Gift of Revenge

by Aerilon452

John gives Helen a gift of revenge.

Summary: John comes to Helen with a gift veiled in violence. This is a dark fic. If it offends please do not read.

Rating: M

Pairing: John and Helen

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sanctuary or the characters.

GIFT OF REVENGE:

Helen was standing in the shadows of a deserted corridor. She had come here because she had seen John on the security cameras. Was he really there? Was her mind taunting her with images of a man she loved, of a man who hurt her? John said he loved her, but knowing that made her heart break all over again just as some of the pain mended.

Slowly coming around a corner Helen saw him standing at one of the windows. He was wearing a pair of pants, they looked like leather. His shirt was a style that she was not accustomed to. He was wearing a tight blood red t-shirt. It was tight over him exposing the sinewy muscle of his back and shoulders. Against her will her body shivered in lust at the sight of him looking like sin in the shadows. Before she could take a step closer to him John appeared behind her and hauled her back against his chest.

There was a moment of hesitation before John slide his hand down over the front of her slacks. He felt her shiver and her breathing become ragged. "You want this?" John growled low in her ear just seconds before his hand slipped under the waist band of her slacks and down further between her legs. Helen gasping out was music to his ears. His own lust was rising, clouding his mind. John moved them deeper into the shadows so the cameras would obscure their bodies.

"Yes," she gasped out. She wanted what John had to offer: She wanted a little violence in her life right now.

"I have a gift for you." John whispered, a deadly tone, in her ear. He smiled darkly when he felt her shiver in his arms. Before she had a chance to change her mind, John wrapped his arms around her and teleported them away. He took them to white chapel, where their nightmare began. There was something there, a circle they needed to close, and they were going to end their current pain. In white Chapel was a captive they had both wanted for so long.

John had done it; he had finally gotten tired of hunting Dana Whitcomb. There was too much anger in his mind, in his heart. His child had been taken from him in the most unnatural way, but his pain was a pale shadow of what Helen's pain was. And he knew she was still in pain. Her anguish would never die. No parent should out live their own child.

Helen was so lost in the sensation of John's arms around her waist that she nearly ignored the sensation of him teleporting them out of her Sanctuary to somewhere else. When she opened her eyes she saw the familiar dark streets of White Chapel. Fear coursed through her; she was afraid John was finally going to kill her. Though, deep down she knew he could never pull the blade across her throat, no matter the creature locked inside of him. Wrenching out of his arms Helen put her back up against the wall and waited, just waited for his next move. John just stared at her, just watched her like a cat watching a mouse, and Helen was sure she was currently in the position of the mouse in John's eyes. That thought sent a shiver of excitement through her and for a moment that sickened her but then it made her wonder what she was doing her. "You said something about a gift?" Helen tried to calm her racing heart, the pulsing lust in her body.

John could see the mental shift she had taken. First it was fear, then back to lust, and now she wanted to know why they were here. He could understand that, he respected it actually. There was nothing than he wanted more than to put to rest the torment they were feeling. Holding out his hand he urged her to take it and let him guide her to their final destination.

Helen watched John carefully. He was like a caged wolf waiting to strike. But was he waiting to strike her or someone else? John smiled at her darkly and then offered his hand to her. Helen didn't know if she wanted to take it. Against her minds orders Helen felt her hand sliding into his. "So, this gift of yours, what is it?" She asked.

"Not far, I promise." John tightened his hand on Helen's and saw a slight flicker of fear in her eyes, but deeper still was the stirrings of lust.

"Then lead on," Helen remarked. She knew that she should run; she should get as far from John as possible, but she was also intrigued at his mystery gift. This was a bad idea, Helen knew hat, and still she followed him.

John led Helen down a series of side streets. They were the same streets on which he had hunted his victims, where he had killed him. But to close the circle of violence in his heart, the violence between himself and Helen, he would have to kill one more time. Before they hit the main street John led them down yet another side street that fed into an abandoned court yard. It was there John stopped. There tied to a cross was Dana Whitcomb. She was responsible for all the pain Helen now suffered. John pulled Helen so she stood in front of him, so she could see Dana. "This is my gift to you; the gift of revenge."

Helen wanted to recoil, to run, but a dark voice in her mind whispered for her to take the gift, to seek revenge for her daughter. She wanted revenge; she wanted Dana's blood on her hands. It had been one of her darker fantasies for months. And John had known that; he had known her. Helen could say that she had never killed before, but she had come through two world wars and she had blood on her hands. Dana was her enemy and you killed your enemy. Did she really want to kill Dana? Did she want John to do it for her? Backing away Helen felt her back against John's chest. "You want me to kill her?"

