Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.
A/N: *Author creeps back in gingerly.* Hi? *Ducks pointy objects.* I deserve that.
A thousand apologies! The past few months have been - interesting - and I've not been able to get online here. But things are better! So I can finally get back to this story that I've been itching to finish.
To persuade you all to forgive me, I do come bearing a chapter at long last! Peace offering?
Despite Henry's penchant for working miracles, it was two days before the file came to her – and even then it wasn't complete.
"I'm doing what I can, Doc, but retrieving files sent, received, and deleted on another system in Paraguay? It's taking some time."
"Understood, Henry. I know you're doing your best. Can you send me what you do have, then?"
"Can do. I've got emails and texts that were not deleted or simply deleted. I'm still working on the ones that were deleted and then buried by some sort of cryptography. I can tell you one thing, definitely wasn't Will doing this. Man couldn't find his way around this algorithm with a map and a guide dog."
"Yes, thank you, Henry," she ended, trying not to let her amusement show down the line. "Let me know what you find, please."
"Will do."
A short while later, a pop-up window at the bottom of her monitor showed a message from Henry. Accessing it (Here ya go, Doc.) and the file drive it contained, she let her chin fall down to rest upon the fist propped up on the desk. Henry had certainly taken her at her word. Every single email was listed by the subject line, while the texts, mercifully, were gathered into one document. This is going to take a while, she acknowledged ruefully, which meant one thing.
This called for tea.
When she first learned to make tea, it was in a frail, bone china teapot her mother received on the occasion of her wedding. She wasn't supposed to touch it, of course, but Helen had forged a career largely out of doing that which was forbidden. Late at night, after the servants had left or retired and her father was ensconced somewhere ill-suited to the well-bred female, even a miniature one, she would steal down to the kitchens.
At first it required a chair and a strategic knee on a nearby shelf for her to reach the teapot, but that changed as the years passed and her inches grew. Teapot achieved, Helen would pass to the easier tasks: putting water to boil, retrieving the canister of tea, setting out a matching cup and saucer, hunting up milk and sugar until she outgrew the desire for sweetener, and settling everything just so. Then, in a ritual she dimly remembered and to which she clung fiercely, she would carefully add hot water to the pot, swirling it gently to warm it then discarding it, before she measured out the tea ("One teaspoon for the pot, my love, and one for each cup.") and add water to steep. Five precisely counted minutes later she had a perfect pot of tea and needed only to decide upon that night's entertainment from those tomes purloined from her father's library.
The march of time and technology had made inroads even into such hallowed institutes as the British cuppa. Helen easily moved about the stainless steel gleam of the Sanctuary kitchen, flipping the switch of the electric kettle. With the ease of long practice, she assembled a tray – cup and saucer, serviette, strainer – with precision. Not all changed with the passage of years. The click of the kettle finishing its cycle drew her back and, deftly, she warmed the pot before snagging a worn canister off of her tea shelf. Silently, she counted out teaspoons of the fragrant, leafy blend. One for the pot, one per cup, and then she smoothly added water, replacing the small lid atop the pot. Removing the teapot to the tray, Helen took it up to move to her office. She had it timed to a science; by the time her walk back through the halls was at an end, the tea would be just ready.
If she got waylaid on the journey, it was generally somewhat bitter before she ever made it to her office. If her lab was involved, the tea was cold and stewed before she could pour the first cup. There were times Helen missed the cozy warmth of those endless, serene nights so long ago. For one thing, she always got to drink her tea.
One short walk later, she poured a steaming cup of tea, letting her eyes close as she inhaled the heady scent and cautiously took a first sip.
Delightful.
Fortified, she glanced across her desk at the stack of current files and global updates before turning her attention to the tablet resting innocuously before her. Taking firm hold of her will, she unlocked the screen, opened the file in this new location, and began her first inroads into the massive pile of data.
Once she began sifting, Helen found the initial stages easier than expected. Those communiques with various Sanctuaries could wait until later. If necessary, she would go back through them to hunt for small clues he might have left unwitting. Her expectations on that score were not high. Will was cautious at the best of times.
The remaining emails she divided according to the sender or recipient. One disturbing file collection were those emails that had no discernible person at the far end. Noting the dates, Helen saw they ran for only the week after his journey to the Haven. She wondered when the encrypted emails began.
Tapping out a quick message for Henry to that effect, she proceeded to open all the files within that folder and paced through them chronologically. They were not calculated to instill any sense of relief.
You can't hide forever.
I will know your purpose. And you will pay for it.
Do you think I don't see you searching for me? You will regret it should you find me.
Feeling slightly ill, Helen opened the texts file. Searching through she saw messages that were much the same. Almost a week after the date that the emails ceased, however, the texts picked up once more. This time, however, they sounded like directions.
