IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: When this site recently stopped accepting character section breaks like rows of asterisks, it removed this essential formatting from all earlier chapters of this fic. This means the jumps from present time to flashbacks are no longer denoted, which makes reading extremely confusing...sigh. I am attempting to go back and fix all early installments with some kind of notation for breaks, but this hasn't happened as yet, and I deeply apologize. Please bear with me!
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 "88888".
Many thanks to Teddy E, Annie, and TaliaToEnnien for the wonderful betas and for committing to a long term project!
INTERVIEW WITH THE PROTEGE
by
Rowan Darkstar
Copyright (c) 2010
Chapter 7:
He knows everything has changed when he slips into her bedroom unannounced and she doesn't even turn her head. She is awake, lying flat on her back on top of the duvet, skirt and blouse still on, shoes forgotten on the floor, one knee raised enough to hike up her skirt.
The change doesn't come with the first kiss, the first dance, the first time his hands venture beneath her blouse, or the first time they make love on the settee of her private drawing room. He is not so na ve as to think Helen Magnus hasn't taken lovers, indulged young men who charmed her, without ever surrendering her autonomy. Without bestowing her innermost trust.
He has earned her faith, this he has known for many years. In recent months, he has earned her confidence in intimate confessions he never expected.
But despite her words of affection, admiration, devotion, he hasn't been certain on which side of the fine line he stands, until he walks into her bedroom at four o'clock on a Thursday afternoon, and she doesn't say a word.
Will moves slowly, purposefully, across the room, giving Helen ample time to shift away or take on a defensive posture if she desires.
She closes her eyes, hair spread around her and pale throat exposed, and she doesn't move.
Helen lies too close to the edge of the bed for Will to take a seat beside her, so he kicks off his shoes and crawls around her legs to sit beside her in the middle of the bed. He settles his hand over hers where her open palm rests on her abdomen. Her long length stretches gracefully the length of the bed, her head back on a single thin pillow. Her hip bones show a clear, enticing line beneath her skirt, and her blouse is unbuttoned just enough to make his mouth water as the silk stretches across her chest.
That's not why he is here right now.
"Hey," Will says, "Henry said you ducked out of the VTC. Said you weren't feeling well?"
Helen draws a breath through her nose. Their linked hands rise and fall with the movement. "The call was essentially done," she says simply.
Will is unmoved. "Not feeling well how?" he presses. She doesn't reply, and he brushes the free strands of hair from her forehead. "Are you sick?" he asks, shifting his tactics, gentling his voice and the texture of his touch. "Are you coming down with something?" Her illnesses are rare, but not nonexistent. He touches the backs of his fingers to her forehead, her cheek. "Is it your stomach?"
Helen turns into his touch as his palm glides down her jaw, and he takes the hint without missing a beat. He cradles her cheek in earnest, his thumb caressing the soft skin below her lashes, the feathery hairs just tickling his skin.
"Just feeling a bit ill," Helen whispers, voice soft and a bit fragile.
"Talk to me," Will breathes.
"Nothing to say. I haven't slept." Her eyes remain closed. "For a few days."
Will lowers onto his elbow and shifts his weight to his hip. He stretches out his legs, never moving his hands from Helen's stomach and cheek. He brings his face mere inches from hers. "Heeyy, lady. You haven't slept in that long? We haven't been that busy around here..."
She shrugs and her eyes flutter to meet his for a moment. He gives her all the warmth and patience he can find and tries not to get lost in a century of blue.
"It's been a hard week." Her voice is small. Too small for Helen Magnus.
Will lets his hand shift to stroke her stomach. He follows the gentle concave flow of her midriff, the 'V' of her ribcage. She sniffs and turns onto her side, pulling her knees toward his chest and curling into him. Her body language seeks comfort, and he hears every word.
Will settles on Helen Magnus's pillows and urges her into his arms. "Come here." She melts, gives, molds. She navigates on touch alone, eyes closed and lips wordless. He thinks of an infant moving with his mother in the night, seeking out food and shelter and the security of life.
Helen rests her head in the crook of Will's shoulder, drapes a leg across his and tucks her toes beneath his opposite calf.
