind. She had someone she'd loved. However, she didn't know if he'd come for her. She'd broken his heart almost five years ago.

She wasn't worthy of his love anymore. She had abandoned her husband and daughter. Not intentionally, at least not initially. She'd saved their lives by accepting her grace and her position in Heaven, it had been the right decision given the variables.

And yet. Her heart, which had been hidden away for nearly five years, made her chest ache with emotional pain. Her fall and attempted assassination had destroyed her wings and let free the humanity she'd been deprived of. And it just hurt.

She had nowhere else to go.

Minutes of silent deliberation later, she reached for the phone, dialing the number by heart.

"Hello? Holmes residence."

Naomi's heart nearly stopped. The voice on the other end of the line was that of a young woman. Not a housekeeper, not Mycroft himself. It was Zariah, a fifteen year old girl who'd grown up the last five years without a mother. The girl that had been abandoned, was evidence staring her in the face that returning to Heaven had impact more than just on the surface. It's like it hadn't even occurred to Naomi until right then. Until the voice at the other end of the telephone was real.

Naomi's hand covered her mouth and she barely suppressed a sob.

"Hello? Someone there?" Zariah asked again. Another second of pause and the phone clicked. She'd hung up.

Naomi couldn't bear it. She put the phone down, curled up into a ball under the blankets and cried. She grieved the years lost, and every other failure in her very long life.

Mycroft Holmes came home from another day. He'd had a meeting with Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin which had taken up most of his afternoon. He was looking forward to dinner with his daughter, and alone time later after she went to bed. Zariah was home for summer break from her boarding school early, since she'd taken most of her exams ahead of schedule.

Considering what they'd been through as a family, almost five years ago now, she'd recovered beautifully. In his struggling to be the father she needed and deserved, they helped each other find emotional context. He'd never been very good with people, his daughter included, but they shared a bond that he didn't have with anyone else. She got to see his human side when he shed the icy exterior and allowed himself to just be.

He wore the weight of the world on his shoulders but sometimes it got lighter. When Zariah had a twinkle in her eyes, usually one that reminded him of Naomi. When there was laughter at the table and cuddling by the fireside. When there was a competitive chess match. When she wrapped her arms around him and tucked her head on his chest after she'd been away for school. When there was tea shared and walks had. His little girl was his whole world. If he had to, he'd bring England to its knees for her.

She was definitely a teenager, and they'd had their moments of moody disagreements and fights. That was natural, normal, and hardly worth mentioning in the grand scheme of things.

That May evening, oblivious that everything was about to change again, Mycroft set his briefcase, umbrella, and suit coat aside, and went to find Zariah. She was at the dining room table with her laptop and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Do you need to buy more books, Zariah?"

"Well, I probably don't need to, but I want to," she quipped back.

Mycroft sat in the chair facing hers and quirked a brow in a teasingly strict expression. "At least you're self-aware."

The two of them went back and forth a bit, chatting about their day and planning out the evening. The two parted again until dinnertime. Zariah headed upstairs to go to bed around the usual time. She kept a predictable schedule. And would probably be reading in bed for at least an hour before she turned the light off.

Mycroft settled into his film screening room, putting on an old black and white favorite he used to make Naomi watch with him. He alternated between a cigarette and a glass of brandy as the film played.

He thought he was hearing things when he heard a car on the drive. It was too late for guests, and Sherlock was still out of the country. Not to mention the person had gotten through the perimeter gate. Mycroft's brow pinched and remained so when he went to investigate. He snagged his umbrella along the way.

Through the window, he saw the car pull up and stop. A lone figure wearing a long coat stepping out of the driver side. The motion light went on, but the hood of the coat and tilt of her head obscured identifying his female visitor. She was alone. There was something oddly familiar about the figure.

Mycroft hovered by the door. Waiting. The seconds stretched out into the dark.

Knock. Knock. Knock. The sound was light. Mycroft might have said hesitant. And in a smooth motion, the umbrella ready to draw if he needed to, he unlocked and opened the door.

"I don't think you need that, darling," she said quietly, eyes flicking to the object in his hand and then back up to his face.

He hoped he didn't need it, because the umbrella fell to the ground when he lost his grip on the handle.

Naomi lowered her hood, revealing loose auburn hair and a sorrowed expression. "Hello, Mycroft."

She said his name and the world around them might have faded away.

He was uncharacteristically speechless, his brilliant mind stammered for words and thoughts. He didn't know if he was in danger, if Naomi was actually here or if it was a product of the supernatural world. He didn't know anything.

And then all of the thoughts came at once. Deductions, estimations, observations. She'd driven, she must not have been able to fly. There were signs of a recent injury to her head and barely visible bruises on her face. Her clothes were second-hand but new to her. She wore no jewelry, make-up, or adornment. And her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes, carried such sadness. 

