An Old Man and His Arm Candy
Based upon Sanctuary, created by Damian Kindler.
Set in the future.
Note: Written during the first half of season 4, so a lot of things hadn't happened yet. But, I stumbled upon this in my computer and decided to share, none-the-less. Enjoy.
. ~ . . . ~ .
Will grumbled to himself as he tried to tie his bowtie. His fingers were not as nimble as they used to be. He was pretty sure they had shrunken in length and expanded in diameter. He used to have long thin fingers, now he was stuck with these short stubby things attached to his hands.
There was a knock at his door. "Will?" it was Helen. Of course it was Helen, who the hell else would it be?
"Are you almost ready?" she asked, letting herself into his room.
"You know you're an old man when your date is ready before you are," he grumbled. He glanced through the mirror, past his reflection at Helen. She was wearing a long, elegant deep emerald dress and her blonde hair was piled artfully on top of her head bringing notice to the emerald hanging earrings she had on, not to mention her long neck. She smiled at him.
"Would you like some help?" she asked.
He dropped his hands and turned around in a huff. "No, but I think I need it."
Her smiled twinkled and she took several steps towards him, making him notice that she was wearing a pair of three inch heels. She ran her hand around his collar, ensuring it was smoothed down and the tie was not twisted.
"I used to be able to do this by myself," he said, feeling the need to defend himself.
"I know that," she said. "I remember. We've been going to these events for some time, now."
"Lousy abnormal benefit dinners . . ." he grumbled.
"You were pleased when the Sanctuary went public," she reminded him, tugging on both ends of his bowtie and stepping back. She gave him a quick once over, no doubt ensuring that he looked respectable. Her eyes paused at his feet.
He hadn't put his shoes on yet. "I was about to get to those," he defended himself before she could say anything.
"I know," she said. "Go sit," she pointed to the settee at the end of his bed.
He did as he was told, not wanting to argue, watching her as she reached into his closet and pulled out his black dress shoes. She held them up to the light and inspected them. They seemed to pass inspection because she brought them over to him.
Thankfully, she handed them to him, instead of putting them on for him. He started putting on his shoes and she went back to his closet for his tuxedo jacket, which was still hanging up.
"I did used to like going to these things," he said.
"That was when you could gloat about all the ground-breaking things you were involved in," she paused, "and when your wife accompanied you."
Will grumbled again. "Abby would die first," he turned and glanced at the photos on his nightstand. He finished tying his shoes and Helen offered her hand to help him stand. He took it and turned so she could help him with his jacket as well. Sometimes he hated being old.
He turned back to her and she held out his cane.
He took it from her with a smile. Well, he did get to carry this stylish cane now. When Helen first suggested him getting one, he only agreed if it doubled as either a sword or a gun. It was a gun and the handle was a lion's head.
Standing a little straighter, he offered her his arm. "Shall we?"
She rolled her eyes. "I never should've had agreed to turning that into a weapon," she muttered, knowing that was the source of his change in demeanor.
They headed to the main stairwell and down the stairs. He had to admit to himself that she was escorting him more than he was escorting her, but that didn't really matter.
Steven sitting on the bottom step, drumming on his knees. Will tried to remember how long ago the young man had joined them, but he wasn't sure. The young man stood and smiled. He gestured at them with his left arm, which split at the elbow into two forearms and two left hands. "Don't you two look lovely?" he said in his cut 'streets-of-London' accent.
Helen smiled. "Thank you, Steven."
Steven grabbed Helen's wrap, which had been hanging over the banister and held it out to her. She released Will once they had got to the bottom of the stairs and turned, allowing Steven to place it over her shoulders.
"Car's warmed up and ready to roll," Steven said.
'Car' was a loose term now, but it sufficed. "Don't you want a real coat?" Will asked. "It did snow this morning."
Helen shrugged. "We won't be out in the weather too long. I should be fine." She took his arm and started towards the door again.
He glanced in the large wall mirror as they passed it. He paused and turned them both. She met his gaze through the looking glass and matched his smile. "What?" she asked.
"I think I'll get a lot of looks while we're there. People wondering why I've got a young blonde on my arm," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.
"People do recognize me when we go places," she reminded him.
"But you've changed your hair since that last one of these. They'll think you're just some hot young thing that I've got. Maybe they'll think you're a gold digger."
Helen chuckled. "This is my home, is it not?" she asked, motioning to the her father's home around them. "And you have been living on my dime for the last . . . how many years?"
"Yeah, but they don't know that," Will smirked.
"Come along, Rich Uncle Pennybags," Helen said, tugging on his arm gently. "We don't wish to be late." They made their way to the car and she helped him into the back seat, joining him.
Steven checked in the rear view mirror. "Ready to roll?" he asked.
"Yes, Steven, please," Helen said.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's get it over with," Will grumbled.
Helen smirked. "And, Will, there is one thing I forgot to tell you."
He looked over at her through slitted eyes, certainly suspecting bad news.
"Nikola will be there."
Will groaned. "Steven, turn this damn car around! He may be a hundred and fifty years older than me, but I am too old to deal with him!"
"He'll be jealous and pouting that I'm be on your arm, not his."
Will paused and thought for a moment. "Drive on, Steven, and step on it."
. ~ . FIN . ~ .