All ratings, categories, etc., apply to the series as a whole, rather than individual parts, and I reserve the right to revise these as the series develops.
DISCLAIMER: All belongs to Damien Kindler and Stage 3 Media and Ms. Tapping and all the usual suspects who aren't me. Just borrowing these beautiful people. Thanks for the favor)
CATEGORIES: Hurt/comfort, angst, adventure, Helen/John, Helen/Will (friendship now, telling you whether there's more would be a spoiler)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a series. Though there is an overall unifying storyarc, each of the chapters will somewhat stand alone as well, though they really should be read in order, and I do believe it's necessary to read the first chapter in order to establish the basic scenario. But this is not, I believe, a dangerous sort of WIP to begin reading, as it doesn't exactly leave you "hanging" in the sense of a more traditional story. And the final chapter is, in fact, largely written and can be applied by me at any time, once enough of the stories have been told)
Jumps from present day to flashbacks will be denoted by "---". Traditional section breaks will use "*****".
Many thanks to Teddy E and Annie for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project! And to Taliatoennien for joining the circus!
INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE
by
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2010
Chapter 5:
Will is late for dinner. Orman left him at the end of the afternoon, claiming he did not want to abuse Will's hospitality, that he did not wish to overstay his welcome. Will shook the younger man's hand and invited him to return the next afternoon if he wished.
Will takes some time to himself in the sun room at the end of his residence floor hallway, watching the sun go down, watching the birds in the massive cage covering one wall of the room and thinking of creatures that prefer their freedom.
At dinner, he sits with a friend for his meal, eats in silence more than he talks with her, but enjoys the familiar company all the same.
Strolling back toward the elevators, he stops for a moment in the lounge when his friend Julius calls out to him. Will crosses to where the man is seated in a favorite chair by the game room chess board. Julius is deep in a chess match with a resident who's only been at Whispering Pines for a matter of days.
Will lets his hand rest on Julius's shoulder. "How are you, man?" he asks.
"Can't complain, my brother. Can't complain." The man's lilting accent is musical to Will's ears, and his brightly colored tunic is a refreshing change in a sea of browns and greys. Will prefers diversity to sameness, changing wind patterns to peaceful silence.
Will hears his friend's words both with his ears and like a thought in his head, his touch acting as the conduit.
"You givin' the new guy a run for his money?" Will asks with a mischievous glance toward the tall gentleman focused intently on the configuration of pieces on the board.
"I have only offered the man a fair game. Isn't that right?" Julius directs his question to the newcomer, who hardly looks up and grunts an indefinite response. The larger man reaches across the table, smile wide, and pats the newcomer on the arm. "It is a fair game, my brother," he says jovially, but his hand lingers for a beat on the man's sweatered sleeve.
Will sees it all and cannot suppress a smile. His own fingers still on Julius shoulder, he thinks the words, You're a rat bastard, you know that, right?
I don't know what you're talking about, my brother floats through his mind. And Will gives a gentle chuckle.
He turns to the newcomer for a moment. "Good to meet you. Don't bet this guy your bus tokens."
With a last indulgent smile for Julius, Will turns and makes his way back to the hallway. He takes his time with his steps, enjoying the stretch to his restless legs, placing one foot in front of the other with awareness of each motion, each choice of direction. He has always craved open space, room to move. He thinks of running along the Old City Bay, shoes pounding the pavement, heart pounding the blood through his veins and oxygen rushing strength to his lungs. He thinks of the graceful figure backlit on the South Tower, shawl ruffling in the wind, watching his progress along the coast when she thought he didn't see.
He is through the lobby, passing the doors to the building's front garden, when he stops. His gaze alights upon a familiar figure standing at the far end of the path, gazing over the darkened grounds.
The young man paces back and forth in a disjointed pattern, dragging his heels.
Will stands in the lobby, hands in his pockets, and allows himself a few deep breaths to assess the situation. He turns his deliberate steps toward the doors to the garden.
