Disclaimer:
Sanctuary and its characters do not belong to us. Our words, however, are our own.
Author's Note: This story can stand alone or is No. 9 in the "No Destination in Mind" series. Basically, Druitt is rid of his energy creature and he and Helen have renewed their relationship. I consider this story last of the 2nd arc in that series. After this happy piece, things may get a little darker for our heroes ;)
Thank you! What happens when you put two hopeless romantics together, one American and one French? This fic! A nuclear blast of romance! Thank you to Passionate Cec' for co-writing this for me and providing the excellent "date scene" in Paris. Ah! Wish it were me! You can read C's work here on this website. Merci mon amie!
Pont des Amoureux
(Copyright 2010, NoCleverSig & Passionate Cec')
Helen Magnus lay awake wrapped in the cool comfort of her soft, silk sheets. The sun's first rays had just emerged through the bedroom window, casting golden shadows across the ceiling, the wall.
John Druitt lay beside her, naked, the sheets and blankets abandoned long ago during the night. He never slept well. It was an aftermath of his resurrection; his freedom from the energy creature. Although he was no longer controlled by it, he remained its victim. Dreams, nightmares of crimes committed for more than a century past haunted him. Despite Will Zimmerman's best efforts, the nightmares continued, on occasion becoming so vivid, John awakened Helen with his screaming. And like a young child with night terrors, she would hold him, rock him, whisper soft words of comfort into his ear until he fell back asleep to his troubled thoughts.
She lay on her side and watched him now. His smooth, sinewy chest rose and fell in deep slumber. It was usually this time of day, right before dawn, where he found true respite. She'd learned this, over time, being with him, and found herself awakening early just to watch him sleep.
They'd been doing this for six months, this love affair. There was a time, seven or eight months ago, when she thought they wouldn't last a day. But he'd been here in her bed, their bed, for six months this week. And every one of their nights together had been filled with passion between them.
Part of her had feared the sexual aspect of their relationship, their lovemaking, would fade quickly, having burned so long and so hot for one another that the flame might extinguish itself. But that hadn't been the case. A century of desire, of longing, had kept that fear at bay. And although their lovemaking might not be as frenzied as it was in those first few weeks together, when every look, every touch, every kiss, sent them reeling over the edge of desire, the intensity hadn't waned.
Simply put, she loved him with every fiber of her being. Something she thought would never be possible again.
Six months. She wondered if he even realized it. It was a stereotypical female thing to do, she thought, to count the days, the weeks, the months in a new relationship. A juvenile activity, really. She recognized it as such but couldn't help it. Like the first night he had slept all night in her bed, not afraid to be seen leaving her quarters in the morning light, or the day she'd made room in her closet and drawers for his clothes, somehow this seemed…momentous.
She wondered if she should mention it to him, then thought better of it. Six months in a span of two lifetimes was…nothing. So she lay there instead, not wanting to move for fear of waking him, taking comfort in the simplicity of watching him sleep.
John Druitt leaned against the arm of the sofa; his usual spot among the Sanctuary team, listening to Helen speak. The Friday morning staff meeting was a time to debrief the week's events and prepare for the week ahead. A time for sharing information, exchanging ideas, voicing concerns, brainstorming problems, receiving directives, and watching her work, or…to simply watch her.
Today her dark hair was pulled back in a silver clasp, exposing the matching silver earrings that dangled from her ear lobes catching the morning light that streamed in from the window overlooking the bay. She wore a light blue dress, his favorite color on her. It hugged her breasts, her hips, and made him ache with desire. But he had years of practice at schooling his features, and although on occasion his eyes might flicker toward her, he hid his feelings well, knowing displays of affection in front of her team were something she firmly disapproved of.
She was marvelous. Intelligent, beautiful, poised, and an excellent leader, a trait he hadn't fully appreciated until these past few months. No wonder her people rallied around her like moths to a flame.