Back corridor.
3 hours.
Meet me. You know where.
Clearly, Will had determined the identity of the person behind the threats. Clearly, this had only escalated the situation. Clearly, she damn well needed those encrypted emails.
Frustrated, she distracted herself with the mindless task of modifying her current timeline of events to include the occurrences of emails and texts, particularly the dates when they began and ended.
Task complete, she flicked back through the files she had practically memorized from study at every free interval. Perhaps it would be useful after all to examine Will's correspondence with the Sanctuaries. The feeling of hitting a dead end was one she always despised.
Instead, though, she stood to relocate to the bank of monitors. Toggling to the correct view, she watched Will staring motionlessly out the window once more. Since their confrontation the other night, he had refused to leave his room and ceased speaking to anyone who attempted to coax him out again. Helen knew that she would have to deal with that soon. She had hoped to have a few more answers first. Otherwise, she suspected the outcome would be no more successful than any other thus far.
With the passage of two more days, matters with Will were coming to a head. From surveillance, Helen knew that he was still steadily working on whatever was driving him beyond her reach. Unfortunately, she also knew that he was additionally haphazardly neglecting his health and – given that she had rarely caught him even attempting to sleep – the idea that he was still somehow taking drugs was a prevalent and alarming one. Henry felt that he was making progress, but even without the key to this infuriating puzzle, Helen knew that she couldn't wait much longer to force the confrontation with Will.
The ringing of her office phone interrupted her increasingly dark thoughts. Kate, in an apologetic tone, requested a little assistance, which Helen easily interpreted as 'crap, it's loose.' She almost welcomed the ensuing, utterly distracting fray.
"Now," she asked archly, once the creature was safely back in fire-proof containment and the only remaining task was to treat recently collected burns, "how, exactly, did our friend here manage to get loose on a completely different level than the one in which he was housed?"
"Ah," Kate stalled, "It's kind of a funny story."
"I could use a laugh," Helen commented. You are not getting out of it that easily.
Before Kate could begin her – no doubt, highly creative – narrative of events, the walkie at Helen's hip squawked. Grimly, she detached it. Another escaped abnormal would really just put the cap to this day.
"Magnus."
It was Henry, unwontedly somber.
"What's wrong?" Please let me be leaping to conclusions.
"We need to talk," was the only response. The tone, however, was as stressed as any she had yet heard from the young HAP.
"I'll meet you in my office," she replied immediately, not even waiting for an answer before she headed to the door. One glance at Kate (This conversation is merely postponed, young lady.) and then she focused on covering the distance to her office in record time.
Henry still managed to beat her there and she entered to find him sitting on the sofa with a pile of papers on his lap and his head in his hands. Sensing her arrival, he looked up to greet her with lines of strain written clearly across his face.
"Henry," concerned, she settled beside him quickly, reaching out to grasp his arm.
"I broke the encryption," he said bleakly, moving after a moment to hold her hand on his arm in place. "Doc," he trailed off, shaking his head and released her hand to pass over the collection on his lap. With a final squeeze, she let him go to take the stack. "I had to read some of them to make sure that I was on the right track," he admitted and she looked back over quickly as he ran a hand down his face, "I sent them to you, but I printed them all out. Just in case. Whoever did this…"
"We'll find them, Henry," she reached back out, smoothing her hand through his short hair. "I promise."
Silently he nodded, capturing her hand to press it slowly in comfort before he stood to leave.
"Get some rest," she ordered softly.
Hesitantly, he nodded once more and she made a mental note to check on him before she retired. Or later in the evening, if this turned into another of the increasingly sleepless nights she had been experiencing. Watching the hunched shoulders of the usually dreadfully cheerful Henry slipping out of her office door, Helen had a feeling that it would be one of those nights. At the least.
Briefly, Helen considered tea. No, she decided, some things require tea, some must simply be faced head on. Hoping to catch the highlights, she began to flick through the paper copies, but as words leapt out at her from the pages, her pace slowed. It was almost unbelievable. The sickened feeling washing up from her stomach wished that it was unbelievable – as in, untrue.
Sightlessly, she stared into middle distance, fingers idly tapping against the sheaf of papers on her lap. Now the question remained: What did she want to do?
You may be able to bury your inmost thoughts. You may be able to appear benevolent. But you don't belong here.
If you say a word, I will make you hurt those you care about. I know what you know.
You don't believe me? Remember Sylvia's wedding? You and the chocolate pudding? I know what you know. Follow my instructions and no one else has to pay for your mistake in coming here.
You bruise so prettily. Maybe I won't use your knowledge of Bertha's new location. Maybe I will. Let's see how well you do tonight. Midnight. You know where.
