Edith Keeler is going to die. Her gift isn't as strong as her mother's is, the legacy of a father who was 'blind as a bat, Edie, and in more ways than one,' so she doesn't know how, or where, or even when exactly. The only thing she knows, because she can hear it in every thrum of her heart, is it is going to be soon.

Edith Keeler is going to die. And mostly, she's alright with that.

When she goes down to investigate the noises coming from the basement, she's fully expecting to find the two homeless men. What she isn't expecting is for the two of them to be wrapped up in strands of destiny like golden thread. Even more surprising is the way the strands have turned sickly green at the ends, as though they had been forcibly ripped away from their anchor point. Looking at those frayed edges, Edith feels a bright hot throb of pain flash through her entire body.

Ah. Well, it's not such a bad way to go, she supposes.

As a rule, Edith is very careful about the people she hires to work at the Mission. A lot of the people that come to her for help are just that, people who need help, but there are a fair number bad sorts mixed in there too. The sort who think they can take advantage of 'the sweet young thing' running the Mission, and that she will not stand for. Despite that, it's not against her better judgment when she doesn't even hesitate to hire the two mysterious men. She can tell she needs to keep them around.

It is a few days before Edith realizes her mistake. Jim is as bright as his destiny would suggest, filling up every space he occupies like sunlight. Spock, by contrast, is content to hold back to the shadows and follow wherever his captain – and oh, how that word echoes in her head! – may lead. The whole and undamaged moon-colored strands are wrapped so tightly around Jim's, it's no wonder she hadn't seen them at first.

With the two of them around, the future is brighter and nearer than it ever has been. Her hope has ever sprung eternal, but whereas before it was only supported by the surety of her own optimism, she now finds a sense of conviction that spills from deep in her soul. And some of the things she finds herself saying! Honestly, if she didn't know them to be true, she would think herself quite ridiculous too.

Edith wonders briefly, as she leads Jim up the stairs and away from Spock, if she's being a bit cruel. But she dismisses the thought almost as quickly as it comes. Even if she were able to tear the two of them apart, and she truthfully doubts if death itself would be capable of that, she won't be around long enough now to do so. If anything, what she's doing may be an act of kindness. Threatening Spock's place, however ineffectively, is more likely to spur him to action than the Cassandra words tumbling from her lips.

Above all else, she just wants these two men, her sun and moon, to find their way back to the sky, together, where they belong.

There is never any question of Edith not helping the sick and clearly somewhat delusional man that comes in through her front doors. Still, when settling him into the cot also causes a sense of rightness to settle into her veins she can't help but be comforted.

This time Edith doesn't have to wonder if whether she is being cruel; she already knows she is. Jim loves her. She knows that bone-deep by means no more supernatural or complex than seeing the look in his eyes when he's around her. He freely gives her his heart and she gladly takes it, knowing all the while that oh so soon now she will have no choice but to shatter it to pieces.

Edith has never been selfish, but perhaps just this once, as a woman on her deathbed, she can allow herself to be selfish and cruel and to take what she wants.

The first time she sees McCoy up and healthy, Edith nearly laughs in delight. Her two young men may have left some distant sky bereft of their presence, but their Earth, it appears, has come to find them. A million and one ways to alert McCoy to his friends', because they must be friends, location occur to her, some subtle, and some not. But every single one of them stays sitting in her throat, showing no desire to be voiced.

Not yet, then.

McCoy's name slips from her lips completely unbidden and while Jim's recognition of it doesn't surprise her, the fervency of his reaction does. She may have been mistaken as to who was looking for whom. Their reunion and the exuberant joy they find in it should gladden her, and it does. Yet, the instant Jim and McCoy touch, the tender and resilient strands of fate begin to flick-flick-flicker. It is like nothing Edith's ever seen before and she strides determinedly across the street to get a closer look. So distracted is she by the puzzle of it, she never even hears the swan song of her heart.

Perhaps it is just as well she doesn't. It is true that Edith has resigned herself to her impending death, and even if she hadn't, there is very little she wouldn't do or give to reach that maybe not so inevitable future of peace and life and 'let me help.' Still, it takes a very special kind of courage to step into the path of danger for little more than an abstract idea and a pair of hazel eyes.

Whether by luck or the design of a harsh but surely grateful universe, Edith doesn't see the car coming. She has only an instant to scream and only an instant of horrible, excruciating pain. But she happily pays the price of that pain and would pay more besides for what she sees in that instant: a bright, blinding, golden light, like destiny, like forever, like the sun in the sky, like coming home.

No, she thinks as she fades away, not such a bad way to go at all.

AN: So the story behind this fic is I used to loathe Edith Keeler with a passion. Then after making a sarcastic comment about how she must be psychic, I thought, oh my god, what if she was? Then I wrote this. And now I actually kind of like her (but only Esper!Edith, psi-null!Edith can still GTFO).