Dislclaimer: I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters, I just play with them. My words however are my own.
Author's Note: This can be read as a stand alone piece or No. 6 in the "No Destination in Mind" series, in which John is cured and he and Helen have begun a new relationship. Warning: This one is dark. Very dark, for me. Please review! It means so much. Thank you. NCS
Blood and Tears
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig)
All Helen wanted to do was wash off the blood.
She marched through the Sanctuary hallway in her boots and leather field gear, John Druitt following in her wake. Even with his naturally long strides he failed to keep up.
"Helen, wait!" he shouted.
"No, John. Not now," she said, waving her hand behind her for emphasis, keeping her eyes straight ahead, plowing forward toward the elevator, to her room. A bath. She needed a bath. To hell with her clothes. They could burn for all she cared. But the blood, she needed to scrub the blood off of her face, her hands, her hair, her skin. She needed to get it off now.
"Helen," John said, jogging to catch up with her. She finally had to stop, waiting for the elevator to arrive to take her to her private quarters, their private quarters, she reminded herself. Her leather jacket, her pants, her boots, all of it was covered with blood. She'd wiped off what she could with a towel in the helicopter, but the blood still clung to her nails. Dry droplets dotted her face, her neck, her hair. She felt covered in it.
"There was nothing you could do," John said to her as the elevator arrived and opened.
"Tell that to her mother," she said angrily, and turned and walked in, shoving him out as he tried to enter and closing the doors.
He breathed deep and sighed. This was a Helen he was far less used to seeing, dealing with. A Helen who withdrew if too many feelings were exposed, too many questions asked. He had learned that the hard way in their first few weeks together. She had a hardness about her, a protective shell she would pull over herself at will like a blanket. And he blamed himself for being its origin. The man who had laid its foundation.
"You should go with her…," Will had turned and whispered to John as Magnus had landed the helicopter back at the Sanctuary.
"I plan on it," Druitt had answered, both of them watching her, worried.
"If you need me…," Will said.
"I know where to find you, Will. Thank you," John had answered quietly.
Will nodded.
Kate put a hand on John's shoulder, her voice low. "I'm really sorry. She'll be okay, right?"
"Certainly," he'd smiled trying to reassure the young woman, gently grasping Kate's hand. "I'll see to her."
Kate had turned and watched Magnus throw her headset down, jump out of the helicopter, storm off the helipad, and sprint down the stairwell into the Sanctuary before the blades had even stopped turning. "You better run," she'd told John looking after her. He followed Kate's gaze. Helen was already gone.
She arrived at her room, threw open the door, walked to the closet and stripped, angrily tossing her clothes, her boots, her bra, everything she had on into the trash. She never wanted to see any of it again.
She headed, naked, into the bathroom, turning on the hot water, as hot as she could stand it. She leaned over the bathroom vanity panting and then looked up at herself in the mirror. The dried sprinkles of blood on her nose, her cheeks, stared back at her, mocking her, teasing her. "Failure!" they said. "You couldn't save her. You bloody failure!"
She closed her eyes, shook her head, trying to shake the voices out of her mind. She returned to the bath, stepped in, and gasped. It practically scalded her, searing her white skin red with heat. But she didn't care. This was punishment as well as relief. She eased herself into the steaming hot water, accepting the pain.
She sat there a few moments, eyes closed, thinking of nothing. Absolutely nothing. The water continued to pour into the deep, white, claw foot tub until it reached the top, covering her body completely, her breasts, her neck, leaving only her head exposed to the air, her face red from the steaming warmth. She turned off the spigot. The water lapped over the sides onto the tile, the bath rug.
A gentle knock came at the door.
She ignored it.
A few moments later, the knock returned, more insistent this time.
"Go away, John," she said, eyes closed, voice rough.
He waited a beat. He'd learned the hard way to be delicate with her when she was like this. She was always headstrong. It was part of her nature, what attracted him to her so long ago. But this hardness, this bitterness that sometimes enveloped her…this was something new, something he was less accustomed to.
"Helen," he said quietly after a little more time had passed. "May I come in? Please," he added.
She wanted to tell him no. To go away again. Leave her alone. Leave her with her thoughts, her misery. But she bit her tongue, knowing she was lashing out at him for her own failure.
She wasn't use to having someone with her 24/7. Someone to talk to. Someone to share her thoughts with, her feelings with when things went…wrong. She had always dealt with these issues on her own, alone, in private, where her team couldn't see her. Or perhaps, on occasion, with Will. But John was with her now, completely so. They'd given up the pretense of him sleeping in his own room a week ago. He'd moved his things into her quarters. She'd made space in her closet by taking some of her seasonal clothes to another, unoccupied guest room. Somehow, the act of letting him put his clothes next to hers seemed monumental.
"The door's unlocked," she finally said. Not telling him no. Not telling him yes. Letting him decide.
He turned the handle.
She lay there in the large white tub, the steam rising from the water, her body. She was completely submerged, her hair wet, except for the top of her head, her face. He knew she'd wanted to wash off the blood, the memory of what had just happened. But oddly, her cheeks were still speckled with it.
He leaned against the vanity, simply watching her for a time, saying nothing. She didn't open her eyes, although she knew he was there.
After a few moments, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, and knelt down beside her on the wet rug. He reached for the soft sponge she kept nearby, dipped it in the water, gasping at the heat, squeezed it, and gently began wiping off the blood from her nose, her face.
She swallowed, saying nothing, keeping her eyes tightly shut.
