Author's Note: Yes, another new story. This is the first part of four and it came from an idea about John's control over the creature. So far, he's managed to control it around Magnus but what if one time he couldn't? Anyway, please review and tell me what you think. The next part will probably be up tomorrow although it is all written. For reference, this is set some time after Haunted and so there are spoilers for that episode.

John versus Jack

Chapter 1 –

It was seven am. Helen was sitting behind her desk, distracted by a report the Will had handed in fifteen minutes ago. Her eyes flicked rapidly across the page, taking in all the information in double time. John stood at the other end of the room, silently observing her. He'd arrived the night before and Helen had allowed him to stay in one of the guest rooms, to rest before taking off the next day.

Now, he was alternating between watching Helen and lazily exploring her office. The bookcase by the window had caught his attention. About halfway up, at roughly shoulder height, was a framed photograph. It was of Ashley. She looked about seventeen or eighteen at the time and her hair was longer than it had been when John had known her. It was tied up in a pony tail and she was resting casually against her motorbike. She had a massive grin on her face and John was guessing that it was the day she'd first acquired the bike. Presumably it had been Helen behind the camera. John reached out and touched Ashley's face with a fingertip. The anger began to burn in his stomach again. This was Ashley, his Ashley, his daughter and the Cabal and stolen her and her life. They'd turned her against her family and because of that, Helen was no longer the same person. Yes, she was as dedicated to her work as she had ever been, she smiled frequently and she had started to eat properly again. But she wasn't the same. Physically, she looked gaunt; her face was thinner and although her fingers and wrists had always been slim, now they looked like they were about to snap. But psychologically, she was damaged. She had a new stillness about her. She didn't feel quite so full of life, and love as she used to. Ashley had taken part of her when she'd died.

John's fists clenched. He may have killed off the majority of the Cabal but it had done nothing to ease the pain and anger that still swirled within. Jack, the monster, raised his ugly head. He may have been appeased by the vicious murders of the Cabal agents but the bloodlust was never far from the peripheries of his mind. And now it had resurfaced. It wanted blood and Helen was the only one there.

John, the man he really was, dug his nails into his palms. He did not want to hurt Helen. He really did not want to hurt Helen. He'd rather die. But when Jack took over, it was too late. John picked up the framed photograph of Ashley and looked at her face again. His daughter, the DNA of himself and Helen combined. After all the pain, he'd put Helen through, he couldn't bear to hurt her anymore. But Jack wasn't listening.

Helen looked up from the report when she heard the cracking of glass. John had his back to her but in his hand, she could see a framed photograph. Glass was dropping from his grip. He'd been holding onto it so hard, the glass had broken. She stood up slowly.

"John?" There was a note of caution in her voice. John was dangerous when he was in his right mind but when Jack took over, he could be lethal. "John?"

John turned slowly, letting the frame slip from his hand. Helen could see blood beginning to drip onto the floor. Returning her eyes to his face, she saw that same look on his face when he'd knocked her to the ground and kicked her in the ribs a few months ago. Pure hatred and unadulterated longing. And Helen was pretty sure that longing was not a good thing. She glanced down at her desk and cursed internally when she remembered that she'd given her gun to Henry to give it a once over. Her eyes shifted to her walkie. Even if she could get in contact with Will or somebody, John would be on top of her before she could say a word. She looked back up at him.

He was inching closer and the nasty analogy of a predator hunting its prey sprang to mind. In his normal capacity, Helen was not afraid of John. She knew him well and was confident that she could predict and therefore counteract his actions. But as Jack, all she knew was that he was a vicious killer.

She took a careful step back. "John, listen to me..." she began but before she could articulate her thoughts, John was right in her face, his eyes inches from hers. His hand was around her throat, almost lifting her off the ground with his strong grip. She wrapped her hands around his wrist, trying in vain to pull him off of her. She heard rather than saw him flick open his knife. She didn't remove her gaze from his but she felt him pull back his arm, ready to strike.

Helen had no words to stop him but she knew her eyes were giving her away. She was terrified, God, she was terrified but a calm had settled over her. She couldn't explain it. However, in John's eyes, she could see the raging battle. Jack and John were fighting for control. She could see John's revulsion at his actions and the fear that he might actually kill her and Jack's exhilaration at finally getting the object of his obsession.

As a last act of desperation, Helen kicked out and fortunately caught John in the knee. He cried out and dropped her like a burning coal. She hit the ground with a clatter but scrambled away from him towards the door. John recovered quickly and grabbed her ankle and dragged her back, yanking her onto her back. Leaning his hands on her shoulders, he pinned her down. He was panting with the exertion and the sneer on his lips was far from comforting. He raised his fist and struck her across the face with such force that the back of her head hit the floor with a crack.

"John..." Helen gasped as she tried again to wriggle away. "John, please..."

Her words seem to have no effect on him. He leaned closer until their lips were almost touching. And that was when Helen felt a blinding pain between her ribs. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan escaped her lips. Between the roar of her blood in her ears and the thud of her heart, she thought she heard John laughing. Then there was another sharp pain, below the first, closer to her stomach. This time she did cry out and once she started, she couldn't stop. A guttural, rasping scream pierced the air and one part of her brain prayed that someone would hear her. The rest of her brain, the majority, just didn't care, just wanted the pain to be over. John plastered his hand over her mouth to stifle the noise but in her desperation, Helen closed her teeth around his fingers and bit down as hard as she could. John growled and wrenched his hand back before pounding it into the side of her face.