He knows she has neglected some essential information in her confession. Knows he will have to pry the deeper story out of her. Later. For now, she is deeply exhausted, and she is no longer pushing him away as she has for...more than a decade. She is tangled in his arms and holding onto a bit of his sleeve in a gesture that pulls at his heart with unexpected torque.
Will listens to her breath and studies her vanity dresser on the wall past the foot of the bed. Neat rows of bottles and barrettes and bangles and trinkets that are a lifetime of experience and Helen all over.
The sun falls low and casts long shadows across the floor. The muscles of Helen's shoulder and upper arm through the blue silk of her blouse hold Will's attention for long minutes of gentle exploration. Her flesh quivers beneath his touch and he places a lingering kiss on her forehead.
Helen's breath is uneven for a while, then slows, settles into a steady rhythm. He feels her muscles slacken, giving in to the desperate need for rest at long last. Her fingers keep hold of the cloth of his sleeve. He is shocked when this simple observation nearly makes him cry. He thinks he has wanted to be someone's anchor...someone's family...for far too long.
Will falls into slumber not far behind the woman in his arms. Helen wakes after almost two hours, shifting and burrowing against his side, groggy and flushed and without armor. He loves her so much it hurts.
"Helen?" His eyes snap open, pained at the brightness of the afternoon light. He feels her warm body strong against his own, her shampoo tickling his nose. The sleep-flushed texture of her skin lingers on his fingers. Will rolls his head to his right, toward the comfortable weight on his shoulder...and finds an empty bed.
He swipes a heavy hand down his face and listens to the breeze through the open patio doors and the hum of his bedside clock. Whispering Pines. He is almost surprised when he looks down at his own hand and finds age has taken its toll.
When he hears the noise again, he realizes this must be what woke him. A sharp rap on his door. Orman has arrived for their afternoon visit.
He pushes the half read book off his chest and stumbles to the door.
88888
Books are spread across the tabletop, stacked in groups on the surfaces of chairs. Will has been sorting and organizing his collection.
"Have you never heard of electronic readers?" Orman asks with an amused grin, fingers on a dusty binding.
Books are rarely printed these days, but Will's home remains lined with yellowed pages and leather bindings. He rides into town once a month for the used book bazaar. He shoots his companion a wry look. "I have kept up with the passing decades, yes, thank you very much. I do read electronic books. But I prefer a few of the old fashioned kind around as well."
"A few?" Orman teases with a glance around the disappearing sitting room.
"Perhaps more than a few," Will concedes with a soft note of playfulness. "Find all the Dickens from that pile, would you?" he asks with a vague gesture toward the foot of his bed. He is again going to put his guest to work if he is to pay in stories.
Will takes a seat on a low stool by the bookcase and buries his nose in a dust-coated pile of psychology references, attempting to alphabetize by author (he swears the books were in order at some point, but he doesn't know if his own sloppy habits or the cleaning lady shuffled the system). He has lost himself in bindings and words when he hears Orman draw a surprised breath.
Will lifts his head. "What?"
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just...the book fell open to an inscription." Orman takes a step nearer and holds a worn leather volume down toward Will, book still open to the title page. Will takes the book into his lap with careful hands. He angles the page toward the light and adjusts his glasses to focus on the slightly faded ink and flowery scrawl. He knows the hand too well, and he finds it sends a half-pleasant warmth through his stomach.
To My Dearest Will~ May these pages bring you many comforting hours by a warm fire.
Merry Christmas!
All My Love,
Helen
Will gazes at the words for long moments, only looking up when Orman asks in an almost hesitant voice, "Is that...that's her writing?"
Will gazes at Orman for a long moment, the sun from the patio doors lighting his companion's dark eyes and warming his skin. He cannot suppress a wistful smile at the note of wonder in the man's voice. Orman speaks as though they have stumbled across a national treasure, a presidential letter or something worthy of placement in a museum. "Yes," Will says with an indulgent smile. "This was a gift from Helen."
"May I ask how long ago? I didn't see a date..."
Will gave a soft chuckle. "I can't remember precisely. Helen didn't always like to date things. Sometimes, she needed to, more often than other people, because there was just so much more time to choose from. But other times...I think she didn't want to be tied to numbers arbitrarily assigned to years. Helen Magnus doesn't stick to time the way the rest of us do." He carries the thought further in his head, but lets the details remain silent.
