this one made ME cry so thats not a super great sign for everyone else

[likemypicture]

 

Anna hates February 13th. 

Those around her have assumed it’s the upcoming valentines day holiday, which she has scheduled dates for-- but on February 13th, she cancels them all. Is it the rage of living around so many people in relationships, while she’s a woman known for her famously failed marriage? No-- but the marriage thing does get closer to the real issue at hand. When Stephen finds her in the kitchen, scarfing spätzle and wurst out of a takeout container, she’s already halfway through a bottle of wine and has a dark expression on her face. 

The dark expression is alarming, but there are other worrying facts at play here. When she announced that she’d thrown away all of her plans for tomorrow, the entire household had balked -- Anna had seemed genuinely excited about some of them. She hadn’t been the most successful at dating, but she loved the thrill of it anyway. There was also the idea that Anna would have gotten takeout from the German restaurant, instead of eating in, shouting at the cooks in the back in German, and excitedly chattering away with anyone’s immigrant grandmother in their native tongue. She was a local celebrity there. Then, there was the fact that Anna was drinking alone. That wasn’t like her at all. 

He briefly considers turning and running. He probably should have. But instead, he gets her a mug for her wine, a nod to a time long ago. She peers at him suspiciously, but takes the thing-- on a better day, she’d laugh, maybe make a joke about the tables turning. Instead, she pours a good bit of wine into the mug, then shoots him a particularly scathing look. “You can join me, or leave while you can. Last warning.” 

He takes his chances, gets his own wine-mug down and lets her pour a little bit in there, though he doesn’t drink like she is. Instead, he takes a sip, looking up at her, wondering what, or who has possessed Anna von Kleve. “Valentine’s Day has you down?” He asks, taking a guess. 

“No. February 13th.” She retorts back, mouth half full of spätzle. She narrowly avoids biting her tongue off, and thankfully, decides to finish chewing and swallowing her food before she replies for the rest of the conversation. She says it in a way that he should know what that means, and he takes a moment to think before he remembers something on public radio earlier that day. “...World Radio Day?” He asks, hesitantly, though he’s pretty sure Anna hasn’t seen a radio before coming to New York, and she likely hasn’t formed such a resentment for the invention that it might cause her such anger. 

Anna’s mid chewing when he makes the suggestion, but her face tells him it’s the wrong answer. She pushes away her food when she’s done, taking her time before she answers. “No. February 13th is the day Katherine Howard was executed.” He knows that name, but it takes him time to remember which of the other wives this was-- three of them were named C/Katherine, you can’t blame the man. Anna watches his expression, and fills in the blanks for him. “Wife number five. Divorced, Beheaded, Died, Divorced--” as always there’s a thumb pointing at her own chest “Beheaded. …. Survived, but who cares about Kathy Parr?” She takes a chug of wine, but doesn’t wait for Stephen to answer. “Katherine was sent to court to be one of my Ladies in Waiting. She was sixteen when she arrived. Ja-- I know.” She was responding to the disturbed look on Stephen’s face. “He liked her instantly. She was everything I was not. Pretty, young, educated in music and dance, and spoke perfect English! A few months in, my jewels started going to her. Another 3 months, and I had divorce papers.”

Stephen isn’t sure how to process this information, in combination with Anna’s anger. She never seemed this angry about Henry, just aghast at the disrespect and the tragedy of it all. “You didn’t like her?” He asks, wondering if maybe this is Anna’s expression of jealousy. Instead, Anna laughs, though the laugh doesn’t sound right, and he’s starting to feel even more worried about this situation he was in. 

“I loved the girl! I showered her in gifts for her seventeenth birthday too. I shouldn’t have, all that was mine ended up being hers, in terms of the Queen’s supply of jewelry and clothing, just a few months later. I signed the divorce agreement, became the richest woman in England, and nineteen days later, Henry made Katherine Howard his fifth wife. Second, in his mind, Wives one, two, and four didn’t count.” There’s the dramatic eye roll that normally accompanies her talk of Henry, and he feels relief for half a second, but then she’s talking again. “I came to see them both a few months later. She was lovely. She gave me a diamond ring, and when Henry gave her two puppies as a gift, she handed one to me. She was a child. I stayed away after that. I had a bad feeling. And I was right. She’s the one they accused of adultery, though-- her song always breaks my heart. Henry was always full of shit, and court was always full of monsters. They took her head on February 13th.”