Orman is startled when Will opens the door, but Will merely continues his steady pace and comes to stand beside the man. He gazes out into the night.
"Dr. Zimmerman," Orman begins, the apology already in his eyes, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to.... I was just..."
Will shakes his head to silence his companion's words, keeps his gaze on the shadowy trees in the distance. He tilts back his head and looks at the stars. After a beat, Will reaches out and tugs on Orman's sleeve. Orman hesitates a moment, then falls compliant and allows Will to silently lead him back toward the doors. Will holds the door for Orman.
They board the elevator in silence. There will be another story...or two...before Orman leaves for the night.
*****
Will insists upon a round of chess. He isn't sure if Orman lets him win, but he accepts the victory all the same.
"Did Dr. Magnus play?" Orman asks as they put away the marble board. This is his first subtle return to his subject of pursuit.
"On occasion, she did, but surprisingly, it was never really her game. I mean...she was decent, but...she was never really good at it. She told me once that she and Watson used to play, and that he was always kicking her ass, and it infuriated her no end."
Will takes his place by the hearth and unfastens the watch that's been catching errant hairs on his wrist. He scratches at the stinging skin.
"Why do you think it wasn't her game?" Orman asks.
"I'm not sure. Maybe she just lacked the patience. She couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering on a dozen different paths while she waited for her opponent's next move. Chess is a game of patience as much as anything else."
"Hmm."
Orman waits out the ensuing silence as long as he can stand, while Will observes the telltale signs with bemused patience. When Orman dives back into speech it's clear he begins his sentence mid-stream. "May I ask, Dr. Zimmerman...was Dr. Magnus...an affectionate woman? I mean, you've said she was very caring, but you've also said that she was very reserved, very controlled. When you were with her, was she...physically affectionate? Warm...to touch? Please understand, I'm not asking anything untoward, merely--"
Will shakes his head and rolls the after dinner mint across his tongue. Mint candies are one of his few remaining memories of warm family holidays in his childhood home. Before he lost his mother and everything secure and gentle disappeared into the night. "No, I understand.," he says. "And the simple answer is yes. She was always warm. Always welcoming."
"And the complex answer?" Orman is nothing if not predictable.
Will takes a moment to stretch his back, crosses his legs and indulges a slow exhale. "Helen Magnus is very cool, very autonomous. Very conscious of the fact she doesn't quite live on the same plane as most of those around her. When someone else is in need, she always offers a warm hand on their shoulder or a supportive touch to their back. She's very hands-on with her patients, holding hands, stroking cheeks. She was affectionate, but...she wouldn't offer hugs very often, even to friends. It wasn't very British." He catches the younger man's gaze for a moment with an indulgent smile. "But if someone she cared about hugged her, she would return the offer without hesitation." Will pauses to let the last of the softening mint melt against his tongue, draws in a breath and enjoys the cool thrill. Then he takes a sip of his tea and sinks into the charm of the fire. "I actually remember the first time that she... I can't remember how many years we'd been working together, but I'd been away on business for a few weeks, helping with a research project we were running out of the Rome Sanctuary. And the day I got back, I walked into the foyer after an absurd number of hours traveling, and Magnus looked up from something Henry was showing her, she saw me there, and she just...lit up." Will can't keep the smile, the wonder from his voice, even from such distant memory. "She called out to me, and walked right over and just gave me the biggest hug. I couldn't....I couldn't remember the last time I'd been welcomed home like that, by anyone. As the years went on, of course, such things became commonplace between us, we were a family, but...that first time. That was...pretty amazing."
"I can imagine." Then after a pause, "Or maybe I can't."