The two men hover on unspoken thoughts as the dust they have stirred up swirls and dances in the streaks of light.
"I could use a lemonade break," Will says at last. He takes hold of the edge of the table and levers himself to standing. He sees Orman's arm move uncertainly as he attempts to offer a hand. Will ignores the gesture and forces his knees to obey his own command.
"I can't imagine how strange it must have been for her...watching the generations pass," Orman says thoughtfully as Will steps past him toward the kitchenette.
"Exactly," says Will. "We can't imagine. We never will. Helen could never relate to others by any traditional paradigm you or I could understand."
"Yet, she needed those relationships, as you've already said. Just like anyone else."
Will turns back to meet Orman's steady gaze before stepping through the archway to the kitchen. "Yes," he says simply. "Yes, she does."
The younger man slips past Will in the narrower confines of the kitchenette and says softly, "Please. Allow me." The man has been here enough times to know the essential routines. He sets to work retrieving glasses for lemonade and plates for cookies, and this time Will leans on the door casing and lets himself be served.
"Magnus had to learn to function outside the rules of society under which even she was raised," Will continues. "Relationships are a thing of the present moment for her, ever shifting, ever changing. She might know someone as a child, then years later know him as a lover, and in his elder years he might be more of a treasured uncle or a father figure. And she couldn't allow the taboos and sensitivities of those who maintain a traditional place in society's structures influence her choices. She didn't have that option. By the same token, she didn't look at people with the same sense of...societal expectations as others. She just saw people. She would see the same person inside the girl and the old woman, and the phases of life wouldn't color her views like they might yours or mine. She has seen too many people travel the full arc of their journey while remaining a part of her life."
Orman nods, absorbing the words as he prepares the refreshments. He picks up the glasses and Will reaches out to take them, freeing Orman to carry the plates out by the fire.
"I can't imagine the energy that kind of existence must require."
Will takes a seat and places the glasses on the table before the hearth. "The demands are unfathomable. But why do you say that?" he asks, wanting to know what is being heard and understood and what is being surmised.
Orman takes his own customary chair and shifts the throw pillows to support his back. He takes a sip of his drink. "I only meant that...it's hard enough for a person to let go of the past in one lifetime, to accept the changes, lose loved ones, watch children grow, never again to be those little creatures you loved. I can't imagine...doing such a thing over and over in a never-ending cycle. The energy and resilience required..." he fades away, gazing into the gentle afternoon flames and imagining a life beyond his realm.
"She did get...tired, sometimes," Will says.
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"What time is it?"
"Late. We slept a while." The sun has all but fallen and the room gone dim and quiet. A blue-lit nest in her fashioned stone palace. "Did you rest?" he asks.
"Mmm. Yes. But we should be up. It's nearly dinner, I didn't mean to..."
"Dinner's not going anywhere. Give yourself a few minutes," he says, fingers tangling in her hair, lips tickling her scalp. He tightens his arm around her shoulders.
Helen sighs against him and relaxes into the curves of his body, surrendering a moment more. Which tells him just how exhausted she is.
"Promise me you'll come back to bed early tonight," Will breathes, voice low and firm without a trace of accusation. "Don't just use this little bit of sleep as an excuse to stay up all night."
The tension creeps back into her muscles and tendons in shivers and insidious ripples. She holds her silence for several breaths, head on his chest, rising and falling with his own rhythm. He expects a careful evasion or a meaningless reassurance before the subject is firmly dismissed. What he doesn't expect is the timidly whispered, "Would you sleep in here tonight?"
"Where did she find the energy to start again? What was her source, her focus?"
Will eyes his guest curiously. The question is fervent, intimate and insightful, and Will is again impressed by his companion's depth of perception.
"Life," Will says at last. "Life itself never ceases to be beautiful, enthralling. And sooner or later...that beauty...finds its way inside you. Again."
Orman hears the significance of the offering and accepts the gift with reverent silence. Will takes a bite of almond cookie, and Orman follows suit.