And a flame she was. By day, here at home, in the Sanctuary, she dressed demurely. Always professional, always beautiful, but never overtly sexual. Yet she radiated sexuality. And by night? My God, John thought, she charmed him senseless. If it was possible to feel like a schoolboy again, he did. Every look, every touch, even the scent of her sent his senses reeling. It took all his strength, all his control to keep from taking her here, throwing her over the desk, hiking her dress, watching her face flush with passion….
She glanced at him. Had his thoughts betrayed him? She looked away, continuing her conversation with Henry. Perhaps. Or perhaps it was simply the bond they shared, which had grown stronger with every moment they'd spent together.
Six months. He wondered if she even realized it. Her life was so full, so busy with her work she had little time to dally over how long it had been since they had rekindled their love affair. But he had counted. He hadn't been sure until yesterday, when he had found it, whether he should even consider asking for more. But she must have kept it for a reason, and if not now, then when? The span of two lifetimes seemed long enough to wait, an ample penalty to pay even for one as heinous as he.
So he continued to listen to her, watch her, taking delight in every smile, every movement, every gesture. Six months was important in the span of their lifetimes, and he would mark this occasion well.
The meeting concluded, tasks assigned, team members dispersed, but John remained behind, an important task of his own at hand.
Will stayed to speak to Helen. He was a good lad, Will. Smart. James Watson smart. It was a shame James and he hadn't had more time together. And Will had been most helpful to him. He listened well. Provided insights that John never would have discovered on his own. The idea of 'therapy' was not one John would have considered without Helen's urging. It seemed weak, needy. But Will never treated it as such, and he found he benefited immensely from the young man's skills as well as his friendship.
Their business concluded, Will left the room with a friendly smile and a nod to John. John returned the same and turned to Helen.
"Helen, may I have a word? In private?"
She hesitated, not used to John making such a request.
"Certainly," she replied, and watched curiously as he walked over to her office door and closed it. He turned and smiled at her, that sexy, dangerous smile she loved that completely disarmed her.
"Don't worry, Helen, I'm not going to ravish you on your desk during office hours, although I must admit I have had thoughts."
She felt her face flush, always surprised at how easily he charmed her. She'd had similar thoughts, and a part of her was disappointed. However he did say, during office hours. Perhaps there was hope yet.
"What did we need to talk about?" she asked, stepping toward him and out of her role as head of the Sanctuary network and into her role as lover, significant other, whatever it was that they were together.
"Helen, I don't know if you realize it, but this week marks an occasion of a sort. It's been six months since we renewed our relationship, and although you may think it trivial, I'd like to take you somewhere to celebrate."
She smiled at him and shook her head.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't think it 'trivial,' John. On the contrary, I think it quite an accomplishment," she stated. "I thought about it this morning. I wasn't sure whether to say anything to you or not. I didn't know if you would notice…think me silly for noticing."
He smiled at her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Silly? Never my dear. I'm surprised we made it a day sometimes."
She laughed. Six months nothing to John? She should have known better. They were very much in sync these days.
"Anyway, I'd like to celebrate, do something special. It sounds as though we'll be free tomorrow night?"
She nodded. "It does. What do you have in mind," she asked, not able to suppress a smile.
"It's a surprise," he told her. "But dress to go out and bring a heavy coat. That is all I will give away."
She grinned. "A surprise? I like surprises," she flirted with him. If she didn't stop, he might soon carry out his threat to make love to her on her desk, an action she would undoubtedly regret.
"Good," he grinned, preparing to leave and get back to the day's work before they got carried away. "We'll talk more tonight. I just wanted to make sure you would like to go and that we would indeed be free."
"I would love to go, John. Thank you." She couldn't stop smiling at him.
He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, not trusting himself to do any more.
"Very well. I'll see you later then, love," he whispered, and turned to leave, giving her another soft smile as he opened the door and departed.
She stood in the middle of her office, the sunshine streaming in, and felt…giddy…stupid and silly and bursting with joy. And although she had known it intellectually for some time, she recognized it in her heart for the first time since they'd renewed their relationship, how madly she was in love with him.