"You see the thing is..." Will lets his words fade, taking deliberate time to decide what to share, and what to hold close. In the pause he feels the cloth of her expensive sleeve against his jaw, smells the wisps of lavender as her hair brushes his cheek. Her skin is warm and silken and her lip-gloss leaves a sticky patch on his jaw line. "Magnus is a very affectionate woman," he says at last. "I knew that from the first day I met her, the first time I saw her with her daughter. She hugged Ashley all the time. She kissed her cheek, held her hand, cradled her face. Ashley would curl up against her mother on the couch without a blink of hesitation. And Helen welcomed all of it, initiated a lot of it. You see..." He watches the fire for a moment longer, then decides to let the words be spoken. "Magnus really needs that. The contact. It's just that she won't ask for it. In my years as a psychiatrist, a therapist...I learned that often the quickest way to learn what someone needs for themselves, is to watch what they offer others. Because it's natural to follow your own instincts, project your perspective onto others. You offer comforts that would help you if the roles were reversed. And I didn't have to watch Helen long to know what she thought would comfort people the most."
Orman considers this for a moment, his gaze moving between Will and the dancing fire. Will has left the window open a crack and a gust of whistling wind stirs the flames. Orman asks, "Yet with all her years of experience, of learning and maturity...she hadn't learned how to ask for her own needs to be filled?"
"There are a lot of things she hasn't learned to ask for. A century isn't nearly as long as you think. It only seems that way when you're young. Magnus has remained Magnus."
The two men contemplate this in silence.
"We actually talked about all this, once," Will says, "many...many years after we met. She explained to me that she had to plan for things. Helen Magnus is nothing if not pragmatic. And as her...unusual life unfolded before her, she had to figure out how to make it all work. How to keep a balance, keep her equilibrium. She couldn't follow the preset templates society gives you for how to live a healthy, stable life. She had to take stock of the things she couldn't do without in life, the necessities of good physical and emotional health, and come up with a plan unique to her in order to fill those needs. One of the things she told me she acknowledged about herself, was that she really does need physical contact. Not speaking of lovers, that is another field of discussion entirely, but just of contact. Affection. And Magnus admitted to me that her needs were a little on the higher side of average in that area. Her need to...hold hands, have an arm wrapped around her waist or...to be held. And when I say admit, I mean it fell off her tongue in the wee hours of the morning after too many glasses of wine, never to be spoken of or acknowledged again." Will feels the gentle smile from Orman and watches as the man casually jots something in the corner of his notepad. "It took her a long time to admit such a thing to me," Will continues. " It may be one of the most personal things we ever shared. Yet at the same time, there was a surprising practicality in the way she spoke about those needs. She had accepted her own humanity, and the necessity of such provisions to keep her functioning."
"I can imagine that," Orman says softly. "I mean, she was a sort of behavioral scientist, among other things. Probably made it easier to be as clinical about herself as she was about the abnormals she studied."
"Yes. Yes, she was always a scientist; it's her default point of view on the world. It's woven into her DNA, I think," he says with an affectionate smile that pulls him into worlds far away and shadowy laboratories and nights of endless monitors and reference books and notes.
"So what was her answer to this need?" Orman asks. "What was her way of coping?"
"She told me she made an effort to surround herself with affectionate people. That she always tried to make sure there was at least one person in her inner circle who would be very hands on with her... And she said it helped if it was someone forward, who wouldn't wait for her to initiate, but would almost...shove past her resistance. Because most of the time she wouldn't make it obvious, or even easy.."
"British?" Orman asks, with a glimmer of amusement.
Will smiles and leaves it at that. Because as much of Helen's confidence as he has chosen to share this night, he will not finish this one confession, will not say she admitted she was more afraid of her touch being unwelcomed, being rejected, than of being left in the cold. Nor will he share that for 23 years Helen had Ashley tangled up with her every day, and she almost forgot the need to provide for that side of her life. Until her world shattered and there was no one left to hold her hand. No one to hold together the shattered pieces.
"So were you...that person? For her?"
To his surprise, Will finds he has never really thought the situation through in these specific terms, never catalogued and defined his place in Magnus's pragmatic life plan. He gives the question due consideration, lets the memories circle freely. Then he says, "For one era of our lives, yes. Yes, I believe I was." And he lets the subject stand.
"So what else wouldn't she ask for?"
