Author's Note: No. 13 in the "No Destination in Mind" series or can stand alone without reading all of that. :) The whole team is involved in this one! Going to keep it teen rated as much as possible so all can enjoy. Thanks to MajorSam for beta! Of course, I own nothing of Sanctuary or its characters. My words, however, are my own. Please review and let me know what you think! :) Thanks as always for reading! Peace. NCS

The Shadow Men
Chapter 2: Diamonds and Blood
(Copyright 2011, NoCleverSig)

Dinner was at an Italian restaurant not far from the Sanctuary. It was a small, family owned place that had been one of Helen's favorite for years. Now it was a favorite of Helen and John's and, as usual, the owners made sure the two had their preferred table. It was a cozy, corner spot, lit only by candles. The entire restaurant was nothing but candles with soft music and soft voices, which is why Helen loved it so. They had had their first real "date" there almost a year ago, and since that time it hadn't lost its appeal.

They ate, drank wine, and shared a dessert. And throughout it all, the conversation, the pasta, the red zinfandel, they couldn't keep their eyes, or their hands, off each other. Helen had thought the novelty of being together again might pass with time, but surprisingly (and pleasantly) it hadn't.

To an outside observer, they were discreet. Simply two people, obviously intimate, enjoying dinner and one another's company. But Helen and John knew better. Every look, every gentle touch of their hands was a communication between them. A sub textual conversation so intense, Helen thought her heart might burst.

She was happy, insanely so. John and she had gone through hell and back again, several times, and had emerged, if not unscathed, at least together. Not many couples could make that boast.

They spent the evening in quiet conversation discussing world events, Sanctuary business, and reminiscing about years past, including Ashley. John enjoyed hearing Helen talk about their daughter's childhood. He could see it in his mind's eye as surely as if he had been there himself, and that offered him some small comfort for the fact that he never had. Helen glimpsed it in his expression, his smile, how much he enjoyed these windows into her and Ashley's past, and the truth was it no longer pained her to discuss it. The stories, the memories, seemed to bring their daughter back to life if only for a moment, and both he and Helen found joy in that.

The one subject they never spoke of, however, were the dark days, the days when John became possessed and transformed into the Ripper. They had had that conversation early on in their relationship, and in Helen's mind, it was said and done. What John thought about it she didn't know and frankly was hesitant to ask.

Still, one subject weighed heavily on both their minds tonight. It was the very reason for their evening out, yet neither one had yet brought it up. Perhaps it was because it marked a bittersweet anniversary of sorts. Or perhaps it was because it skirted too close to the edge of the dark times Helen and John avoided discussing. They both knew the date and its significance, and each was waiting for the other to acknowledge it.

April 24. The day, 122 years ago, they were to be married.

It was a day Helen marked, at the time, with a heavy dose of absinthe and laudanum to ease the pain. And here they were more than a hundred years later, in a small Italian restaurant in New City celebrating the very event that never happened. It made Helen suddenly laugh out loud. Life was nothing if not full of surprises.

"Are you all right my dear?" John asked a tad shocked at her sudden outburst. He hadn't said anything particularly clever in the last few minutes.

Helen dipped her head and took another sip of Zinfandel. "I'm fine, John. Just amused. Do you know what I was doing on this night 122 years ago?"

John hesitated to ask, so Helen continued.

"Getting high."

He raised his eyebrows at that.

Helen nodded, feeling a tad loose from the wine and went on.

"I had three glasses of absinthe that evening. I was testing Oscar's theory. You remember the one, don't you?"

Druitt nodded, recollecting with some embarrassment a dinner party he and Helen had attended with Oscar Wilde and his wife. It was the night John introduced Helen to the wonders of "the green fairy" and an evening that hinted at the darkness growing within him.

"Oscar said," she went on when John didn't speak, "After the first glass you see things as you wish they were. After the second, you see things as they are not. Finally, you see things as they really are, and that is the most horrible thing in the world.' Of course, I laced mine with laudanum so the effect was…quite stirring."

Druitt nearly jumped out of his chair, his tall frame draped over the table. "Helen! My God, you could have died!"

She gazed at him with wine in hand. "At the time, it didn't seem to matter, John," she replied quietly.

He didn't know what to say to that. "I'm sorry," was far too inadequate.

The evening had turned suddenly morose, not at all how John had wanted this night to be. Should he proceed with the present he had intended to give her? What if Kate was wrong and it only added to Helen's pain? Dear God, he wished he hadn't had suggested this dinner at all. In hindsight, it was an egotistical and insensitive idea.

"John," Helen reached over and grabbed his hand, startling him out of his reverie. "I didn't mean to upset you. I only wanted you to know how much our engagement meant to me. It still does. There hasn't been a year gone by that I haven't stopped and thought of you, of us, on this date. And the fact that we can spend it together now?" she smiled and squeezed his hand. "There are very few events in this world I would classify as 'miracles,' but this, I would say, is one of them."

