AN: Nancy, this fic is for you. A thank you present, if you will. & don't bother to tell me it's unnecessary. Shut up & deal w/ it. I say that w/ love. Beta'd by the lovely MajorSam. All mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I just like borrowing them for emotional abuse.

Passing Notes

By: SentientMist

He finds her in her office, sitting in the dark. She's at her desk, staring at what must be a photo, tracing its lines lovingly. She's so lost in thought she doesn't even realize he has entered the room. He wonders about the photo…Was it John or Ashley? Which loss is she regretting tonight? As he nears the desk, the light of the desk lamp reflects off the photo, and Will catches a glimpse of black, white, and gray. The colors melded into each other in the low light. John then. Rounding the desk, he lays a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

By now, she's sensed his presence, and her only reaction is a defeated sigh. Will's heart breaks for her. John's sacrifice on the heels of Ashley's. Two people she loved, two people who sacrificed themselves to save her. The two people she longed to save more than any others. And in the end, she had been responsible for their loss. It doesn't matter that it was their choice. It doesn't matter that she wasn't truly at fault. She couldn't save them, so she blames herself, and likely always will. No matter how much he wishes, Will can never heal that pain. But maybe, just maybe, she'll at least let him help ease it.

"Come sit with me in the library," he says quietly.

Pulling open a drawer, she carefully lays the photo in it with one last brush of her thumb across its surface and slides the drawer shut. "I really have quite a bit to do yet, Will. You should get some rest," she murmurs.

"So should you."

A tired smile flits across her features, and she reaches a hand up, covering his where it still rests on her shoulder. "I'll be fine," she says softly.

"It wasn't really a question."

She admires his loyalty, his willingness to contradict her when he believes it is in her best interest. But tonight, she doesn't want to talk. She just wants time. Time to think, to figure out how she feels. Time to grieve.

It is obvious he has no intention of leaving her office until she does as well. Finally, she relents. The adrenaline of the day has worn off, and when she stands too quickly she can't stop the hiss that escapes her as the world blurs slightly before righting itself. Will gently slides an arm around her waist, steadying her. "You okay?" he whispers.

Nodding with gritted teeth, she allows him to support her until she regains her bearings. He doesn't remove his arm as he guides her to the library and settles her on the sofa. She lets him. She's exhausted, the day's events are catching up to her, and she finds she doesn't have the will to argue with him. If she's honest with herself, she's decided she could use the company of a friend tonight.

"Magnus…I need you to let me see."

Helen offers a look of resignation, empty blue eyes locking with his own for an instant before she tips her head down.

Taking a steadying breath, he gently begins to unbutton her vest. Soon he's easing her shirt over her shoulders and down her arms, leaving only her bra to cover her upper body. He winces involuntarily at the mass of bruises mottling her chest and abdomen. He feels blinding rage bubble up at the sight, but quickly pushes it aside. There will be plenty of time to be angry later. Right now, she simply needs him to be there. "Magnus, how bad is this?" he asks, voice low.

"Bruised. Perhaps a fracture, but I've had no trouble breathing. It's fine, Will." Her voice is flat, drained of all emotion as she gazes aimlessly at the far wall.

"It's not even close to fine," he mutters, grabbing a med kit from where he'd stashed earlier, under the coffee table. She's quiet as she allows him to examine her, unintentionally gasping once, when he puts too much pressure on her injured ribs. When he's satisfied, he drapes a blanket over her shoulders, tugging it gently around her. "Now, was that so hard?"

"Here." He holds out his hand, two small pills in his palm. She stares at him vacantly. "Take them," he stresses, voice calmly demanding. After long moments, she acquiesces, taking them from his hand. He offers her a glass of water, and she downs the pills in one swallow. "It's not a perfect solution, but it should help with some of the pain." He brushes hair back from her face, tucking it behind an ear as she nods.

"Sit, Will."

He sinks onto the sofa next to her, dropping a hand to her knee. "You feel guilty." It's a soft declaration, not accusing, simply a statement. "Would you have wanted them to let you die? Knowing they could have saved you? Knowing they were already lost? For what it's worth, I can't say I would have chosen differently."

She looks up sharply, eyes flashing angrily. "You know nothing of their choices. Nothing of what it's like to live year after year, watching everyone you care about leave. Some of them have died horrible deaths. Others, a relative few, I had to watch age and pass on, every moment taking them further away from me."

"This isn't about everyone else you've lost, Helen." The rare use of her first name keeps her from cutting him off. "This is about John. And Ashley, I suspect. Because they sacrificed themselves for iyou/i. All of the suffering, the pain, might have ended if they had left well enough alone. If they had lived."

"That is not what this is about." Her voice is low, warning.

"Isn't it? And now, knowing there's a chance, no matter how small, of having the old John back, the man you knew, it's eating at you. You're still in love with him, but I'm not sure you've even accepted that yourself."

"What John and I had ended long ago, Will," she says, forlornly.

"But maybe it could be revived. If he hadn't made the decision to become host to that energy creature again, maybe you could have some semblance of what you've lost."

She offers him the barest ghost of a smile. "You can be quite pushy, Dr. Zimmerman."

"I've been told that a time or two before, believe it or not," he banters lightly.

Suddenly, she stands, allowing the blanket to fall off her shoulders. Crossing to a shelf, she carefully extracts a book, freeing a sheet of paper from between the pages. Resituating herself beside him, she hands the paper over.

iMy dearest Helen,

You are quite the temptress./i

Will glances up at her, and his expression must give him away because she smiles at him over the letter. "I tried to seduce him." Shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to shake loose the image that created, he returns his attention to the page in his hands.

iI'm afraid I had some matters to attend to this morning before you woke. However, I fully intend to find you little worse for wear upon my return. Foolishness is a poor demonstration of grief. Blame yourself all you like, but do not find fault where there is none.

Yours,

James/i

She waits for him to look up before speaking. "It was shortly after we'd discovered John was the Ripper. I was in quite a state, letting my emotions control me. I made some poor decisions. James was my ever faithful support." She smiles fondly at the memory and he finds himself grinning in return.

"He was a good friend."

"Yes. He was," she agrees, a tinge of sadness lacing her words.

Extending the letter to her, he's surprised when she pushes his hand back. "You keep it. The advice of one best friend to another."

She smiles again and he feels the air rush out of his lungs. "Don't seem so surprised, Will," she chuckles, moving his arm so she can lean against him, tugging the blanket up over them both. Curled into his side, head resting on his shoulder, Helen Magnus finally finds her peace.