Will is beginning to both admire and grow annoyed by Orman's unfailing pursuit of every glossed over nugget of insight, every tiny hint at a larger tale, and he starts to wonder if he himself was this irritating to Magnus all those years.
"A lot of things," Will says, offering a tolerant smile, but placing just enough firmness in his voice to make it clear if any more of this story were to make its way into these sessions, it would come at Will's choice and discretion. "The vast majority of the time, Magnus really was every bit as tough and independent as she claimed to be."
The brief crinkle at the corner of Orman's eye tells Will his companion hears the protectiveness in the old man's voice. Will is half proud and half chagrined by the moment of exposure. But he has accepted certain human truths about himself over the years. And one of these is that he will stand between Helen Magnus and potential hurts for as long as he draws breath. He had acted on this vow before he had ever made the conscious choice, and he had accepted destiny when he sailed away on its tide.
"Most of the time, it was all too real," he says. "She would go through hell and come out the other side and dust herself off and get some sleep and tell you she was fine, and in most ways...she really was. She was incredibly resilient, unfathomably strong. But every now and then, when you didn't even see it coming, she'd just..."
"Just?"
Will lets the words die on his tongue; holds the memories close like a trinket in a clenched fist. Fall apart. Shatter before your very eyes. Lose all armor and rip your heart out and strip you raw. "She would just...show you. What was underneath . For all of a heartbeat. Then she'd pull it back together and turn around and keep going. And leave you wondering ever afterward how much was going on in her head just beneath the surface. How much she was..."
"...in pain?"
Will doesn't reply.
"But, Dr. Zimmerman, you were one of her closest friends. Her best friend, by her own words."
"Yes. Exactly."
The silence lasts for several breaths.
"It all just sort of...got to her one night," Will says into the fire of memory. "The loss. It was really about Ashley, I think, because it hadn't been long at all, in the scheme of things...not long at all, and hell, anyone else wouldn't've been functional at all...but...the other losses...they were just the last straw. We'd been in crisis mode for a couple of days. Kate had gotten shot. She'd been in pretty bad shape for a while. Myself, I'd been held hostage, beaten up a bit. And an old contact of Magnus's named Jimmy had ended up sacrificing himself to save the rest of us, literally blowing himself up right in front of us."
"Good God. Hell of a day."
"You're not kiddin'. We'd certainly had worse, but... Anyway, that night, when we were already exhausted, we were inprocessing a new abnormal that had just shipped in from the New York Sanctuary. Dangerous, sort of...crocodile type creature, meant to take up residence in the SHU. Things got a little out of hand during the transfer from the crate to the cell..."
---
"On three. One, two, THREE!" Magnus's commanding voice echoed through the concrete chamber.
Henry held tight to the back of the crate, bracing against the wall of the habitat, while the Big Guy and Will and Magnus hauled on the chains and slid the Crocodylus Vipera from its custom designed transport crate.
The UberCroc, as Henry had dubbed the creature, was finally free of the container and lying in chains at their feet. The creature had proven heavier than expected.
"All right, Henry, the keys?"
Henry took a key ring from his pocket and tossed it to Magnus, who caught it easily and stooped beside the creature. "Are you sure you want to set that thing loose, Doc?" Henry asked, eyeing the UberCroc suspiciously. "Couldn't we...I don't know, unlock it remotely somehow?"
"The chains are manual locks, Henry," Magnus replied brusquely. "And Robert assures me he's dosed this creature with enough tranqs to keep it unconscious for at least another hour or so." She set to work on the locks and began pulling the chains free from the creature's limbs.
The Big Guy took the job of gathering the heavy chains and Will stepped forward to help balance the weight. Magnus crouched beside the creature's head to work the last lock on the chain holding its jaw closed.
She was halfway through untangling the chains from its neck, when, with no warning, the UberCroc simultaneously thrashed its tail hard enough to knock the Big Guy off his feet, and whipped its head, emitting bright green acid saliva through bared teeth.
