This fic is kind of in honor of Major sam, because it's her portrayal of Magnus and Charlotte that inspired this one. It's just a little ditty that popped into my head after reading "Magnus Goes to School" and I figured... Why not?
So, if you like it, thank her. If not, blame me. :D
Her name.
Applause.
On limbs wearied by age, she crutches her way to the podium, shaking hands and accepting congratulations. She gazed out over the gathered crowd. Watching. Waiting.
Expectant.
She manages a few words—maybe they make sense, maybe they don't. It's a toss-up, these days.
A silent curse as she fights her way back to her seat. The way is clear, but every step is a battle against hesitant feet and precarious crutches.
Once upon a time, she was gallivanting across far off islands with mysterious figures—she shoved away that line of thinking. Just as she had every day since she'd seen the paper that fateful morning.
Some days were easier to forget than others, but lately she'd become more frequently lost in those particular memories, each return to reality increasingly more confusing that the last.
The ceremony continues around her, eventually turning into a reception where person after person came to shake her hand, whether she offers the gesture or not. They pull her hand up, shake it with varying degrees of earnestness, congratulate her, and then return her hand to her lap as they move on. Some of them she actually looks at—a few she even recognizes. But most merely happen, and she lets them.
Her family says she's gotten crotchety in her old age. Good. She's earned it.
"Congratulations, Professor."
The softly lilting accent shakes her from her stupor, physically jerking her in her wheelchair as she registers the presence in front of her. The only person in the room who has bothered to kneel to her level, meeting her gaze dead on.
And what a breathtaking gaze it is.
"Helen…"
The name escapes her in a breathless gasp, making those startling blue eyes crinkle with warmth.
"Charlotte." Oh, her voice. Her voice is just as she remembers. She hasn't changed a bit. A soft smile curls full lips upwards. So natural, so timeless.
She swallows, her throat tight. "You're dead," she states bluntly, her voice a grumble. "Your work, your Sanctuary… it's all gone."
The footage that had been aired in the news for days afterwards flashes across her memory, compounded by the stench of soot and death she'd witnessed for herself when she visited the site weeks later.
But the smile doesn't fade, only shifts into something between apology and mirth. "Charlotte," comes the soft admonishment, "you of all people should know better—sometimes an explosion is merely the first step of the dance."
The cunning smile is charming, one of a memory shared. Another massive fireball, one that had rocked Charlotte's world so completely. When Charlotte met Helen. Hah. More "Die Hard" than rom-com. Her Bonnie would never believe it.
Helen's eyes travel to the young man and woman standing off to the side, busy accepting her congratulations for her. Lawrence and Bonnie, both tall, both smart. Too smart, sometimes.
"My children," she says needlessly.
The glorious head nods. "They're lovely."
"They've run me ragged over the years," she continues. "But it's been worth every minute."
Helen's gaze returns to her, the wry smirk returned. "You sound like an old woman."
She sighs, feeling the truth of it in her bones. "I am an old woman." In the back of her mind, she thinks they've had this conversation before. The same words, but different.
A slender hand reaches out to cover hers, the touch ethereal and fleeting. "I'm still as much older, Charlotte. That hasn't changed."
Looking at her, she knows it's true. Nothing has changed about Helen. She is a constant, in a world that is rapidly shifting with Charlotte in the thick of it, changing right along with it.
"What happened?" she asks, unable to ignore the burning question any longer. "You're dead, Helen. I saw it." Her voice lowers to a whisper. "Where are you?"
"I'm here, now." The woman is still damned frustrating, slipping around a query like quicksilver. "I had to move on. It was time."
"Somewhere amazing, I bet."
Blue eyes sparkle in the light. "Somewhere glorious."
The sadness in Helen's eyes reminds her that as glorious as it surely was, not all things were as they should be. Tears burn in her eyes, and she blinks them back stubbornly.
"You didn't take me with you…"
And there it is. Fifty years of hurt, heartbreak, and the sinking suspicion that she'd been left behind, all laid out with a simple accusation.
Fingers brush the brimming tears from her cheeks. Now the touch is scalding, but still she yearns for it. "I wanted to, Charlotte," comes the soft whisper. "You will never know how close I came to revealing everything to you."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because as much as I loved you, as much as I could have used someone with your expertise in my endeavor—it wouldn't be right." Helen meets her gaze firmly, the raw truth of her words there in her eyes. "You don't belong in the shadows, Charlotte. I couldn't bring myself to tear you from the light, and deprive the world of all the good you would do."
Charlotte shakes her head. "I wish you had."
"You don't mean that." The words are certain, as certain as if Helen could see straight into her soul. "What of your children? What of their father?"