Who would you tell? Why should they believe you? Even your own Head of House has had to doubt your word before. Remember the albino Abnormals? Remember all of those injuries you lied about? Who do you think they will believe? You've done my work for me.
Helen's eyes lingered reluctantly on details of forced meetings and increasing levels of violence as the digital voice wrecked a deep-seated and distant vengeance upon Will. If she could discern the disconnect, then surely Will had realized that he was merely a stand-in for some crime, some perpetrator that could not be reached.
Not that it made much of a difference in the end, she thought grimly, resting the sheaf on her lap. Equally disturbing were the references to the Sanctuary scattered throughout. Some of the details, Helen frowned in thought as she flipped back through, could only be known if they had another leak in security. Or – tossing the papers beside her on the sofa, she sank her head into her hands – or if it was someone in the network. Helen didn't know which outcome she feared more.
Shaking her head in an abrupt motion, she took the pile again and moved back to her desk. Enough speculation; it was time to start collating the new data.
It was long past the time Helen had intended to check in on Henry when the desk phone rang shrilly. Jumping, she picked up the receiver while shaking her head at her own actions. Honestly, Helen, it's the phone.
"Dr. Magnus."
"Hey, Doc? Got something for you."
"Henry?" she huffed a sigh in frustration. "You should be in bed."
"I know, I know. But I had an idea and it worked. Uh, eventually. See, I took this program I used to streamline…"
As Henry wandered off into tech-babble, Helen shared a fond smile with the empty room before breaking in, "Henry?"
"and… Uh, right. So, long story short, I managed to trace the IP address. Guess where it led?"
Helen didn't have to guess. "The Paraguay Sanctuary."
"The… yeah. How'd you know?" he sounded a bit put out.
"It was a strong theory, Henry, but your proof is actual, solid evidence. Excellent work," she smiled again at the awkwardly cleared throat and mumbled 'thanks' at the other end of the line. "Now go, get some sleep."
"I will. Promise. Want me to send this to you first?"
"Please do. Did you trace the line back to a particular computer, by chance?"
"Yeah, but it might have been sent by someone other than the primary user. Cause you're not gonna like – you already know whose, don't you?"
"Let's say I have a suspicion. Send, then sleep, Henry."
"Yes, Doc," he said mock-obediently and hung up before she could comment on his tone. Such cheek.
A few minutes later a pop-up near the bottom of her screen announced that she had received Henry's email. Clicking over to the correct screen, she opened the message and rolled her eyes at Henry's short message:
Sent. Reporting to bed. No need to HoverDoc.
Helen blamed Will for that name.
Once, many moons ago, Will had decided to take a more proactive approach to his insomnia, unbeknownst to her at the time. At least until the night she entered the kitchen for a fresh pot of tea only to find him sitting on the floor. To be exact, she found him sitting very straight, gazing absently at nothing, and eating pickles with peanut butter and mustard.
Getting him out of the kitchen and back to bed had taken a bit of effort, more so when he had woken up and refused to go back to sleep. The following day she had – perhaps – been a bit expressive in her concern over his use of hypnotic tapes to 'cure' his insomnia and his subsequent sleepwalking. Not to mention his agitation over both the nightmares and his late night snack run. In retrospect, the term 'HoverDoc' was likely a way to defuse her concern and questions with humor.
It didn't make her blame him for it any less. Particularly as the entirety of her staff had latched onto the name with scarcely concealed glee.
Shaking off the lingering amused exasperation, Helen turned her attention to Henry's trace. Whoever had been behind it was very good. The message had pinged its way all over the world – but Henry was better. Slowly, she traced her finger over the origin IP.
"Gotcha," she murmured.
Still, she sighed, settling back in her chair, it would take more than an IP trace and broadly incriminating emails to prove guilt. It had been much easier in a way to consider suitable action against the Rio Paraguay Haven. Cut off support or demand action against the perpetrator were fairly standard reactions.
Now, however, Helen resisted the urge to rip the papers she held to shreds. It wouldn't change the contents.
Alright, Helen, stop being emotional. You are the Head of this Network. Fix this.
She drummed her fingers against the crisp white pages for a moment. There were safe guards they could put in place, of course. Plans that had been developed after the 'Emma-situation,' as Declan put it so succinctly. Briskly, she sent a mass email winging its way across oceans and continents. The other Heads would be aware, at least. The Network would be secure. Right, she took a deep breath, now for the second problem.
Most of her instincts cried out for direct action. She had a target – one short plane ride to Paraguay and she could begin the delicate removal process with a sharp right hook. It was certainly what she wanted to do. Two considerations held her back.