"Helen, you can't save them all," he finally said quietly.
"No, I certainly cannot," she answered flatly.
He closed his eyes, instantly regretting what he'd said. Knowing exactly what it had made her think of, remember.
"Helen, I'm so sorry, I didn't think…."
"It's nothing John," she said, dismissing him.
He stopped wiping her skin and stared at her, her eyes still shut tight.
"It's everything," he said loudly.
The girl, Allison, was only 13. She'd lived alone with her mother south of the city in the country and only recently discovered her gift. Or as she saw it, her curse.
She could read other people's thoughts, feel their emotions. She was both telepathic and empathic, a difficult combination. It began happening when she'd reached puberty, as her brain and body chemistry had changed. Her mother's mother had had the same gift and had dealt with it well. Allison was dealing less well.
Allison's mother, Rebecca, knew Helen and the Sanctuary through her mother, whom Magnus had helped when she was young. She hoped she could have the same success now with the woman's granddaughter.
Helen and Will had been working with the girl for several weeks, trying to teach her to control her new found abilities, to live with them . But progress was slow. Thirteen was a tender age regardless, an age when being different was the worst of all crimes. She felt freakish, out of place, and out of control. She was having difficulty separating her own thoughts and emotions from others. Her mind was flooded with images and feelings that weren't her own and it was driving her, Will thought, to the point of insanity.
Will had suggested they move the girl to the Sanctuary for a time so that he could work with her one-on-one and let her interact with others who faced similar challenges. They were making arrangements for her transfer when the call came in.
Her mother, Rebecca, was frantic. Allison had locked herself in her room, refusing to come out. She was threatening suicide, her words rambling and incoherent. Living alone, out in the country, Rebecca owned a gun, and it was missing. Instead of calling the police, she called The Sanctuary, and Magnus had grabbed Will, John, and Kate and had helicoptered to the family's home as quickly as possible.
When they arrived, Allison wouldn't see anyone except for Helen. She let her into her room, .38 revolver in hand, her face wet with tears. Her room was like any other girl's room her age, Helen thought fleetingly. That transient time between childhood and adulthood. A pink and purple bedspread with butterfly pillows mixed with posters of rock bands Helen didn't know. Cheap make up and inexpensive perfume on her dresser. And Allison, a beautiful, intelligent girl with long blonde hair, the perfect smile, wearing jeans and a Lady GaGa t-shirt sitting in the middle of it all face red with anguish, gun to her head.
Helen went into the girl's room with a mic on so Will could listen to the conversation, give Magnus advice through her ear piece, try to talk the girl down before John and Kate took more drastic measures, if needed. She was making progress, sitting on the bed next to her. After an hour of talking and crying, Allison agreed to give Helen the gun. Magnus reached out for it but before she could take hold the girl flipped it around and shot herself in the head, the blood splattering across the purple butterfly pillows and Magnus' clothes, her face, her hair.
Everything that happened after that was a blur, except for the vivid images of Rebecca, Allison's mother, collapsed on the floor in tears, Kate and Will by her side trying to comfort her, and John, John picking up the girl's body and laying her gently on the bed, covering her up with her pink and purple blanket.
"Helen," he said, shaking her.
She looked back up at John who sat next to her on the floor of the bathroom. She must have drifted off. The water felt cool now. Too cool. No longer hot. No longer stinging her skin.
"I'm going to get out now," she said numbly.
John nodded, and stood up to help her, but she pushed him away.
"I'm fine. I don't need your help," she said sharply.
He nodded, deciding it best not to speak, and went into the other room to let her dry off and get dressed.
When she finally emerged, she was wrapped only in a towel, her hair still soaked, her eyes lifeless. John had been sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing, hoping to take his cues from her. But she offered him none. He hoped simply being there would help, but he was unsure whether that was even a consolation for her.
Helen glanced up at him. "I'm going to lie down for a while," she said, and went over to her side of the bed, dropped the towel, pulled back the covers, and climbed in wet and naked, her back toward him.
John took a deep breath. He'd taken his shoes and socks off and his shirt, but had left his pants on. He took those off now and crawled into bed beside her. He looked over at her. She was as far away from him as possible, laying on her side, hugging the edge of the mattress.
In many ways, their relationship was still new. Sex? Sex they could do. Comfort? Comfort was something he was less accustomed to.
He took a deep breath and scooted over to her, spooning her, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her towards him, burying his face in her wet, dark hair.
"John, stop it," she said, irritated. "I don't want to have sex."
He shot up and looked at her, his voice loud and angry. "I didn't say I wanted to have sex, Helen. That's not what this is about," he replied hotly.
She turned and looked at him, taken aback by his anger.
"I'm just trying to hold you," he said more gently. "Isn't that what people who love each other do sometimes when one is hurting?" It was as though he wasn't sure.
She nodded.
She turned back around and he laid back down with her, putting his arm around her waist again, pulling her tight against his chest. A few moments later, he could feel it begin. He could feel her body vibrate from the shaking, hear her ragged breathing. She was crying. He pulled her impossibly closer to him, not knowing what else to do except to be there, to hold her, to see her through this.
"I couldn't save her, John," she said, her voice filled with tears. "Her whole life was ahead of her, and I couldn't save her."
He knew she was speaking of Ashley as well as Allison.
He kissed her cheek, stroked her hair, and whispered in her ear.
"You saved me, Helen. I would have given anything if it had been her. But you did save me. And that is something."
She grabbed his hand tight and squeezed it, the tears still falling, but her shell collapsing, letting him in.
END