Sorry for the delay! I keep getting distracted by uni and then silly ideas that I can't get out of my head until I at least start them!

Here's some fluffy, fluffy baby stuffs to make up for it :P

xx

She'd come to him before to ask it of him, it had been a decision she was so sure of but then war broke out and... well things had gotten complicated. After, when they were safely back in England, Germany's crimes on display for the world he had asked if she still wished to go through with it. She'd asked for a day to think it over although they both knew her answer.

No.

It was too dangerous, the Sanctuary network expanding at a frightening rate, taking her further and further from safety. Things were unstable not just for her but for the world. They barely needed to have the conversation but had had it anyway. James had been supportive, taking her hand and telling her he understood the decision and that he'd be there for her whenever she did finally decide to go through with it. And he'd meant it, she was certain but it didn't stop the hurt in his eyes. He knew his suit would last indefinitely and nor would their affections for one another.

They'd been sleeping together for the better part of two decades by then and it had become an unspoken agreement between them that it would not last. Not for lack of trying or for lack of time but because of all their time. They'd spent too long together in some respects.

That was why he was upset with her choice. Because if she put it off, he wouldn't be the father. Oh he'd be uncle James, bringer of treats and warm hugs but he wanted more and she knew it. He'd be a good father, she had no doubt in her mind. But it wasn't about him, it wasn't even about her.

She used John as an excuse blaming his reappearance for her decision not to do it then. Things had to cool, she told herself. Things had to slow down a little. It was stupid, she knew her life would do nothing but increase in pace as the years ticked by.

So she waited. And waited and waited and waited.

It was the mid seventies before she thought about it again. Properly thought about it that was. Even then it was nothing more than a niggling presence in the back of her head, asking if she'd still be able, if she'd accidentally killed it by waiting so long.

It was the early eighties when she began to spend an inordinate amount of time down in the cool cellar the device was stored in. She'd just sit there, looking at the cool steel that hummed away, keeping the child safe and protected. She didn't think while she was there, she simply sat on the floor, back pressed to the contraption as she closed her eyes and took a few minutes for herself.

James apparently knew about her behaviour, calling her on it once.

"Are you considering it?"

She'd glared at her protégé of the time who had alerted James before rolling her eyes at him.

That had been the end of the discussion for a time but it didn't stop her from visiting the cool, dark room every chance she got.

It was her birthday when she finally decided.

Her staff had thrown her a party, balloons, streamers and cake. The works, they'd called it. There had been goofy party hats, a piñata and several lingering birthday kisses. They'd treated her like a child the entire day, keeping her occupied with guest after guest, coming to congratulate her and wish her well.

But she hadn't been able to focus at all, her mind being wrapped up in the box down below she wanted to go visit.

She knew she had to do it then. She had no choice.

James had come without her having to ask for more than a chance to see him once more. That man was almost psychic, turning up with a wide and knowing smile.

It was done in a matter of hours. They didn't tell her team what she was doing, just in case it didn't take but then, six weeks later she had to.

"Whose is it?"

"Mine."

They'd been politely curious about the whole thing and she hadn't told them everything but a few weeks later when a young boy came to live with them, everyone had looked at her warily as if trying to gauge her reaction.

She named the boy after her dead little brother, holding tight to him as he shivered in her arms. They realised quickly that there was something different about the (they guessed) seven year old but Helen had brushed it off. She refused to think of it as practicing her parenting skills but when it became apparent that young Henry would not be leaving her Sanctuary any time soon and the word 'adoption' was thrown about, she couldn't bring herself to say no.

He was by her side when she eventually went into labour, the tiny boy clinging to her hand as he waited for her pain to pass. He'd called the others to her side with a few panicked cries and, although he was shepherded away eventually, she'd been quick to call him back when it was all done.

He was carefully lifted up to sit on the bed and he peered curiously at the bundle of blankets in her arms.

"This is your little sister, Henry," she'd told him quietly, looking down at her ninety eight year old baby.

He simply gaped, reaching out one tentative hand to rest against her sweet cheek.

"Ashley," she murmured softly, the weight in her arms feeling something close to heavenly. "I've been waiting a while to meet you."