*** For chocolateanddrama and sparklyskater who inspired the end to this story, xoxoxoxox you guys are totally awesome :)

Helen Magnus is dimly aware of the absence of Will. She hadn't asked where he was going. She really didn't care. She didn't blame him for not wanting to stick around here. Let him fly away, free, like Ashley.

Helen is slightly more aware of the presence of John Druitt. Only because he is Ashley's father. Half of Ashley came from him. And she feels like her daughter is close to her when he is near. But she still refuses to acknowledge his presence by speaking to him, by even looking at him. She just does not care enough to engage in interaction with him, with anyone. So she shuts herself away in her mind, in a quiet dark place, punishing herself over and over for the mistakes she had made as a mother.

Despite the darkness she knew existed in John, she never doubted that he loved her once, or that he loved Ashley now. Of course he loved her, who could not? In his own deranged way, he had always loved her. Helen understood that. Despite everything between them, the madness, the darkness, Helen loved him too once, perhaps she still did. Ashley had been born out of that love. From that amazing brightness and passion, so it was natural that Ashley was extraordinary. Ashley exceeded her every expectation. There were things that worried her about her daughter, but never disappointed her. There were things that frightened her, but it was never Ashley herself who frightened her. It was the thought of something terrible befalling Ashley. Some horrific thing that she would be unable to protect Ashley from. She had never been afraid of Ashley, not in the way she had been afraid of Kathryn. Not until that moment she stood, pleading, face to face with someone who looked like Ashley, and yet had been turned into a remorseless killing machine. She had been afraid of Ashley in that moment, undoubtedly. But even then, she was more afraid of hurting Ashley, than she was of Ashley hurting her. And Helen knows she would rather have died in that moment than lifted a finger to harm her daughter.

Kathryn had been so different. Altogether different on every level that it was hard to believe she fell into that same category of 'daughter'. Helen had to remind herself that the poor girl never had much of a chance. It was tempting to blame the child, to claim that Kathryn was just bad. It was easy to lay the blame at the feet of the child's father. The child never had a hope with a father like that. But the truth is, half of that child came from Helen. Perhaps more than half, as Helen was the one who raised her, and the girl had never met her father. Helen was the one teaching her, loving her, trying so damn hard to love her. There was no one to blame for the way things turned out other then Helen herself. And yet it wasn't something she could control. It was just so different, the way she loved Kathryn, compared to the way she loved Ashley. And she can't blame herself or either child for that.

Helen tells herself that Kathryn pushed her away, Kathryn made it so hard to love her, to reach her. Kathryn made it impossible. But Kathryn was just a little girl. Ans Helen knows in her heart she drove the girl away. That she is the one who inadvertently kept the girl at arms length. She knows that the child only wanted her attention, her love. That child wanted things that Helen simply didn't have to give. Not back then. She was empty, hollow, void. The child was better off away, with people who could love her, give her a normal life and the things she deserved. People who didn't look at her and see only the evil penetrating eyes of her father staring back. So Helen told herself, it was for the child's own good that she was sent away. Though Helen could not deny the feeling of relief that flooded her when she realised she could no longer hear that voice crying out for her in the middle of the night. She no longer stood hour after hour rocking that crying child, completely inadequate to console her, that she no longer woke in her bed with those expectant needy eyes staring at her , that she no longer slept with one eye open wondering just what the girl was plotting now.

It hadn't been all bad. There were beautiful moments where she connected with her first born daughter. Fleeting shining moments. But they were just flickers in time. Seemingly insignificant amidst the turmoil, the chaos. Helen had loved her, had tried to love her, had loved her enough to let her go. For both their sakes. No matter how muddy her motives, she did believe it in the child's best interests at the time.

It doesn't occur to Helen for a moment that Kathryn would hurt Ashley. She isn't afraid for Ashley, not in the least. Kathryn wanted Ashley, Kathryn had always wanted Ashley. Helen remembers the day, when Ashley was just a small baby. Kathryn turned up unannounced on the doorstep. It had been years with no contact. Helen had a vague idea where Kathryn was living, she always kept an eye on her, from a distance. No matter how much the relationship had disintegrated over the years, Helen was still her mother. But Helen had not been expecting to see Kathryn again. Ever.

But there she was, that day, unannounced. She came inside, hesitantly stepping into the sanctuary that she had sworn never to set foot in again. She held Ashley in her arms, and Ashley smiled up at her.

"Let me take her." Kathryn said. "Away from all of this. This is no life for a child. I know what it's like being the daughter of Helen Magnus." The words were not cold or cruel. Just simple, heartfelt. And still, they slice through Helen's heart.

Helen looked at her daughters. Kathryn, all grown up. Alive and well and health and happy in spite of everything stacked against her from day one. And Ashley the precious little baby in her arms.

Instinctively Helen reached forth to take Ashley back in her arms. She didn't have to say the words aloud. Kathryn understood her. 'This baby is different. This daughter is different. I'm going to keep this one. I'm going to love this one. She's not like you.'

There had been fire in Kathryn's eyes that day. Resentment and bitterness and betrayal. Years of unspoken anger. And yet, when Kathryn looked to that baby, her heart melted, her expression softened, there were tears glistening in her eyes as she kissed Ashley on the top of the head and gently stroked her hair saying goodbye. There was nothing but love in her eyes for that baby girl. There was a gentleness in her eldest daughter that Helen had not seen before. Ever. Some deeply hidden trait elicited by Ashley. Some place in Kathryn heart that Helen had never been able to reach, a place that Ashley could touch without even trying. And so Helen believes, unwaveringly, that if Ashley is with her older sister, she is at the very least safe. And perhaps, as Kathryn had told her all those years ago, far better off.