The reminder of her family jolts through her like an electric shock. Bonnie and Lawrence— her entire world. And her husband, god rest him, he was a good man, though he'd never given her that rush of a thrill like Helen Magnus could. But she'd never held it against him, because he loved her completely and without question.
Helen Magnus is a supernova—blinding in her brilliance, but vanishing as suddenly as she'd come. Her husband was old Sol, steady and constant, with the promise of always being there the next morning.
"You're right. I wouldn't trade them for anything."
Helen nods knowingly, without condescension.
"Why are you here?" Charlotte asks, her voice low. "After so long…"
A wry grin twists Helen's lips. "I've kept abreast of current events over the years," she reveals. "When I heard that the brilliant Charlotte Benoit would be accepting the Nobel Peace Prize for her contributions to physiology and medicine… I couldn't not be here." A beat. "I'm proud of you."
Charlotte fells a flush of warmth flood through her from head to toe. She'd known Helen would be, if she ever found out. Just as she'd known what she'd say, if ever given the chance.
"It's because of you, you know."
"Me?"
She nods. "You're the one who taught me how to help others. Who helped me realize how it felt to do what was right."
"Oh, Charlotte…" Her name is like a veneration. It always has been, on Helen's tongue. "You never needed me for that. The proof is in your veins still." A pale finger traces a spidery vessel across her hand, as gingerly as if she were touching the dormant virus itself.
"Mom!"
Larry calls out to her, his tone excited. Who has he run into now? The man was like a fanboy at a convention during events like this. But Helen's eyes sparkle.
"I believe that's my cue."
"Helen, no—" Soft lips cover hers, shocking her into a stunned silence.
"Be well, my dear Charlotte." Her voice is soft and tender, and makes her heart sing. "We shall meet again, when all is said and done."
The smooth hands slide from her own knobby fingers, too swift for the arthritic digits to catch them. "Helen, wait—!"
"Mom, you'll never guess who I ran into!" Larry announces, pulling her attention up to him as he approaches. "Here, come over and say hi!"
Charlotte almost denies him, but when she looks around her friend is gone, vanished like so much ether. The only trace of her is in the tingle of Charlotte's lips, the shaking of her hands.
The chair begins to roll away under Larry's careful guidance, and she settles in to endure the ride. She draws her twisted fingers across an age-spotted wrist, tracing the phantom touch that she can yet still savor.
But even as she wishes Helen would return, Charlotte acknowledges that she was right. It's been a good life. She's done all the good she could possibly do in one lifetime—she wouldn't have if she had gone with Helen. She would not have met her loving husband, or her cherished children. Things happened for a reason, as they always do.
Just as she'd been destined to meet the roguish doctor on a mysterious island off the coast of Mozambique, they'd been destined to spend a lifetime apart, to be only a treasured moment in each other's hearts.
And what a fantastic moment it had been. She can still taste the traces of gasoline on the lips of that first kiss…
Lawrence met his sister's gaze over their mother's silvered head, giving a grim smile at her expression of concern.
"Is she all right?" It was sort of their code, asking after their mother's propensity to lose herself in her memories.
He locked the wheels on the chair, anchoring the vehicle and its passenger in place. "I think she might have had another episode," he responded.
Bonnie's features clouded with disappointment. "She's been doing so well…"
"She's still doing well, Bon," he reminded her gently. They'd known for some time that their mother was slipping into the early stages of dementia, but his sister had taken it the hardest.
She nodded. "I know, I know… I just was hoping, I guess— today…"
Larry understood. They'd hoped Mom would be around to enjoy the celebration. At least she'd hung around long enough to give her speech.
He gave Bonnie a one-armed hug of reassurance before she was drawn into another conversation. He turned back to his mother, leaning down to speak into her ear. But it was he who heard the soft words slip from his mother's lips.
"Goodbye, Helen…"
The words registered with a blink, and then his mom was looking up at him expectantly, her gaze clearer than it'd been in moths.
He swallowed, then gave a wide smile. "Would you like some punch, ma?"
Her features crinkled into a reciprocate smile. "Oh! Yes, dear. That would be lovely. And how about one of those fancy cookies they've been passing around?"
His mother, ever the sweet-tooth. He chuckled. "I'll grab you two," he assured her.
A bark of laughter dogged his departing steps. "That's my boy!"
Larry swallowed the pang of nostalgia that welled up within him. It was rare that she sounded such like her old self, like she did when they were kids. It was a gift, especially on a day like today.
He didn't know who this Helen was, or even if she was even real. But if she had given his mother back to him, even for a day… he owed her more than she'd ever know.