Helen leaned across the table and did something the she rarely did in public. She kissed him. "I love you," she whispered into his ear, and she slid her cheek against his and pulled away, still grasping his hand tight.

He clasped her hand tighter in return, speechless. He'd put this woman through hell. Whether he had intended it or not, and whether he or the creature that had possessed him was to blame or not was of little consequence. All that mattered was that she had suffered by his hand, and yet, she could sit here with him tonight, on the anniversary of a marriage that never happened, and tell him that his presence with her was a miracle? He didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her. But here she was.

He reached into his pocket, suddenly overcome with emotion. He couldn't find the words to tell her how much she meant to him. He hoped his gift would suffice.

"Helen, I have something for you. I wasn't sure, to be honest, whether it was appropriate but…" He extended his hand across the table and handed her the small velvet box. "I hope you will accept it in the spirit in which it is given, with my love and devotion."

Helen let go of John's hands and took the box, stroking the soft velvet surface between her fingers. She looked up at him, puzzled. "John?" she asked curiously, tilting her head.

He smiled and leaned back. "You have to open it to find out." He was nervous as a schoolboy and trying his best not to show it.

She grinned, dipped her head, opened the lid, and gasped.

Positively gasped.

It was her engagement ring, or more precisely, a duplicate of the one she had owned. The one John had given to her 123 years ago. The one that madman had destroyed when he'd kidnapped her and crushed her hand in revenge for John's murder of his wife. It was white gold with a glowing, oval opal in the center surrounded by tiny diamonds. How could John possibly have…?

"I had it recast, from what little remained," John answered, guessing the questions flowing through her mind. "When Henry went back to the building where they…kept you," he hesitated, "he found some of the diamonds from your ring scattered on the floor. He brought them back. I asked the jeweler to include those in the setting. The opal had to be replaced, so that's new, but it's as close to the original as I could find. And the ring…I took the gold from what was left of yours and had it melted and recast. I tried to make it as similar to the original setting as I could from my memory of it…" He knew he was stammering trying to fill the empty silence that had followed his presentation.

He couldn't read her reaction. Did she hate it? Did it bring back only painful memories of those terrible hours when she was kidnapped and tortured, or did it do what he hoped it would do; show that nothing, NOTHING, could destroy their love. He held his breath, waiting for an answer.

"Helen," he finally choked out. "Say something. Anything."

She looked down at the ring glistening in its velvet box and tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I don't know what to say, John. I'm…" she hesitated then looked up at him. "It's beautiful. More than I could have ever imagined. It's…" she paused, obviously choked up. "You did this for me?" she looked up at him, eyes glistening.

"For us," he corrected her.

She smiled and nodded. "Of course," she whispered. She slipped it out of its box and onto her hand. Over the finger, the hand, that had been almost destroyed by anger and revenge. Somehow John must have known to make it bigger, the swelling in her ring finger would never heal. It fit perfectly.

"I know we agreed not to marry, Helen, but, as I said once before, I would be honored if you were to wear it as a token of my affection for you," Druitt whispered.

Helen smiled, the tears ending now. She wasn't one for emotional scenes, but this…this was special. Special indeed.

"Of course, John. I'll treasure it always. Is this what you were discussing with Kate the other day when I interrupted you?"

"It was."

"And?"

"She said you would love it."

"Clever girl," Helen smiled.

She looked down at her hand, slightly crooked now from the surgery that had been done to repair it. Yet with the ring upon it, it somehow looked beautiful again. Elegant. Complete. How strange life was that it could turn so quickly from sorrow to joy and back again.

John glanced down at this watch, shocked at how fast the time had passed. "My dear, I hate to rush you, but if we don't leave soon we'll be late for the opening act," John said.

Helen looked up at him and grinned mischievously. She leaned forward, her hair draping over her shoulders, her eyes wide and seductive. Her chest bent just so that John had a perfect view down the front of her dress and her ample cleavage. She reached over with both her hands and enveloped his, her left hand on top, the ring sparkling in the candlelight.

"I have another idea," she whispered in that oh-so-tempting bedroom voice of hers. "Perhaps we should get the check and return home."

John could feel his body tingling. "But we have tickets for the theatre?" he reminded her playfully, knowing exactly where Helen's mind was going.

"Twelfth Night. Yes, I've seen it, as have you if I recall correctly. I'm more in the mood for a different kind of entertainment. I think we can skip this one, don't you agree?"

"I agree most heartily, Ms. Magnus. I do indeed."