Magnus fell backward and cried out in raw pain as the acid splashed her arm. She dropped her jacket off her shoulders and onto the floor, but the saliva had burned through her blouse and singed her skin. "Dammit!" she shouted. In a heartbeat, Magnus had a fresh tranq syringe out of her waistband, and she was down on the rebelling creature, catching him from behind, and jamming the needle into the back of his shoulder. The first round of drugs still held just enough effect that she was able to catch the creature off guard. The Croc twitched and jerked as it resisted the effects of the fresh shot. "Everyone out, now!" Magnus shouted. "Secure the enclosure!"
Magnus fought to restrain the creature until the drugs were in full effect so the others could flee, and Will lingered two steps behind her, unwilling to leave. He was saved the decision when the Big Guy unceremoniously scooped Magnus up with an arm around her midriff and, before she could protest, hauled her out the door.
A last splash of green saliva smacked against the wall beside their heads just as Will slammed his hand into the trigger to lower the door.
The creature gave one last massive effort, slamming its tail into a nearby trough of water and swinging its body 180 degrees to face the habitat's viewing glass, before finally dropping limply to the floor beside the forgotten pieces of the transport crate and Magnus's ruined jacket.
"Dammit!" Magnus shouted again, steadying her stance where The Big Guy had planted her. "That should have been a sufficient dosage. We've worked with this species before, what the hell were they thinking? Henry, you checked his vitals?"
"I swear, Doc, everything was within parameters before we started the removal process."
Magnus got halfway through her next sentence, "There's no reason he should--" before the pain of the burn overwhelmed her and she broke off with a cry of mixed pain and frustration. She curled down, catching her head in her hand, eyes squeezed tight against the pain.
Will stepped in. "Okay, infirmary. Now."
He touched a firm hand to Magnus's back and urged her in the direction of the exit.
"Henry, we--"
"Infirmary," Will repeated. Magnus started to move without much coaxing, which scared him; the pain must have been severe. The doctor in her knew the faster she got treatment, the sooner they could slow the progress of the burn through the layers of her flesh.
"Set the temperature in the habitat at no higher than 10 degrees Celsius and raise the humidity to--"
"We've got it," the Big Guy growled firmly. "You go."
Will gave the others a brief nod and ushered Magnus toward the door. He chose not to notice his own hand trembling as he punched in the security code to exit the SHU.
*****
Magnus was moving with him, but her pain was tangible. He hadn't seen her react to something this way since the pressure overload 2,400 feet below sea level. They moved through the familiar hallways on muscular memory, steps evenly matched and Will's arm loosely guiding at her back.
They were only a few turns away from the infirmary, when Magnus gave a hoarse cry and pulled away from his touch, dropping against the nearest wall. She cradled her arm to her chest, and squeezed her eyes closed, just trying to breathe and survive the pain.
Will felt dizzy. He stumbled the few steps back to Magnus, and brought his face close to hers, clamped a hand on her good shoulder. "Okay, I know. I know, but the only way to stop the pain is to keep moving, to get to the infirmary. All right?"
Magnus reached up and gripped his wrist, nails digging into his skin. She took one more beat to steel herself, gritted her teeth, then pushed away from the wall with a determined grunt and they were moving again. Will had never before wished for John Druitt to appear and whisk them away.
Magnus was giving orders between painful breaths the moment they passed through the infirmary doors. "Clean it first. Standard...antiseptic. Burn ointment...annnhhh....oh, God... specially formulated.... equipment table. Laid it out in case....AAAAHHH!"
"Okay, I got it, I got it. Sit down."
Will set to work on the wound, and he was deeply relieved to find the damage wasn't as severe as he had feared. But the pain for Magnus was no less tremendous, and cleaning the area was nearly as hard on him as it was on her. He was desperately grateful to move on to applying the ointment.
"Okay, almost there, almost there," Will said soothingly, calm words betrayed by the poorly hidden tremor in his tone. He was more shaken than he cared to admit. Maybe by the whole day. Maybe by Magnus's eyes on his as she saw the evidence of the blows to his face while he was held back by two guys shaped like gorillas. He forewent the impersonal and inefficient applicator pad, and dipped his own gloved fingers to spread the ointment over Magnus's fire-red skin. She cried out as he again made contact with the wound. But within seconds of the application, her breathing began to slow, her posture easing as the numbing effect took hold.