"I want you to take your revenge; the revenge you have been craving in the darkest part of your mind." John moved behind Dana and lightly touched her cheek. To her credit Dana flinched and shook with fear. It was that fear that made John hunger for her blood to be spilled. He had been tracking her, toying with her for months. Tonight one way or the other Dana was going to die. John hoped that it was by Helen's hand, that she seized the dark part of her nature and allowed anger and pain to rule her decision.

Helen looked into the eyes of the woman who had taken her only child. She would have thought that she would have felt some sort of anger at John for this, but what she felt was grateful. Helen wanted this woman dead with all the rage and pain a mother could know. There was nothing wrong with wanting vengeance, but taking it was something else. She didn't know if she actually had it in her to take a life in cold blood. Fisting her hands at her sides Helen continued to hold Dana's gaze while John circled her with deadly intent.

John fed on the fear pouring off of Dana. He looked to Helen and saw her wavering. If he was going to make his point then he would need for Helen to revive her anger. John would need to push her buttons and no one did that better than he did. "You know you want her dead. She took Ashley from you. You want to make her pay. You want her blood on your hands." John growled. "She has to pay!" His voice echoed around them.

Helen shook her head. She wasn't going to be lured in by John's taunting. Yes, she did want Dana dead, but not like this. Helen would have preferred a more poetic end to the former Cabal leader, maybe a death by and abnormal. But if she followed that thought then she would be just the abnormal to deliver the final judgment of fate; death. Before she knew it Helen had taken a step closer. She felt something in her hand. Looking down she saw the military knife in her hand. It was the knife she always had with her. "You're right. I do want her to die." Helen was shocked at the sound of her own voice. It was dead, devoid of emotion. John had gotten under her skin again. But she wasn't going to back off. This was what she truly wanted and for just this one moment she was going to give into her person wants and a dark desires. Dana was going to die and it was going to be by Helen's hands.

John teleported from behind Dana to stand by Helen's side. He leaned into her and whispered, "This can be fast, or you can draw it out. Draw out her pain Helen." John kissed her temple and continued, "Make her suffer, make her bleed."

Helen felt and odd calm come over her. Gone was her doubt and replaced by commitment. She was going to make Dana pay and it would be slow and agonizing. For tonight she would be her worst nightmare; she would be the murderer John had become. Helen held the blade of her knife up to John's lips where he kissed the tip of the black blade. Allowing her darkness to take over Helen took that first deadly step towards the quivering tied up Dana. There was a moment that Helen could turn around, leave, and let John do what he did best. But this kill would be hers. She was read for it and she wanted it.

"This isn't you Magnus." Dana whimpered. She felt sick and she knew her time on this earth was almost up. If Dana had a choice she would take a death by the Ripper over what she could see brewing in Helen's gaze. Helen Magnus would draw out her pain and make her truly suffer.

"I assure you this wouldn't be something I would do before you took Ashley. But now…" Helen tossed the knife in the air and caught the hilt before she placed it up against Dana's throat, "I'm capable of anything." Helen applied pressure, "I'm capable of taking your life and not thinking twice about." She slid the blade across Dana's throat. It was enough to make a thin line of crimson appear, not enough to kill. As quick as lighting Helen removed her knife and used her free hand to clamp her fingers around Dana's throat. The red head squirmed and gasped for air that Helen was denying her.

John watched with perverse glee. He had wanted to see Helen like this for years. He had wanted her to know her dark nature. It was within her bounds to kill, but she had to be a killer with a cause. Taking the life of the woman who took their daughter was cause enough for her. Dana was gasping for air and in a few seconds she would pass out where John was sure Helen would let go and wake up the monster again. Dana was more of a monster than John could ever be. He only killed people, but she… Dana Whitcomb had taken the one good thing about Helen's life and turned Ashley into a weapon. There had to be a penance for that action. John was here to deliver Helen so she could deliver that sentence.

Helen saw the moment Dana lost consciousness. Letting go Helen felt the trace of blood on her hand, but that would not deter her from what she was going to do this night. Dana would die. Her bloody hand shot out and slapped Dana, the sound echoing on the night. The red headed nightmare woke up with a start and fear poured into her eyes. It was the fear that Helen wanted to see; she was feeding off of it. "You took the most precious person in my life from me." Helen re-sheathed her knife and drew her 9mm. Placing the barrel of her weapon just above Whitcomb's left knee cap. "They say being shot in the knee caps is the most painful place to be shot," Looking to John she offered him a wicked smile just as she pulled the trigger. The thunderous boom sounded around them as well as the sickening cracking of bone and the shrieks of the woman tied to a cross. Before the screams could die down Helen shot out Dana's other knee so the pain would start all over again.