Naomi didn't move towards him to enter the house they'd shared years of marriage in. Instead, she lowered herself. The angel kelt on the ground, bowing her head and clasping her hands in her lap, never once meeting his eyes or looking up. She took a deep breath in. "I do not expect forgiveness or to be taken back, but I must speak to you. I have been through a great deal since I abandoned you. None of it truly worthwhile, and most of it deeply sinful. On top of leaving you and our daughter, I have killed and manipulated, lied and destroyed. I grew so consumed with my lust for power and order, that I lost sight of the only thing that has ever mattered. Protecting Creation, protecting you. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, I only wish for your understanding." Her voice finally cracked and she loosed one hand from the other to wipe at her watery eyes. "I'm so sorry, beloved. I am so, so sorry."

Mycroft couldn't fathom Naomi bowing there before him, like some inferior being, but he recognized it as a show of surrender. Of suffering, even. It broke his heart. He didn't say anything initially. He crouched down in front of her. Gently, he tipped her chin up so their eyes could meet. She looked older, weary, broken. But there was the woman he'd fallen in love with, created a life with.

He held her gaze. "You are forgiven."

Naomi's shocked eyes shone with unshed tears, frozen in place. "What?"

"You are forgiven," he repeated. "That is not without thought or deliberation, nor extensive consideration had you ever come back to me. I love you, I have always loved you." He paused, moving his hand to cup her head instead. "You're welcome home, if you want to stay. We do have a lot to talk about."

She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, an absolute mess of an angel. "I want to be with you. I love you, I never stopped. Not truly stopped," she said quietly.

Mycroft caved to the temptation and moments later he'd knelt and pulled her into his arms right there in the open doorway. He could feel her shoulders shaking with emotion. And he felt all the ice of the years melt away. He turned his nose to bury in her hair. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Mycroft."

Chapter Text

Chapter 8 - Galaxies

Mycroft held her until his knees reminded him of his age. With a quiet word, he helped them both stand and ushered her into their home. His umbrella went back to its stand, the door was locked, and Mycroft took her coat to hang up. She had no other items.

He put his hand on her back and guided her into the front sitting room. The one with the fireplace, large widows, and their old chess set. And it was there on one of the sofas that they settled. Mycroft couldn't bear to let her go, for fear she'd suddenly vanish again. He held her hands between them when they sat down. Blue eyes met. There was nothing but forgiveness in his and sorrow in hers.

Silence stretched the moment before she could say anything. "I'm so sorry, I don't even know where to begin."

"I know. We have time. Zariah's here." Mycroft spoke before she could ask another question, broaching the subject she was immensely curious about. He knew her still. "She's sleeping now, I'm sure. But I'd like to wait until morning before you meet her," he said. He squeezed her hands gently. "She's beautiful, Naomi. So brilliant and vibrant. She's light in an otherwise dark world." He paused. "She's missed you."

"She needed me," Naomi finished for him, bowing her head again. "And I wasn't there."

He couldn't collect words of response. The time and distance between them had put up a barrier that Mycroft didn't know how to take down. Forgiveness was the first step, but so much more needed to be worked through. He loosed a hand from hers and touched her cheek again, brushing his thumb to wipe away a stray tear. "You saved us, that's what you did. And whatever choices you made after that, I trust you felt you had to. We can't change what we have done, only what we do from this point on."

Naomi's shoulders shook again. Emotions just bubbled up through her, nightmarish memories leading the way. She had deserved to die. She didn't deserve Mycroft's forgiveness or understanding, or his steadfast love.

Mycroft continued when she didn't reply. "I want you to stay. Here. If you can and want to, for however long you want to be with us...I would also like to know what happened and if there's any danger I should know about."

"I should have died," she whispered. "I miscalculated, Metatron…he was supposed to be my prisoner. I underestimated him. He…stabbed me, and I remember slipping away slowly. Everything was a bit of a blur after that. I woke up on Earth, injured but alive. I still can't understand how I survived. I should have died."

"Everyone dies," he replied gently. "Even angels, apparently. But you didn't. Not yet. You still have time, time to heal and restore. And time to reconnect with the people that would do anything for you."

Naomi turned her eyes to his face, taking comfort in the honesty and pragmatism she remembered so well. "I don't deserve you."

Mycroft made a half-amused sound. "You, my darling, most certainly deserve me. As one of the very few who can put up with my…tendencies, you have more of a claim than anyone."

"I'm quite fond of your tendencies," she said after a moment. "Snarky replies and all."

"Good, because that has not changed since we last spoke."

She let out something close to an amused sound, but it faded quickly. "I think something has changed. You're sadder…lonely." She paused. "It's my fault. I did this to you, to our daughter."