A long silence stretches between them. Anna isn’t crying, but she doesn’t look right either. He reaches for the wine bottle, intending to pour the rest into his mug just to keep it away from her, but she swats his hand away and pours the rest for herself. He opts to speak, instead. “And that’s why today’s so difficult.” 

Anna laughs. It’s not a kind laugh. It’s the kind of guttural laugh that makes his stomach twist, makes him briefly doubt his sanity, reminds him of the sound he had made, way back--- her voice again distracts him from his panic. 

“No. It was sad. I felt terrible for the girl. But February 13th wasn’t about Katherine to me. It was….” Even drunk, she’s stronger than this. She lifts her head and looks him in the eye. “February 13th reminds me of what I escaped. It reminds me of why I accepted the divorce. Why I only returned to court on occasion, when it suited me. Why I didn’t push my brother’s agenda to become wife number six. February 13th is all about what I avoided.” His stomach twists. He knows what she’s going to say next. She’s said it in jest more than once, but never in this way. “Seventeen years.” She whispers. “Seventeen years after my divorce, I lived, and even though I was remembered as the second Divorced, I outlived Kathy Parr, the Survived by nine years. I converted back to Catholicism, to keep Mary’s favor. I distanced myself from Elizabeth, to keep rumors at bay. I played the game, so I would never. Ever. Have my own. February 13th.”

He can’t do anything. He’s paralyzed, too afraid to bolt, held in that seat by her gaze. She cracks. She sobs. “And then-- you---- you just….” She buries her face in her arms on the table and lets out a wail, one that makes him glad that the others are out, sans Mephisto, who he’s sure is lurking around the corner, eavesdropping. 

“Anna---” He musters, and she only wails more. She can’t even remember it, but the knowledge that her greatest efforts had failed in the end, that she had spent a life so lonely to avoid such a fate, only to meet it after being thrust into a situation that kept her closely with other people-- she hangs onto the knowledge that she had been executed, a mere week after she had sobbed to Stephen in fear of Henry doing the same. 

He’s not sure if he should leave, but he half fears that she may take some homicidal action if he tries to do that. He’s the worst person to be there for her in this situation, but he’s the only one there right now, and at least he has experience with trying to comfort her when she’s like this. He stands from his seat, taking the opportunity to move the wine out of her reach, and after pulling another chair beside her, cautiously wraps an arm around her. Surprisingly, she accepts it, and after raising her head from the table, she ends up crying into his shirt. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.” He whispers as she cries, politely ignoring her wine and bratwurst breath. He’s said it before, but he’ll say it again now, say it as many times as it takes. “I didn’t know it--” He swallows. He should have known. “...Impacted you so much.” 

Now that she’s cried her feelings out, she seems to have returned at least somewhat to herself. She nods, lip trembling with an overdramatic effect that seems somehow reasonable right now. When she talks, it’s back to her regular quick, musical pace. “Ja. I try and… make it funny. Make it easy. But… My greatest fear happened, and I don’t even remember, and I’m being sad about it on the anniversary of a teenager dying!” More waterworks. Stephen feels sick, but also relieved that this all has finally come out. Put into the context of her life, and the way she had been during the sickness motive-- he gently pats her back until she’s done crying, until she sits up, and wipes her eyes with her arm.

“Sorry. I’m just really really really sad today. Not just about dying. About Katherine. And Henry. And the Opera house, and---” Fuck. How does he keep her from crying again? He squeezes her hand, which seems to at least keep her from wailing again. And she doesn’t stab him with her fork either, which is a nice plus. Instead, she whispers another “Sorry.” 

“No. I’m sorry. It’s okay, Anna. It’s okay to be sad today.” She nods, going to wipe her nose with her arm next--- he delivers a napkin into her hand instead. “I’m sad, and mad at you, but I still love you. And I’m not normally mad at you. But today...” She confesses, after blowing her nose in a less-than-royal fashion. Stephen smiles wearily, reaching to adjust some of her hair that’s fallen way-side in her meltdown. “You can be mad at me today, too.” He hesitates just briefly, then gives her a little squeeze. “I love you too Anna. It’s going to be okay.” 

And it was.