A/N: So this is my first fic EVER! And I in no way consider myself a writer - but the idea for this scene just kept playing over and over in my head since I watched the episode so I thought I would take a shot a try writing it. This is what having to wait a week between episodes is doing to me! Enjoy! (I hope)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The wonderful world of Sanctuary belongs to very smart and talented people. If I owned it then I would know what happens next and wouldn't be going stir crazy.
It was John who found her first. The darkness which encompassed the entrance to the main laboratory of the Sanctuary had been momentarily pierced by a ripple of red as he teleported to the place he thought he would find her. He had expected to find two figures in the room. One of them dead. The body that had once belonged to his daughter. He had expected to find her standing at least, most probably hiding her pain behind walls of control. Cool and calm. Doing what was needed to be done. What he found was not what he had expected.
Around him echoed the sobs that ripped from the lone figure. From where he stood he could see the bloody tatters of clothing and skin etched on the woman's arm as she cradled it gingerly to her chest. A knee was pulled up towards her body as though the gesture would provide some form of protection against the torrent of emotions that shuddered through her frame with each cry. The cavernous room had always been one of space but she had never before appeared so lost. At this moment it seems like a void, one in which she looks small. Fragile. Weak.
"Helen." It was barely a whisper, the words escaping from his lips as he took a step forward towards her. He saw her stiffen, her head jerking upwards looking towards the other side of the room. She did not turn towards him. He could see her stifling another sob which threatened to overwhelm her. He watched as a hand was brought to her face to wipe away the tears that had been running freely. The shudders that had gripped her body ceased, her breath slowing. Her gaze moved to something beside her. The weapon. Their literal salvation and her destruction. Momentarily he ceased watching her, his own gaze following hers. It looked as though it had been thrown aside. Had she failed to use it?
Movement pulled him from his thoughts. Sharply, she had risen from her space on the floor. He could see her inhale deeply before she turned towards him. His eyes sought out her own, desperate to make some sort of a connection, to give her whatever she needed. Yet she wouldn't let him.
"She's gone." Her words were crisp, her voice unwavering. As though she was providing some sort of clinical diagnosis. It was her tone and not the words themselves which stole words of comfort from his mouth. He stood silently as she started to move, to leave behind this moment and seek out willing distractions.
"I have work to do." She was clinical again. The leader of the Sanctuary network who was needed to put it back together again, the doctor that was needed to help and heal those around her. Not the mother who had lost her daughter and needed to grieve. She was closer now. Her strides stronger more determined. And he found himself compelled to try to prevent her from sealing in all of the emotions shut within her. He had intruded on her weakness and prompted her to conceal herself at her most vulnerable.
His hand unconsciously moved and gripped her arm as she moved passed him, forcing her to stop her retreat. She flinched slightly, her mask slipping momentarily as his eyes met herself before she hurriedly looked away, down to where his hand met her own body.
"If you would kindly unhand me." It was not a request. She did not look up although his gaze burned over her. The injury was ignored. Her shoulders held back. Strong, defiant, a refusal to break. He wanted to say something, anything, but nothing seemed to be enough. His grip relaxed and she took advantage, gently tugging her arm free before continuing her path from the laboratory. The sounds of her footsteps echoing behind him as they softly quieten until she was gone.
"I'm sorry." The words slipped unbidden from his mouth. Yet, he was not sure to whom they were delivered. To his daughter, who he had failed to protect and had cursed by his own blood. To himself, for his own inability to control his demons or to comfort himself for his own loss. Or to her. Because, although she may have been able to hide it to everyone else he had seen what this had done. Today had done something extraordinary, something that had never been accomplished before. Not even his own actions, his betrayal had achieved this result. After 157 years Helen Magnus had been broken.