"I guess it's true." John muttered coming to Helen's side. He was seeing her starting to waver. John traced his finger down the side of her face. "Remember what she's done. She doesn't deserve life."

"I know," Helen muttered and turned back to her. "This is what you wanted John. Now I am the monster you are." With that said Helen re-holstered her gun and drew her knife once more. Dana was whimpering and Helen felt nothing for her, no ounce of pity. There was something about seeing her enemy suffering that soothed the pain she was still feeling over Ashley's death. She knew she shouldn't feel this way. But that was not going to stop her.

Helen took her knife and placed the tip against Dana's right wrist. "Just enough pressure and I can puncture vein, you'll bleed very slowly. It's won't kill you, but it will make you weak." Helen explained as she ran her knife tip down a little ways ensuring that the blood would run. Dana whimpered in pain. Helen didn't care. She was cold, numb, and out of tune with her surrounding. All that mattered was revenge.

"This…" Dana started," Isn't…." the pain was immense; she could hardly think, "You." Never would she have thought Helen Magnus capable of murder.

"No!" Helen shouted driving her knife home in Dana's left shoulder joint. "This is who you made me to be when you stole my child!" Dana's screams littered the night. Helen felt blood on her face, on her hands, and she didn't care. All Helen did was hold out her hand and another knife hilt was slid into her hand. Without words Helen drove John's knife home in Dana's side. It wouldn't kill her instantly but she would bleed profusely.

John leaned against an out dated gas lamp and watched Helen do what he could not. There was no way he would have drawn out Dana's torture. He would have killed her and left her body to rot for the worms. But Helen was facing down her enemy, not flinching, and carrying out her version of justice. It made him wonder if she would have done the same to him once upon a time when they had been enemies. 'She was never your enemy.' John thought. And that was true. Helen had only wanted to help him and he had tried to kill her for it. Now look what he had done to her. She was now what he once was. But the difference was, Helen would kill just this once and be done with it. Once she had her demons purged she would go back to her life and move on.

Helen removed John's knife from Dana's side and she removed her knife from Dana's left shoulder. It wouldn't do her any favors to leave behind prints on a murder weapon. Once again she slid her blade lightly across Dana's throat only it didn't draw blood. It looked as if Helen was deciding how she wanted to finally end her enemy's life and maybe that was what she was doing. She could simply dig her blade into the jugular vein and watch the blood flow out. Or she could do a quick slice across the throat and get blood on her. Either way she would come away bloodier than she already was and that suited Helen just find. The war with the Cabal would come to an end in a few short minutes.

This was it; it was time to end it. Helen put her blade in her right hand with the blade pointing down. "Time to die Dana. No more chances, no more pain, just death." Helen spoke calmly and quietly. Pressing the blade to Dana's throat Helen took a deep breath, steadied her hand. She closed her eyes and moved the blade hard and fast over the throat of Dana Whitcomb. Blood splattered her face, her hair, and her hands. It was over and Dana was dead.

Helen stumbled away and dropped to her knees. Her strength had left her but she was still clutching the knife. John went to her, "Helen," He held out his hand, "Give me the knife. Come on, hand to it to me."

Helen barely registered John's words as the weight of what she had done finally sank in. She sighed, closed her eyes and sank into John. Her hand rested in his as she handed him the knife. Finally it was over and Dana was dead. She reached out and John was there; he was always there. Helen took his other hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They needed to get out of here. John pulled her close and whispered, "I'll take you out of here." He cupped the back her head and wrapped his arm around her waist. It was then that she felt them leave. But she didn't want to open her yes. She wanted to feel John just a little longer.

John teleported them back to her Sanctuary, only it was in Helen's bedroom that he found as his surrounding. One thing was for certain she would need a shower to wash away the blood. He picked her up and carried her to the connecting bathroom and set her on the edge of a 19th century claw foot tub. John took a moment to remove his own bloody jacket before he turned the water on and let it run warm. He was surprised that she had screamed at him after all was done. John would have thought Helen would have blamed for what she had done. And maybe it was his fault but he was glad for it. Now they were all scarred by the darkness. Shaking his head John brought his mind back to Helen. He took her hands and gently rubbed at the blood with a wet cloth.