"Okay," Will breathed, pulling oxygen again as his patient did, "there we go, there we go." His speech was as much to calm her as to convey information. "It looks okay, all right? It should heal just fine in time. Just let me get the bandage on."
Magnus sat on the edge of the infirmary cot, her long legs not quite reaching the floor, boots dangling sharp heels. She kept one arm clasped tight across her midriff, the other she held out to him, palm upward, utterly pliant to his ministrations. Will sat before her on a slightly imbalanced lab stool, rocking between the uneven legs as he gathered the bandage materials from the rolling tray.
He was halfway through meticulously wrapping the long tail of gauze around Magnus's forearm, when he realized her breath was still too shaky and uneven. It wasn't slowing like it should.
Will lifted his gaze from his intent focus on her wound, and his fingers fumbled and the gauze slipped from his grasp.
Magnus was crying. Just...crying.
"Whoa, hey...hey, Magnus, is this...is this your arm, or...?"
Magnus gave only the slightest hesitation, then she shook her head. He could see the rational doctor take precedence to the woman; her reluctance to admit vulnerability overridden by her need to provide him with the requisite facts to properly treat her wound.
"What's goin' on?" Will asked, voice offering the gentle caress his hands feared to give. He dipped his head in a fruitless effort to catch her evasive gaze.
Will was left to guess that the tears her injury had started had mixed with a hefty surge of adrenaline and left her stripped in the letdown, deprived of the walls she kept so firmly reinforced. Maybe there was more...maybe it didn't really matter.
"Hey..." Will pulled hard at their unspoken connection.
Magnus didn't speak, but she sat before him with tear-blurred vision and trembling breath, hand still turned up, cradled loosely within his own.
Graceful. Beautiful. Broken.
"Come here," he said at last. Moving on instinct before thought, Will let the unfinished bandage hang free, and stood to wrap his arms around his friend.
Magnus gave a half-hearted effort at pushing him away, lifted the hand from her stomach to press against his chest and wrest free of his embrace. But Will held steadfast, whispered reassurances that brooked no protest, and cradled the back of her head in his hand. And a moment later, Magnus had wrapped both arms across his back. She held on tight and her tears soaked into his shoulder.
Her body quivered like ripples of water against his chest.
Magnus didn't speak. They'd almost lost Kate, and she'd watched Jimmy die and maybe that much more loss had knocked the wind out of her and shattered her facade. She'd been running on empty for weeks. Not enough time had passed to replenish her reserves. He knew she was seeing Ashley in every moment and breath of their days. At her customary place at the dinner table, in the doorway to her room, in the empty place at meetings and the extra ponytail fastener in her desk drawer.
Four days ago, Magnus had miscounted the team when distributing routine tasks, glossed over the error with an half-awkward turn of phrase as they all realized she'd mentally placed her daughter on weapons inventory. Then she had unceremoniously dismissed everyone from the incomplete meeting.
She hadn't let Will offer anything but his presence as comfort since the day Ashley died. So he held on now, for as long as she would allow.
It wasn't long enough.
---
"Was her arm all right?" Orman asks, voice hushed in the lingering ache of the scene around them.
"Yes. It healed. Hardly a scar. She heals...well."
"Indeed she does."
Will is grateful when Orman hears the meaning beyond flesh wounds.
"And now...I think it's time for me to get some rest," Will says softly.
Orman gives a silent nod. He will not ask to stay twice in one night.
Will's guest leaves with soft handshakes and murmured pleasantries. They confirm their set time for the following afternoon.
Will leaves the lights dimmed as he readies himself for bed. He douses the fire, and slips carefully beneath his thick comforter. He watches the dancing of the leaves across the canopy of his bed.
And for the first time in years, he lets himself miss her so much it hurts in his bones.
*****
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