She was clothed in a black dress, high heels, and pearls. A perfect, mix, he thought of elegance and beauty, her coat on her arm, her clutch in one hand. She was a vision, he thought.
He wore dark dress pants, a fitted white shirt, and a perfectly cut dark blazer. He was tall, trim, handsome, and radiated refinement and charm. He was a vision, she thought.
"So, where are we off to? May I assume that we are not in need of a car tonight?" she teased.
He smiled his devilish smile and offered her his arm. "You may assume so. I prefer to travel the old fashion way."
She nodded, accepting his proffered arm. "Then, shall we?"
"We shall," he agreed, gazing at her. And in a shimmer of light they were gone.
John led her out of the dark corner in which they had materialized. Helen smiled as soon as she recognized where they were. It was an unmistakable place, and no matter how many times she had been here in the past, the beauty of it never failed to amaze her. She suspected John had known she would feel this way, and she turned in his arms and looked up at him, still smiling.
"Paris?"
"The most romantic place in the world, especially at night, I am told. It seemed appropriate," he said, squeezing her hand.
"It is," she said, returning the gesture.
Helen turned back to take in the view once more. They were standing on the Trocadero facing the Eiffel Tower. It was already dark so the Iron Lady was lit, its thousands of lights making it glow like a beacon in the night sky. It was still as breathtaking and mesmerizing as ever.
When she looked back at John, she found him staring at her. She almost laughed. They were standing in the middle of the most beautiful city in the world, in front of a gleaming Eiffel Tower, and he couldn't take his eyes off her. She leaned up and kissed him once. She wasn't one for public displays of affection, but this was just too irresistible. John grinned at her but realized that they couldn't spend the whole evening staring at each other like love struck teenagers.
"Shall we? We have reservations, it would be quite unfortunate to miss them," John suggested.
"Lead on, then," she replied, eager to see what he had planned.
He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, her hand gently resting on the crook of his elbow. She had expected him to teleport them somewhere else, but was surprised when he lead them down the stairs and across the street and bridge until they were standing beneath the Eiffel Tower. When he didn't cross to the Champs de Mars, her eyebrows shot up as they did again when he started walking towards the south pillar.
When John gave his name for the reservations, it confirmed what she had suspected. However, it was only once they were sitting at a table by the window, 410 feet above the ground, that she finally found her voice again.
"The Jules Verne? I think it's safe to say I did not expect this," Helen remarked, gazing at the view from their window.
"I don't believe it gets much better than the restaurant on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower overseeing the entire city," he said proudly.
"This is wonderful John. Thank you."
"Only the best for you, my love," he replied, pleased that she was pleased with his choice. Helen smiled and refrained from commenting on the line. The evening was starting out far too well for that.
"And we did have some very entertaining dinners with old Jules Verne," he said. Helen laughed, remembering one particular occurrence.
"You know, James took me to the opening here," she told him.
"Of the Eiffel Tower?" John asked.
"Yes. Gustave was a friend of his. He also said I couldn't possibly miss the opening of something as revolutionary as the Eiffel Tower," she grinned.
"Did he also predict it would become one of the most visited monuments in the world?" John prodded.
"Do you really have to ask?"
They laughed and were approached by a very well dressed and even better mannered waiter. They ordered, and John let Helen choose the wine. She knew much more about it than he did and would, without a doubt, know what would be most appropriate for the meal and the occasion.
The conversation flowed easily, rarely interrupted. And when it was, the silence was comfortable, filled with bright smiles and twinkling blue eyes. John had rarely seen Helen so relaxed. She was almost constantly smiling. If he hadn't already been hopelessly in love with her, he would have fallen in love on the spot. Without even realizing it, he reached across the table for her hand. Contrary to what he had expected, she didn't pull away. She simply turned her wrist, linked their fingers, and grinned even wider. He knew then that he had achieved his goal of making this evening exceptional. Helen Magnus was allowing him to show their love to the world and, for a few brief moments, she wasn't thinking about her Sanctuary.