"Stop," Helen whispered. She looked at him and knew in that moment what she wanted. At the start of the night she thought she had only wanted John's body, then it turned to murder; the murder of Dana Whitcomb. And now all she wanted was for him to hold her. She felt cold, remote, cut off. But John was there and he wasn't leaving. "Would you shower with me?"

To say John was stunned was redundant. He had been expecting her to scream, to shout, and to try and shoot him. He was certainly not expecting her to ask him to shower with her. But given what he had seen of her; Helen was drained. Rather than answer John put his hands on the hem of her shirt and gently tugged it up and over her head. Her hands went to the hem of his t-shirt so she could tug it over his head as he had done her. Did he really want this? Could he take advantage of her when she was like this? John did want her, but it would only be on her terms. He had a feeling that this was just going to be a shower.

Helen knew better, she really did, but she didn't care. All that mattered was John in front of her and the fact that she didn't want to be alone. Using his shoulders as a brace Helen rose slowly to her feet. John was still on his knees before her and the sight seemed wrong. Such a strong man should never be on his knees. They locked eyes and John rose to his feet as well. Simultaneously his hands were at her pants and hers were working free the buttons of his trousers. 'Helen you know better!' her mind shouted but she didn't care. John's pants were open and hanging loosely on his hips just as hers were. It was his fingers and not hers that flicked open the closure of her bra. He slid the straps down her shoulders and tossed the black cloth somewhere. Helen toed off her shoes waiting for John to finish.

John should leave; he should teleport to the arctic and cool his blood and his body. But he knew he wasn't going to, not with Helen wanting him. Keeping his eyes on her, John slid his hands down her sides and over her hips taking her blood spattered pants and underwear down off her long legs. He stood and helped her into the tub where she turned the knob for the shower. John was about to turn to leave when he felt her wet warm hand on his shoulder. Looking at her John saw the blood dripping down her face, her torso, and down her legs. "Don't leave." Helen said. How could John refuse her? He toed off his shoes and let his trousers fall to the floor. Letting his senses take over John stepped into the shower with Helen and allowed the past to resurrect itself. For now the demon inside of him stayed quiet.

Helen could see the war waging inside of John. He wanted to stay, to help her, but at the same time he wanted to run from her. They were never civil for too long, it was too painful for them. But right now he was here and that was all that mattered. She moved closer to him but John turned them so that she was under the water. His fingers worked through her hair and she felt the blood leaving her face, her body. Helen felt John move away from her and then he came back, and then the sweet scent of lavender and vanilla filled her senses. John's fingers were back in her hair and the soap was cleaning the blood from her hair. Again John's fingers loosened from her hair and slipped to her shoulders, and then down to her breast's. His hands cupped them while his thumbs rubbed at her nipples. Helen shuddered as a wave of pleasure coursed through her to chase away the final stages of her numbness. She cupped his face and dragged his head down so she could capture his lips.

John hadn't thought this was where they would end up. They went from heated groping, to murder, and now they were moving back to being lovers. All of his resolve flew out the window. John picked Helen up so her legs wrapped around his waist. After all these years apart they were still the perfect fit. Kissing her, holding her close, John plunged deep inside her. Helen's body still welcomed him as if they had made love yesterday. She felt so good, so tight. John nearly fell to his knees at the pure pleasure that course through him.

Helen worked her hips up and down as John slid in and out of her. She had lived so long without his touch, without his body that this was the sweetest torture she would know. He was the one person in the entire world that she wanted, that she knew she should kill, and yet here he was. He was buried deep inside of her body while his tongue ravaged her mouth in a brutal, barely restrained kiss that had her mind drowning. Nothing and no one would compare to John Druitt. No one could compare to the power of his body, the heated kisses, or the sensual way he could laugh. She was lost in the sensation of him and she wanted to stay that way.

John was barely aware of the water and the soap being rinsed free of Helen and him. He was so consumed with her rising and lowering down onto his hard shaft. The pleasure of her body had been denied him for too long; this was sweet torture. He had to get them out of the shower before the water turned cold. Using his gifts John teleported them to the bed where they took no notice of the water soaking the top blanket. All that mattered to John was the way Helen rotated her hips and took him deeper into her body. Rolling John put Helen beneath him so he could take control. He put most of his weight on his hands so his thrusts were deeper and harder. Together they moaned.