"I remember one night," Will begins, "it still stands out in my mind so vividly...funny which days choose to stick in your mind and which ones are lost to time. I had been at the Sanctuary...oh, maybe ten, twelve years at the time, maybe more... We had been marathoning a wrestling match through the Sanctuary since dawn, dealing with one of the many crises that keeps life at the Sanctuary from e being boring. There were these things Magnus called Neopods, these creatures that...well, that's not important...anyway, we had all finally gathered for a meeting in Magnus's office, trying to wrap things up and get the hell out of there for the day. Out of work, at least, it's not like most of us ever left. But we were on our last threads of patience that night, exhausted and hungry. And Magnus was going over the last lab reports from Tesla..."
###
"Nikola, you're positive the electrical shields will hold, this isn't something to which the creatures might yet adapt?"
Tesla clicked his tongue, cocked his head in Magnus's direction. "Are you doubting my expertise, Helen?"
Magnus lifted an eyebrow from her presiding position in the arm chair and pinned her friend with a commanding gaze. "I'm asking if you've considered all the possibilities. These creatures have done nothing but surprise us for days. Need I remind you what happened last month with the fire slugs, when you insisted the water would-"
"Yes, yes, yes, we've all heard that story," Nikola dismissed Helen's admonishment, brushing imaginary lint from his slacks and straightening his posture.
"My eyebrows are fine, now, thanks for asking," Will interjected.
"All right!" Helen silenced them. She had yet to snipe at any of the staff without valid reason, but they could all feel the taut wire holding her impatience at bay and expected to be the victim of that thread's snap at any moment. "If that's settled, then I want a full detailed report on the metabolic reactions of the creatures to the electricity. Tomorrow, please, Nikola," she added at the look of protest on Tesla's face. "Will, you've spoken to New York about taking on some of our new friends?"
Will nodded and hitched up his glasses. "I did, and Kate has the email we got this morning." Helen snatched the printed letter from Kate's outstretched hand. "They say they're still finishing up the renovations on the small creature habitats, but they should be ready to bring in new residents by the end of the week," Will finished.
Helen gave a nod of acknowledgement as she scanned and absorbed the email. "All right. I guess we wait." She dropped the letter into the file folder in her lap. "Kate, what's the damage report on the upper floors?"
"We've got our guy coming to give us a repair estimate first thing tomorrow morning. Right now, we're looking mainly at just some drywall repair, maybe a few new bits of wire. Oh, and one window needs new glass."
"A window? How long was it open? Has it been covered for the night?"
"I'm not sure how long it was out, but the Big Guy said he'd take care of it for tonight."
Helen gave a mildly irritated sigh, but said only, "All right. Mark, what about security?"
The newest member of their staff looked a bit startled at the direct address and straightened his posture on the couch, shuffling papers clearly for show. "Uhhh...we're 5 x 5 as far as I can tell."
"As far as you can tell?"
"Yes, Ma'am, but Mr. Foss has the full report, he said he'd bring it to you later tonight. He's assured me we're safe and sound for the time being."
Magnus held the young man's gaze for a long moment, and Will couldn't help but wonder if this were more a test of his stamina as much as a search for further information. "Fair enough," Magnus conceded. "So, that leaves...," she consulted the notes in her lap once more, "...the squid. Here I'm open to suggestions, if anyone has an idea how we might-"
But Magnus never finished her sentence. The study doors blasted open, and a four year old boy with a mop of dark hair and the most striking hazel eyes Will had ever seen barreled into the room in a whirl of sound and flapping limbs. "Auntie Helen, Auntie Helen!"
Mark Petrie, who had been at the Sanctuary for less than two months, fell wide-eyed and silent, radiating panic on the part of the small child making a beeline for a tired and overtaxed Magnus. But Will only smiled and exchanged a knowing glance with Kate.
Young Jacob launched himself bodily at Helen, as she deftly moved her file folders out of the way with one arm and caught the boy across her lap with the other. Kate leaned forward and took the paperwork from Magnus's hand, placing it safely on the coffee table.
"Auntie Helen!" Jacob shouted once more as Helen flipped the boy right side up to lay cradled across her lap.
"Hello, my Little Prince," Helen said through an adoring smile, her voice all warmth and sweetness, the stresses of the day set aside in a heartbeat.