Helen Magnus lay naked and asleep, her face buried in the crook of Druitt's arm. John lay awake beside her, absently stroking Helen's long, dark hair. As tired as he was from the long day and their numerous nocturnal encounters, he couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking…

He would never get used to this, never. The feel of Helen's body pressed against his. The softness of her hair, like silk. The scent of her perfume, still a preference for Chanel after all these years. Her smile as he kissed her neck, her breasts. Her quiet gasps as he entered her. The way her nails trailed down his back as they made love. The way her breathing sped up, her face flushed, her eyes grew heavy, her hips rocked, and she murmured his name, God's, and several other lesser deities all in one sentence as she crashed around him.

How had he lived so long without this?

Whatever it took. Whatever he had to do, he would never let go of her again. Never.

That's when he saw it. A shadowy figure. From the corner of his eye it moved from left to right, a solid, black mass, denser and darker than the blackness around it. It hovered in front of their closet door, to the left of their bed, as tall as a human being but with no substance, no form, just an inky darkness. John wanted to nudge Helen awake, get her to see what he was seeing. Verify that he wasn't going insane. But he knew the moment he tried it, it would vanish, and he'd lose the opportunity forever.

Instead, he lay perfectly still and feigned sleep. He closed his eyes until they were mere slits, tracking it as best he could with his peripheral vision.

For several seconds the shadow did nothing. It simply hovered there near their closet, immobile. Finally, it moved. Slowly at first, then faster toward their bed. John's eyes flashed opened. He turned to look at it, and it darted away across the vanity toward the door and into the sitting quarters in front of their bedchambers.

Quickly John released his arm from around Helen, grabbed the switchblade he kept in the drawer by the bed, and hurried to the door. He opened it, catching only a faint glimpse of utter darkness in the room beyond. For a brief moment he saw it head on. A tall, black, mass, the size and vague figure of a person. It stood there, facing him, then vanished, slipping through the outer door and into the hallway.

John ran through the darkened room, tripping over a chair and sending it crashing to the ground. He reached the door and threw it open. The hallway was dimly lit and empty. He looked from left to right when he saw something move, an inky dark shape going swiftly around the corner. He took off after it, blade in hand, rounded the hallway, closed his eyes, and jumped, crashing down upon the entity, slicing it clean with his blade.

When he opened them again the creature lay limp before him, its dark eyes staring up at him in confusion.

"John?" Henry whispered.

"Oh my god…" John gasped, realizing with horror the mistake he'd just made. He looked down at his shaking hand and saw it, blood pouring from Henry's side, his shirt, his hands, the carpet covered in it.

"Someone! Anyone! Help!" John screamed. "No…no…no…." John shook his head, putting his hands on Henry's wound trying to stem the bleeding, rocking his body back and forth.

Will, Kate, and the Big Guy ran down the hallway at breakneck speed and stopped dead in their tracks. Helen followed behind them, red silk kimono hastily thrown on to cover her.

"What the bloody hell…" she started, then froze.

There in front of her on bended knees sat John Druitt, switchblade in hand as he pressed his palms against the flow of blood, looming over Henry Foss' broken body.

Her face paled. She couldn't move. Couldn't think. Finally she looked down at Henry and back up at John. There was only one word for the expression that swept across her features, John thought fleetingly.

Devastation.

"Helen, no, it's not what it seems…" John shook his head.

Quickly she snapped out of it and ran to Henry, shoving John out of her way. The Big Guy came up and grabbed Druitt, the switchblade fell to the floor by Helen's feet.

"Someone give me a towel, a shirt, anything!" she yelled.

Will tore off his shirt and handed it to her. She wadded it up and placed it on Henry's side. "You'll be all right, Henry," she said, gently, stroking his face. "You'll be all right," she repeated.

She turned to Will and Kate. "Keep the pressure on the wound and take him to the infirmary. I'll meet you there."

"What are you going to do?" Kate asked, reaching down to help Will grab Henry.

Magnus picked up the tablet Henry had dropped and pulled up the security protocols. "I'm activating the EM shield."

"But Doc, there's no way John would have…"

Magnus looked up at her, a blank stare on her face. "Get him to the infirmary now. DO IT!" she shouted.

Kate nodded and she and Will picked up Henry as gently as they could and hurried down the hallway toward the elevator.

Magnus turned to the Big Guy. "Take him to a holding cell."

John looked at her, blood on his hands, his chest, his black, silk pants.

"Helen, you can't believe I…this is a terrible mistake…I would never…"

"I'll deal with you later," she hissed, and the Big Guy dragged him away.

She looked down at the blood soaked carpet, the switchblade, her reddened hands and closed her eyes, collapsing against the wall for a second only to straighten herself, run down the hallway to the elevator, and fly into the infirmary ready to save Henry's life.

She washed her hands, prepping for surgery, and removed the opal ring.

Its diamond stones were splattered with blood.

(to be continued)