"Yes, you did," he confirmed, with the quiet voice he used to speak truth. "But you came back. You're here now, you can get back what you lost. Our daughter, I never told her of our last meeting. I wanted to save her the heartbreak. She is under the impression that you died in the attack, her memories of it are distant now. Set aside" Pause. "I can only anticipate her reaction now to a point."

Naomi bit her lip. It was deserved and probably for the best. She would need to tell Zariah herself. "If you do not want me here, if you'd rather I leave for your safety, I will. I won't be a burden."

"I want you to stay, I said that already, as long as you mean Zariah no further harm. You are not a burden, nor will you ever be."

Hesitantly, but with purpose, she raised her hand to his head. She trailed fingertips from his cheek through his hair and then gently cupped the back of his head. Her eyes studied his expression, curiously, almost like she was trying to burn it into her memory. "I'll stay. I have to redeem myself, loving you is my beginning."

"Good." Mycroft relaxed under her touch, leaning into it like a man who'd been starved of physical affection.

They spoke long into the night, settled on the couch. She told him of what she did in Heaven. She elaborated on the Apocalypse and what had happened to stop it. She confessed her final realization, that angels had forgotten the real mission. She promised to do better.

He shared stories of Zariah, her schooling and progress. What she liked to do, who her friends were, the boy she fancied and thought he didn't know about. There was so much else to say, five years of life missed.

The clock struck two-thirty, and Mycroft's eyes were drooping. Naomi squeezed his hands gently and then let him go. "I promise not to run off, but you need to sleep, my dear."

"I'll be up early."

"I'll make tea, I still remember how."

Mycroft didn't want to let go, but his human body was betraying him. There was also that part of him that wanted to invite her back to their bed, to wrap her in his arms and hold her like she was back from the dead. He didn't want to push her, however. Or himself. He glanced just once more over his shoulder and left the room.

Naomi remained in the sitting room. Her tired, broken wings drooped. She watched the fire in the hearth until it was nothing but a bed of coals. Illogically, since she didn't know if Heaven would be after her, she felt safe here. The familiar smells and sights of their beautiful house. She closed her eyes to let her thoughts wander.

Hours later, just after sunrise, a soft padding of footsteps pulled the fallen angel from her thoughts. Naomi turned her head towards the door and caught a flash of dark hair and a pink dressing gown.

Zariah.

Naomi didn't move from her chair, eyes riveted to the now empty hallway, hands clenched until her knuckles blanched. Nervous and anxious all at once. She couldn't stand up, she couldn't move. Mycroft had promised to be awake to be there to explain to the teenager what had happened. Her long dead mother back from being an angel again. It was ridiculous, really. Naomi was afraid.

In the end, she didn't have to seek Zariah out, because the girl came to her. Quiet as a mouse, Zariah's tall and slim form entered the sitting room, lit only by the growing light of the sunrise through decorated windows.

Two pairs of blue eyes met, locked in an uncertain stare. Zariah remained there a few steps into the room, a cup of tea in hand. Her dark brown hair had just been brushed and her face was pink from washing. She had grown into a lovely young woman, just shy of how tall Naomi was. Her brows were pinched, eyes fixed on Naomi like she was staring at a ghost. Nearly true, in every sense of the word.

Naomi cleared her throat. "Hello, darling."

The cup of tea slipped out of Zariah's hands and went crashing to the expensive rug. It cracked and the warm liquid splashed out over the floor. Zariah stood there. Silent in shock, fixed in place until she finally was able to speak. "Mummy?"

That one word nearly brought Naomi back to her knees. Instead, she stood slowly from her chair, arms outstretched. "I'm here, Zariah, I promise. It's really me."

Zariah burst into tears, and with long strides went crashing into Naomi. Her arms tucked up against her, fingers fisting into Naomi's shirt, she just cried against her mother's shoulder. "I though…you were…dead…"

"Not anymore. I won't leave you again, my love," Naomi said softly. She found tears in her own eyes.

"Please don't leave... I need you."

Angelic emotions ran deep when allowed, Naomi was wholly and completely capable of love and family. And of guilt. It seemed to be her constant companion. She just held her little girl and they cried together for years lost and promises broken.

Long minutes later, Zariah's body wracking sobs had quieted but she made no move to extract herself from Naomi's embrace. They stood together, breathing deeply. Naomi caught sight of Mycroft as soon as he stepped into the room. Their eyes met. She smiled ever so softly, quiet confirmation of her feelings. He smiled back and she thought it was the most beautiful thing in the universe.

There was much to discuss, much to be mended, a life to learn to live again. She'd gone the wrong way. She'd lost herself in her own passion and zeal. But nothing was lost completely. This remarkable man accepted her and wanted her. Their greatest creation needed her. Their family could be mended. Naomi had found a new mission, one that suited her, one that she'd wanted all along.

They were going to be okay.