Will tossed a glance at their newest team member and watched the wonder with which Mark observed the about-face in their boss's demeanor.
"Auntie Helen, look! Look, look, look!" The boy held up a toy train car no more than an inch from Helen's nose.
Helen gently took the tiny wrist in her fingers and backed up the train enough for her to see. "What have you got here? My goodness, isn't that lovely. Is this a new one?"
"It is new!" Jacob squealed. "Daddy just got it for me at-"
A breathless and disheveled Henry stumbled through the open door. "Jake! Aw, what are you doin' to me, man? Doc, I'm so sorry he just-"
"Henry..."
"I was right behind him, I swear, and he just took off and made a run for it. I told him he couldn't see you until after-"
But Helen only shook her head dismissively, her attention on the boy in her lap and the train car their fingers were tangled upon as Helen tested various wheels and flippers under youthful guidance. "That's quite all right, Henry." Her tone brooked no apology.
Henry took a few slower steps into the room, straightening his posture and recovering his breath. "Kid's got some good legs on him."
"Did you dash away from your father?" Helen asked the squiggly bundle in her lap, narrowing her eyes in unconvincing disapproval.
Jacob merely touched his forehead to Helen's with a feisty grin and whispered. "I did!"
"You know that is not proper," she said with only slightly more conviction to the admonishment.
The boy giggled and launched himself at Helen's shoulder, wrapping his arms around her neck in a loving embrace. Helen hugged the child to her with the easy subconscious movement of a long time mother and looked up at Henry. "Far too much like his father," she said, and the smile in her eyes told Will she was greatly enjoying watching Henry suffer the other end of the job at last.
"Yeah, sorry about that, Doc," Henry muttered, feet shuffling as though he were the boy again. "Jake just said he wanted-"
"Story!" Jacob shouted, arching back to gaze up at his beloved Auntie. "Will you read my bedtime story?"
Henry reached out a hand and nudged his son's shoulder. "Come on, Little Man, Aunt Helen can't do it tonight. I'll read you a story, Jakey, come on."
"Auntie Helen does all the best voices," the boy pleaded, offering Helen an almost comically perfect puppy dog expression. Will couldn't suppress a chuckle.
Helen lifted an eyebrow, well aware of the child's practiced manipulative abilities, but utterly susceptible to them nonetheless. "I do, do I?" she challenged.
"Yes!" Jake asserted willfully.
Henry stepped in with more authority. "It's all right, Doc. I'll take him up to bed. Come on, man-"
But Helen continued as though Henry had not spoken. "I tell you what, my Little Prince. You go upstairs with your father, brush your teeth, get into your pajamas, and I shall finish up here, and be upstairs in time to read you one story before you go to sleep. All right?"
"Doc, you don't have to-"
"Yes!" Jake shouted.
"All right. Off you go," Helen said, giving the boy a quick kiss on the forehead and nudging him off her lap.
Henry took his son's hand, then gave Magnus a lingering glance over his shoulder. She held his gaze, and Will could feel the warmth spreading between them. For a moment, he forgot about the Neopods in the basement and the holes in the walls and the security protocols and let himself feel pure gratitude that these people were his. This was his family. He had not been the new guy for a very long time.
Magnus let her gaze fall, and Henry escorted his son from the room. Magnus snatched her folders from the table and without preamble began asking her staff for ideas regarding neurotic glow-in-the-dark squids.
###
"What a lovely memory," Orman says, the look in his eyes showing the lack of condescension that comes to a man who has known the simple joys of parenthood. "The boy had become a part of her family, then?"
"Oh, very much so. For all of us. You see..." Will sank deeper into his chair. He took another sip from his crystal glass and allowed time for the right words to find his tongue. "Magnus had always been especially conscious of the younger abnormals. She maintained a certain professional detachment, of course, but she took them all into her care. Like...a house full of foster children, in a way. But after we lost Ashley...well, we all saw the difference. Helen kept the young residents at arm's length. She was kind and caring and she saw to it that all of their needs were met. But she was...there was a distance that hadn't been there before. And then...Jakey was born. And Helen tried to maintain her distance, I know she did. But the first time those little fingers curled around hers...she was head over heels in love with that little boy. She would have done anything for him. And we were all glad to see that happen. Glad to see her...letting that happen."
