People are born with little knowledge of the world around them. They live. They learn. They make mistakes and they do things, good and bad. They gain and they lose. Some may even get to fall in love. And in the end, they die. That’s always the case. Whether you’re 30 or 80 when you go. Such is life.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” she replies cautiously as she sits on the chair opposite me. We sit there in our seats, doing mostly nothing. Neither of us wants to say anything. We don’t know quite what to say, so I drum against the table between us with my fingers and she studies her hands, suddenly fascinated by them. Of course, if I were her, I’d be fascinated by them, too, all things considered.

They’re beautiful hands, if you ask me. Long and strong fingers, but with a simple grace. The strength in her hands is the same that is in her features. She’s beautiful and graceful, yet her hands can work miracles. She has touched so many with those hands.

“So they finally got you?” she asks, smiling girlishly and shaking me out of my reverie. I never thought she could smile that way. I guess I was wrong. I’ve been wrong about so many things, but it makes no difference now. But it is a beautiful smile. I hope she’ll do it more often.

“Yes, they did. But I went kicking and screaming bloody murder.”

“No doubt about that.”

“Yeah,” I answer, returning to monosyllables, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Silence falls upon us again as I, if not we, contemplate our fates. My mouth dry, I finally ask, “Legacy?”

She nods, her eyes darkening briefly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I had a long life. A good life.”

This time I’m the one to simply nod. I glance around my surroundings. Forest, trees, bushes, flowers and plants as far as the eye can see. Except for the two chairs and the round table, like from a Parisian café, that is.

“What is this place?”

I shrug, knowing the answer is far beyond my wisdom. Wisdom and wisdom. “I guess some would call this paradise. Heaven.”

She nods. “Are there others here? You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She looks hopeful at that and I grin.

“Yes. There are others. Heaven is what we make of it. This is the lounge, that’s what I call it. I’d rather not go into semantics, I’m sure somebody else can do that for you.” I stop, frowning. “Somebody did come to greet you as you came, didn’t they?”

She shakes her head firmly. “I was just wondering...about my son. About my husband.”

I get an urge to put my arms around her. She shouldn’t sound so sad. This is a happy place. “I saw my mum when I came. I’m sure your loved ones are here as well,” I offer, patting her hand gently. She gives me another heart-warming smile.

The smile makes me feel warm inside and I realize something. I was her shower and teller guy. She chose me, or I chose her. We chose each other. I never would have believed it. She actually likes me. The old windbag who is looking and acting quite young and charming actually likes me.

“I never thought I’d see you here. I always thought loud-mouthed Brits ended up somewhere else,” she comments wryly, her lips curling into a teasing smile. Now here is the woman I know and lo-- like.

“Same here, you bleeding, old herridan. Of course, I always thought you would join me There after poisoning yourself with that horrible fungus-creature from the planet Ork you call coffee.” I smile and wink at her, making her blush. And here I always thought you couldn’t do that sort of thing here. Live – or in my case, die - and learn.

We smile fondly at each other, knowing full-well what our usual banter means. _Yeah, I missed you, too._ One of the comforts we can give one another is this, as we’ve done for as long as we’ve known each other. The banter. It’s something that can help us deal.

My fingers start to itch. She notices it and grins. “No smoking allowed, eh?”

I nod at her sadly. “No one ever said death would be easy.” She shivers. Shite. I hadn’t said the word out loud before to her. She’s new here. She just arrived. She’s dead, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings!

“A lot to take in one sitting, this.” Death. Dying. Heaven. Whatnot.

“You’re right about that, Peter.” She paused for breath she didn’t really need anymore. “I knew I was going to die. I just never thought it could be this hard, not being around...” she trailed off and gulped. “Them.”

Them is a good term. People. People that we love. People in general. Them.

“No tears, Moira.” My voice sounds soft and here I thought that was impossible, that I made it impossible with my cigarettes. I wipe away the lone tear on her cheek. “This might be heaven, but it’s not quite paradise. Not without them.” I pause, trying to fight tears myself. “We can see them, if we want to. We can guard them, even, but we can’t be with them. Not until they’re done living.” And they have to live, for them - and for us, to honor our passing.

“Not quite paradise, but it’s still heaven. A resting place for the weary.” She smiles, tears shining in her eyes. Someone will always remember her, of that I’m sure.

She made the world a better place, being in it. She made even my world a little bit brighter. When she wasn’t trying to kill me with her coffee or prod me with sharp instruments. She did a lot of good, touched many a person’s hearts. “You’ll be missed.” The words are out of my mouth before I notice. I cringe, realizing my own bitter tone.

“As will you be. Kitty, Kurt, X-Force. Your sister. Nathan.” I start at the last name. Nathan meant – and still means – a lot to the both of us. And she couldn’t be that bad if he cared for her.

“How did you know about...?”

“I know a great deal of things, Mr. Wisdom. Peter,” she smiles at me again, eyes twinkling. For one, she knows a lot more about me than I thought. Maybe I should learn to know her a bit better, too.

As the evening draws to a close, the shadows grow deeper and longer, she looks at me again and it hits me. Life goes on. It’s inevitable. The thing that I never got before was that death goes on as well.

“So, how’s the coffee here?”