A/N:

I had completely forgotten about this fanfic, until I came across it today. I wrote it about 25 years ago, to answer some questions that the episode "Halloween Knights" raised for me:

Q: How could Murdoc keep his existence completely secret from his sister?

A: He would have had to cut connections between them early enough that Ashton would not remember him. The apparent age difference between them in the episode facilitated that. A comment he made in the later episode "Strictly Business", to the effect that Ashton was his last living relative, backed up my idea that their parents were dead.

Q:Why did Murdoc have an English accent and Ashton an American accent.

A: Murdoc would have had take Ashton to the USA before her accent was 'set' but after his was unlikely to change significantly.

The customs officer opened the first passport, then looked up and frowned slightly. According to the birth date on the passport, the man before her was only nineteen, but his cold gaze seemed, somehow, years older. Slightly unnerved, the woman turned her attention to the second passport. She hesitated before asking her next question, then said, "Your daughter?"

He glanced down at the little girl asleep in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder, her face flushed but peaceful. "My sister." There was an underlying harshness to his crisp English accent.

The official checked the rest of the travel documents, then stamped the passports and handed them back. "Enjoy your stay."

He looked into her eyes, and she suppressed a slight shiver. There was no trace of warmth, or indeed any emotion in his dark, hypnotic eyes. "Thank you." He walked away, and was soon lost in the crowd.

Some time later, Murdoc made his way through the clusters of passengers. On the short side, and slender almost to the point of thinness, his features half-hidden by a baseball cap, he attracted little attention, but that was as he wanted it. For what he was about to do, and in the life he had chosen to lead, anonymity was essential. He glanced around. He had picked the spot already, close to a ticket desk, located in a place where he would be able to keep watch, hidden, to make certain that this would happen the way he had planned.

There was a vacant seat near the desk, and Murdoc approached it casually. Gently, he eased the child onto the seat, then reached into his jacket. One last time, he checked the third passport he carried – the photograph of the child was the same, but this was an American passport, and certain details had been changed. Softly, he murmured her name, trying it with the new surname he had chosen for her. "Ashton Cooke."

Roused by the sound of her first name, the little girl stirred, opened her eyes, and looked up at him sleepily. "Are we there yet?"

For the first few hours of their journey, Ashton had been bursting with excitement. Too young to fully comprehend what they had so recently lost – she had been affected, of course, asking often for Mummy and Daddy, but at barely three years old, death was a concept mostly beyond her understanding. The excitement of a trip, and the long journey itself, had taken their toll, and Ashton had fallen asleep long before the plane landed in New York City. Now she looked around her, yawning.

Murdoc ran a hand gently over her soft blond hair and said, "Give me a hug, Ashton." The skinny arms tightened around his neck, and she planted a loud kiss on his cheek, then rubbed sticky fingers over his face.

"Scratchy!" she told him accusingly.

Murdoc smiled at her, giving no hint of the darkness that shadowed his thoughts. He placed her little suitcase under the seat, then handed Ashton her yellow blanket, and the battered toy rabbit – he had given it to her on her second birthday, and she had taken it everywhere with her since then. "Ashton, I'm going to talk to someone. Stay here, my darling, and take care of your bunny."

"All right." She smiled trustingly, and he raised her chin with his finger, and kissed one smooth, rounded cheek. Ashton clumsily stuffed the blanket down beside her, then bounced the blue rabbit on her knees, and started to sing the nursery rhyme that was her current favourite. "In a cottage, in a wood

A little old man by the window stood..."

She barely glanced at her big brother as he stood up.

Walking away from Ashton for the last time, Murdoc felt only that icy coldness that was becoming his defense. He had felt it the day he made his first hit; and again when they told him about the car crash. This was something he must do. It was better for both of them. But he would not leave until he was certain she was in safe hands.

For over an hour Murdoc waited, watching Ashton, trying to print in his mind the image of her fragile prettiness, set off by the blue denim overalls and pink striped sweater. He struggled to hold his emotions under rigid control as Ashton became increasingly agitated, standing in front of the seat, looking around frantically, the rabbit clutched tightly in her arms. The clerks at the nearby ticket desk had been casting glances at Ashton and eventually, as he had expected, one of them went over to talk to her.

He had thought he had command of his feelings, but when he saw the tears start to run down Ashton's face, he almost broke and went to her. It would be so easy to walk up, with some excuse, and claim the sister he loved, as he had loved no-one else in his life. But it was that love that made him repeat to himself the reasons he was doing this. Ashton would be far safer in a home where they knew nothing about him, and the deadly profession he followed, where no-one would go looking for her. She would be well-provided for, however. Whatever it took, he would see to that.

The clerks had called security, and a uniformed woman approached. She crouched down, her approach very gentle as she spoke to Ashton. After a couple of minutes, the woman picked the child up, still talking to her. Ashton's tears became a desperate wail, and Murdoc turned away, his vision blurred, pushing blindly through the crowded concourse.

He would track her down, he promised himself. Wherever she ended up, he would locate her, and make sure she was being cared for properly. Anonymous payments would ensure that she wanted for nothing, materially. With luck, she would eventually forget the tragedy that had shattered her life, forget her abandonment in a foreign airport, forget him... it hurt, but it was the only way he could think of to be sure she was safe, that retribution for his own sins would not be visited on her innocent head.

Hours later, he walked into the immaculate office, and stood before the desk. The man seated there looked up, waiting.

"Nicholas Helman? My name is Murdoc. I understand you have an opening..."