"I didn't realize Mr. Foss had had children."
"Only Jacob."
"And did Jacob come to work at the Sanctuary?"
"Oh, yes. But not in tech like his father. He's a scientist, worked with the habitats in the London Sanctuary for years. He grew up on Magnus's lab coat tails like a miniature assistant," Will said with a wistful smile.
"Oh, dear. Became her shadow, did he?"
"Oh, yes. Not that he wasn't Henry's boy through and through. Henry was an amazing father, and he and Jacob shared everything. But Helen was definitely part of Jacob's upbringing. She was almost a second parent. A grandmother, if you will, though I tried that word on her once and almost never survived the backlash."
Orman indulges a gentle laugh. Then as the humor fades, "I would imagine taking the boy into her life, took its toll, even as it healed."
"At times," Will allows.
Voices carry in from the hall, and the conversation seems to pause as they wait for the other residents to approach and then pass.
"When Jake was about 2 years old," Will says softly, "he got sick. His fever just...skyrocketed. And Magnus couldn't figure out what was going on. We didn't know that much yet about Jake's physiology. His mother was human, so he was his own unique combination, an original. Henry didn't leave Jake's bedside for three days, and Helen was on her feet nearly as long. Working with a single-mindedness of purpose...rare in its intensity, even for her. And that's saying something. But by the end of the third day, she hit on a treatment that seemed to finally get to the heart of the infection. And Jacob's fever broke. None too soon. We were all getting pretty scared, he was one sick little boy for a while. He was exhausted for days afterward, of course, but once the right drugs were getting into his system, his vitals stabilized and he started to heal. The third night was the turning point. And once Jake was peacefully sleeping with an IV drip in his arm, Kate and The Big Guy stepped in and insisted Helen and Henry get some rest while the others took a shift. Henry just took the next bed in the infirmary and pretty much passed out, and Helen...well, we thought she went back to her rooms, but when I went to look for her an hour later, I couldn't find her anywhere. I tracked her down in one of the private libraries on the upper floors...and she..."
Will's words stumble and fall to silence.
Orman cocks his head and furrows his brow in silent entreaty.
Will moves his mouth, but doesn't speak. At last he shakes his head. "She had a hard time with it all," he finishes lamely. And the untouched moments move around the two men like restless shadows.
Orman gives a simple nod and looks at his hands where they lay still in his lap.
When the silence stretches, Will at last offers awkwardly, "Do you...do need some more lemonade?"
"I'm fine, thank you," Orman says politely. "In fact, I...I promised a friend I would meet him for dinner tonight...while I'm in town. The time has flown faster than I thought. I had probably best be getting back to my hotel to get ready. I believe the restaurant is a bit of a drive away."
Will snaps out of his lingering reverie and lifts his gaze to Orman, taking a moment to playback and process the man's words in his mind. "Oh...oh, well, then...don't let me keep you." Will is aware there is probably no friend, no restaurant. But he is suddenly welcoming the notion of a few hours to himself, so he lets the excuse stand.
Orman rises to his feet, and Will does the same and walks his guest to the door.
"You will be coming by tomorrow?" he asks, not wanting to leave the man with the impression he has overstayed his welcome. Will feels there are more stories to tell. He doesn't know why, only knows that it is somehow...time.
The younger man's eyes brighten with a genuine spark and a hint of a smile. "If you would welcome it," he says softly.
Will nods with a small, genuine smile. "I would. Shall we say 10?"
"10 would be fine."
The men shake hands and then Will is alone in his rooms, listening to his new friend's footsteps retreating down the hall.
He takes a jacket from his coat tree by the door, and moves out onto the balcony and into the bright, crisp air.
###
Will's legs ached from walking, and he had nearly decided to return to Magnus's rooms, see if she had settled there in his absence and they had been chasing one another in futile circles, when he caught sight of a faint glow emanating from a doorway at the distant end of the hall. On this top floor, the rooms were not officially Helen's private quarters, but they were generally regarded as Helen's home and not common spaces. Will moved down the dim hall to the glowing doorway and found himself gazing into a narrow private library where a single lamp burned at an empty desk. Helen was an almost invisible form curled in the corner of a sofa on the far side of the room.