Dinner lasted longer than he expected, but John knew he had selected the right restaurant every time he saw Helen's eyes as she looked out the window and took in the view of Paris by night. More than once he had smiled at the fact that when she allowed herself to let go, she still had a childlike innocence about her; eyes twinkling at the wonders of the world, despite having seen most of them in the past century and a half. In those moments she reminded him so much of the young, enthusiastic girl he had fallen in love with so many years ago, as well as the woman who had plagued his mind and heart for more than a century.
When they left the restaurant and were back outside, Helen adjusted her coat and scarf to ward off the winter chill. She linked her arm through John's and leaned up to drop a kiss on his jaw. He smiled and just then felt a drop of water on his head. John only grinned wider when he saw the flakes of snow now caught in Helen's hair, the white contrasting with her brunette locks. They smiled again and started walking arm in arm.
"Paris by night with Christmas decorations and snow…. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to court me, Mister Druitt," she teased.
"Well, that depends. Do I need to and do I stand a chance?"
"You don't need to. The courting, seducing, and convincing have already been done a long time ago." She noticed John steering them with intent in a particular direction. "Are you taking me somewhere specific?" she asked.
"Now, now, my love, that would be telling. You will just have to let yourself be surprised," he grinned.
"I hardly think you can top the first surprise, John. It was already so much more than I expected." Helen squeezed his arm and leaned into him a little bit more.
"Wait and see my dear, wait and see."
Helen looked around. She knew Paris very well. She had lived there for a time, helping to build and begin the Paris Sanctuary. She knew in which direction they were heading. But for the life of her, she couldn't fathom what John had in mind. They were walking by the Seine, following its sinuous course, and Helen found herself mentally naming one bridge after another while she and John shared memories or walked in comfortable silence. All the while, light snowflakes danced through the sky, attaching themselves to her dark locks, melting a few instants later. The ground wasn't cold enough for the snow to take hold, quickly dissipating as soon as it touched the pavement, clinging briefly to Helen's hair, their coats, then quickly disappearing, leaving little trace of their existance at all.
Helen felt John gently tugging her arm and followed him. She had gotten lost in thought, but being in the City of Love with the man she loved was, in her opinion, a suitable excuse. Helen grinned when she finally recognized where John had taken her. It was crowded, as it always was, but the meaning of the place wasn't lost on her. "Le Pont des Arts," mostly known as "Pont des Amoureux …The Lovers' Bridge. She had never thought she would appreciate something this romantic, but here she was, beaming like a fool, as excited as a young girl.
They started walking across the bridge and Helen smiled at its usual effervescence, despite the winter cold. A trumpet player stood a few yards away. A painter displayed his artwork a bit further down. A group of musicians with a contrabass, cello and violin played a romantic, classical melody. A group of marionettes gathered on the far side. Yet another painter stood near the railing painting beyond. And all around them, couples or groups of young people crossed the bridge hurriedly or the way Helen and John did, leisurely, arm and arm.
John and she stopped. Helen turned to look at the railing. Hundreds, thousands of padlocks had been attached here, some for centuries, names of lovers written or engraved on them. The locks had been locked onto the bridge, their keys thrown over and lost in the Seine, a symbol of the couples' eternal love. She turned to look at John when she felt him move and her eyes widened when she saw what he was holding.
"Would you like to do the honor?'"
Helen smiled and reached for the lock and the small key. Upon further inspection, she found the engraving…Helen & John, For All Eternity. She opened it and leaned down, finding an empty spot. She expectantly looked up at John who joined her and, together, they closed the lock along the railing of the bridge. John leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss deepening slightly as his hand cradled her jaw. They pulled back, grinning widely again and stood back up. Helen turned her back to the river, looking John straight in the eye, and without hesitation, threw the small key over her shoulder. She smiled at her lover. Eternity meant so much more for them.