Helen arched her back. She had to have more of him. He had to be deeper. She was so close to the edge, all she wanted to do was spill over. John pumped into her in hard, deep thrusts. He was so hard and his body was so tight. Together they were close. Using what strength she had Helen reversed them so that she was on top; she liked to be on top. Helen rotated her hips in a counter clockwise motion while she took both of his hands and laced her fingers with his. Just a little more and together the ecstasy would take them over and they would be boneless. They wouldn't care about the blood that had been on them. They wouldn't care about what they had done. They wouldn't even care that Dana Whitcomb was dead. All that mattered was them, their pleasure. It was then that the tight ball low in her stomach burst. Fire exploded through her veins. She felt immense pleasure.

John felt it then as Helen's inner muscles gripped him. He came in a torrent. John sat up and wrapped his arms around Helen while he took her lips so he could drink down her moans of pleasure. Her arms came around his shoulders; her nails biting into his skin. John didn't care. The slight pain only heightened his pleasure. After what seemed like an eternity John fell back against the bed with Helen falling to his side. She draped her arm across his chest and her leg tangled with his. He had a split instant to glimpse her before his weary body slipped into sleep with Helen snuggled into his side. For a limited time this would be his haven until the demon re-emerged.

THE NEXT MORNING:

Helen felt warm, she felt relaxed and she was covered the bottom sheet, the soft cotton dancing over her side as she breathed. Opening her eyes she saw the sun streaming in through the windows. Turning her head she buried her face in the crook of john's neck. He was blissfully still asleep. Wanting to get the curtains closed Helen slipped out of bed and grabbed John leather coat. She slipped the fabric on and padded over to the windows. Quietly she closed the curtains and felt a sigh of relief that it was once again dark in her bedroom. After last night her head was pounding with images of her torturing Dana Whitcomb and then her sex with John. The sex she didn't regret; she never did. For an instant she regretted torturing Dana, but knowing that she was dead made her feel slightly better. That was one enemy that would never darken her doorstep ever again.

John knew the moment Helen had left his side. Due to his dark side he had never slept deeply. Opening his eyes he saw her in his coat closing the curtains. Instantly his lust rose at seeing her in nothing but leather. She never ceased to get a rise out of him. John turned on his side to watch her. She was thinking and thinking hard about what had happened last night. Helen wasn't focusing on them having sex; no she was focusing on the torture and murder of Dana Whitcomb. "You're thinking too hard." John spoke breaking the silence.

Helen turned to John on the bed and had to catch herself before she stumbled back. He looked delectable lying in her bed covered only by a sheet. John never had a problem with looking sexy, ever. Though, she did miss his long brunette locks that would cascade over his shoulders after she pulled free the ribbon that bound his hair most of the time. Shaking her head Helen answered, "Images from last night."

"The Murder? The Sex?" John asked. Though, he had a feeling that she had been thinking about the way she had shot, stabbed, and murdered Dana. Personally he thought she had done a wonderful job. That bitch was finally dead and Helen had her vengeance.

"It was the murder." Helen replied walking back to the bed so she could sit on the edge. "I had no idea I was capable of that level of brutality." Helen lowered her head and covered her face with her hands. True she had been willing to shoot Kate's foot off, but she thought she had moved past the anger until last night.

John moved over to where Helen was sitting and pulled her back into his embrace, "We're all capable of it. That woman was responsible for Ashley turning on you. She deserved what she got and it was poetic justice that her sentence was carried out by your hand." John spoke low. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked back and forth slowly. This was not what Helen was used to. She would have a slight break down, get over it, and then she would move on.

"You think what I did was for the best?" Helen asked turning to look at John. It was strange of her to ask him a question that dealt with right and wrong. John was the epitome of wrong doing. Maybe that was why she still desired him. He was the bad boy and she had a thing for bad boys.

"I do," John kissed her temple and continued, "I also think you needed to purge that slow boiling rage. What better target than the woman who wronged you?"

Helen took a deep breath and then expelled the air. "We should have gotten rid of her body."

"I was more concerned with you." John said. He tightened his grip on her while he continued to rock back and forth.

"What do we do now?" Helen asked as she tuned her head up under John's chin. She had never felt as warm or as safe as she did in John's arms. All that mattered was that he was here with her. It didn't matter that he had an energy beast inside of him. That she could fix in time.

"I don't know." John answered. Truthfully that was how he felt. All he wanted was to stay with Helen but he knew better. In time his demon would make him do something to try and hurt her or one of her team and then she would hate him all over again. For as long as he could hold on John would stay with her. He just hoped he could last longer than a few hours.