"Hey. There you are," Will said softly, making his way into the room.
Helen had been watching him from the shadows, must have known he was approaching since he started down the hall. She didn't reply, but nodded. Her feet were tucked beneath her and a large afghan wrapped around her shoulders and legs.
"I was starting to think you'd disappeared on me."
She sniffed softly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."
"It's all right," Will offered easily. He pushed an ottoman in front of the sofa and took a seat across from her, knees just brushing her legs.
"Is everything all right?" she asked. And he knew she meant Jacob. And Henry. But her voice sounded so bone-weary it was hard to listen to.
"Yeah." His words softened in reflection of her mood. He placed a reassuring hand on her knee, massaging her tired muscles through age-worn cloth. "Everybody's fine."
"That's good." Her words rang genuine and hollow in harmony. "I'm sorry to worry you, I just...I needed to get away for a few minutes. It's...been a long week."
"Of course," Will said, like hers was the most natural response in the world.
"Is Henry sleeping?"
They were so far away from everyone else in the Sanctuary, this place was almost private even with the open door, and Will found the intimacy and peace a welcome contrast to the tension of the preceding hours. Books and candles and soft blankets draped the room, and he understood why Helen had sought refuge here.
"Henry's out cold. And Big Guy's planted on a chair for the night, right between Henry and Jacob. Kate's been making snack runs and hanging out in the corner with her MP3 player. They couldn't be in more capable hands."
Helen nodded, but her expression didn't change. The tension in her brow drew lines and shadows by dim lamp light.
Will fished her hands from the folds on the blanket and covered them with his own. "He's all right, Helen. He's all right," he repeated firmly.
She bit her lip. "Yes. He is."
Will held his breath for a moment, then he slid down to kneel on the rug before her and spread his hands wide to grip her thighs. He spoke to her as much with his eyes as with his words. "Are you?"
Helen tried to reply, failed, caught her breath, and her eyes blurred with tears that deepened the blue and reflected the golden light. "He's just..." She spread her hands before him, fingers open in a gesture of utter helplessness as though some invisible treasure had slipped through her grasp. "He's still so small."
Will closed his eyes and leaned closer. "I know," he whispered. "I know."
Helen caught a trembling breath, and brushed at the first tears to slip down her cheek. Will reached up a tender hand and freed her hair from its fastener, let her disheveled locks fall free about her face. The kindness in the gesture broke the last of Magnus's walls and she shaded her eyes and let herself cry.
Will climbed onto the couch, shifting Helen until he sat with his back to the arm rest and her warmth nestled against his chest. "You saved him," he breathed into her hair. "You did it."
Her reply was barely a whisper in the silence. "I thought I was going to lose him. I honestly thought..." Her words fell to a rush of hushed sobs against Will's chest. Her tears soaked through his t-shirt and clung to his skin.
Will cradled Helen closer, cupped a protective hand to her head. He tucked the blanket close around her shoulders and sank deeper into the sofa cushions, offering himself as a bed of warmth. "Hush," he whispered. "Rest. You're exhausted."
She hadn't changed for bed. Her shoes were gone, blazer lost. He slipped a hand beneath the blanket and untucked her blouse. He unsnapped the waistband of her slacks, freed the fastener on her bra. Will felt the instinctive softening of her muscles as the bindings were freed. He smoothed his hand up and down her back, working the cords and knots beneath his fingers. He kept up his slow steady motions, smoothing her hair and cradling the back of her neck. Her breath caught in unexpected starts, but her tears slowed. He had almost let his own muscles slacken a bit, drifted in the drowsy haze, when she gave a sharp sniff and he felt a renewed tension shimmer through her body. Helen pushed against the sofa to leverage several inches up his body. She buried her face in the side of his neck and hooked a hand beneath his shoulder to hold on with greater intensity. She was shaking.
"Ssshhh...heeeyy..."
She didn't speak. He held on.
Eventually they slept. They slept a few hours on the library sofa. Then Will nudged her into semi-consciousness in the soft light and walked her, blanket still wrapped around them, back to her room.
He wouldn't leave. Not this night.
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