The time was perfect, John thought, as Helen looked lovingly at him from the railing. The moment now. He fingered the velvet box in his coat pocket, feeling very much as he did the night he first offered it to her so long ago. His stomach churned, his palms sweated, his mouth suddenly dry.
What if it was too much? Too great a token? Nerves quickly overtook him afraid of how she would react to his request. He feared, more than anything, that she would see this as an attempt to own her, to suffocate her. They shared a room now, a home, what had been her room, her home for years. She was the one who had given up her space, an aspect of her independence. He didn't want her to think he was trying to possess her. This was not about possession, it was about commitment. A promise made long ago that should have been kept. Would she understand that? Would she want to honor that promise again?
"John?" she looked at him, his discomfort obvious. "Is everything all right?"
He took a deep breath and pulled out the red velvet box and held it in his hands in front of her, the snow falling lightly against it. She stared at it, recognizing it immediately. The gold letters etched on top, Hampton & Sons, London, gleaming in the light of the bridge.
"Where….How did you get this?" she stammered.
I found it in your vanity." He put up a hand before she could protest, accusing him of invading her privacy. "You asked me last week to look in your drawer for a picture you'd put there, the one of your mother. Apparently I looked in the wrong drawer and found… this."
She took in a cold, shaky breath.
"You told me once you didn't know what had happened to it," he said softly.
She avoided his eyes, still staring, mesmerized at the small, red box. "I lied," she whispered.
He nodded. "I understand. Still, you kept it. It must have meant something to you?" he asked, searching her face for a clue as to what she was feeling.
She looked up at him. "Of course it meant something to me, John. You meant something to me. You still do."
"As you did and do to me, Helen."
They stood there silent, the snow falling on them, around them, the music playing, couples and groups of friends bustling to and fro across the bridge. But the only sounds Helen heard were the sound of her heart beating and John's voice speaking lowly to her.
"Helen, I promised you something with this ring that I did not, was not able to fulfill; to love you for all eternity. And now, I am finally able to keep that pledge. I know we are far past the point of marriage in our lives, but it would do me a great honor if you would consider wearing this as a token of my love for you."
He opened the box and handed it to her. A perfect opal, pink and oval, surrounded by tiny diamonds, as beautiful and pristine as the night he first had given it to her. Tears welled in her eyes.
"John…," she started, shaking her head.
He misread her hesitation as refusal, and began to close the box, grasping his palm tightly around it, and moving to return it to his coat pocket. But Helen stopped him, wrapping her hands around his, each of them locked around the ring, a ring that had once meant so much to both.
She looked up at him and saw the fear in his eyes. She knew then it had taken all his courage to present this to her…again, to ask this of her once more given what had become of their lives.
She closed her eyes and made her decision. It had already been made for her years ago, she realized. She opened them again and looked at John, his eyes still filled with fear. She peeled back his fingers and opened the box, the ring, a symbol of eternal love and commitment, shining up at her.
"Yes," she said simply. "I would be honored to wear your ring, John. Would you put it on me?"
He didn't have any words so he didn't say any. He took the ring out of the box, shaking, and held it out for her. He hesitated, unsure.
"Which hand?" he asked nervously.
She smiled. "I think they left one will do," she answered him.
He smiled back and finally let go of the breath he'd been holding. He held Helen's hand and slipped the ring on her finger, the snowflakes drifting over her hair, her coat, her face.
She held her hand out and looked at it, the opal and diamonds sparkling in the light of the bridge. John returned the box to his pocket, put his arms about her waist, and moved in to hold her.
She wasn't the sort for public displays of affection, but here in the City of Love upon the Lover's Bridge, with a ring more than a century old on her hand, and a promise finally fulfilled, she would make an exception. She wrapped her arms around John's neck, feeling the weight of the ring on her hand, and kissed him deeply. He answered her kiss in return. And although surrounded by a crowd of people on the Pont des Amoureux, Helen and John were completely alone.
END