In the first place, this was a Network matter, not a House one. They did get so grumbly when she acted unilaterally. A larger ground force would ensure safe removal and containment. No matter how less satisfying it would be on a personal level.
Secondly was, of course, Will. She could hardly leave while he was still walled away in his room, slowing driving himself into the ground. A talk with him would have to occur in the near future. Even afterwards, in the best of scenarios, Helen suspected that he would require her proximity for some time – and his needs outweighed revenge.
Before she could give in to her baser instincts, Helen pulled up the teleconferencing program on her monitor and called out to Declan. As it rang, she realized that failing to calculate the time difference first was probably a mistake. After a respectable interval, however, Declan answered, showing no signs of an abrupt awakening. A Head's hours were seldom stable, thankfully.
"Does this have somethin' to do with the rather ominous email I just received?" Declan asked in lieu of 'hello.' Perhaps he had not gotten much sleep, after all.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Helen admitted. "I require some assistance to render the threat neutral. If any of your team are free?"
"For a security breach, they can be," he agreed easily. "Who's the target?"
"Ah," she exhaled slowly. "This needs a bit of explaining."
Carefully, she described Will's actions since his return, preserving what privacy she could, and how they had led to her investigation.
"You hardly need to excuse your actions," Declan broke in at last. "All of us try to protect our staff. When we can," he conceded ruefully.
"Yes," Helen smiled faintly. "Hard job in this line of work, though." Shaking her head, she laid out the evidence as sequentially as possible, charting the escalation from vague warning to threats and manipulation, the textual confessions of violence, and most importantly the knowledge of Sanctuary secrets revealed in the messages.
"Still, with the mental abilities we can assume from the texts," Declan objected, "surely it could all have been picked up from Will's mind."
"Not all," she corrected. "Some of the information is such that only a Head of House would be privy to it, unfortunately."
"Meaning," Declan continued reluctantly.
"That Dr. Benetez is the most likely perpetrator, yes," she finished. "That Henry also tracked the IP back to her computer makes it all the more likely."
"But how did she keep her abilities hidden for such a span of years?" he asked, still dubious.
"According to Will's research, the mental abilities are native defense mechanisms designed to operate at an instinctual, indeed almost subconscious, level. If she adapted to her abilities well enough, she would have had no reason to seek assistance and, given that she clearly mistrusts outsiders, no reason to confide in us thereafter."
"Yet still taking a position with us to protect local interests," Declan nodded as he put the pieces together.
"That's my best guess as well," Helen agreed. "Once she's been secured, we can test for the suspected abilities and see if she'll answer any questions to gain a better understanding. To be honest, I'm not sure that she'll say much. The persona in those communications was quite suspicious."
"First, we've got to capture her, though," Declan said grimly. "I can see why you'd be wanting a larger team."
"Hm, yes, it's her home ground and I'm not certain how large a group it will take to withstand her persuasions," Helen paused for a moment. "I had thought to send Kate and Henry. How many can you shake free at the moment?"
"Luckily, I've a team further north providing a bit of assistance. I'll join them with a few others who just returned from a fairly simple retrieval. Should give us enough," Declan decided.
"Good. Keep me apprised, if you would?" she waited for Declan's nod. "I've seen no evidence that her Second was involved in any way, but we might want to leave a few out-of-House there for a while, just to be certain. I'll leave that to your judgment of events, though," she sighed. "If I could, I would join you."
"Nonsense," he cut in. "Don't trust us to do a simple retrieval? My feelings might be hurt." With a smart grin, he dropped the banter. "I daresay you've got a job and a half of your own waiting there. Tell Will we'll get her for him, no worries."
"I will," she smiled. "Thank you."
With a wave, the screen went black. Helen settled back in her chair, planning. If she couldn't go herself, Declan was an excellent proxy. She and James had made certain of that when they trained him up as the London Second. With a smirk, she remembered dragging a younger Declan through scores of backwoods, admonishing him to think on his feet until he lost his temper and tackled their quarry off the edge of an embankment. Thankfully, it had been a rather shallow embankment. It had marked the beginning of a steadfast, often argumentative friendship that she was glad to have at her back.
Dragging herself from her thoughts, she refocused on the monitor staring blankly at her. Dr. Benetez was taken care of – or would be, shortly. And once she was contained, Helen could find the time to have a few words with her personally. Once Will was on the mend. Will. One problem down, one to go.
She suspected this one would be much harder.
A short while later, Helen stood outside the closed door of Will's room, balancing a tray on one hand as she fiddled with the master key in the other.
"Everything's in place?" she asked her Old Friend. He merely nodded, reaching out a hand to grip her shoulder tightly.
With a silent nod she turned to the door, sliding the key in as quietly as possible and feeling the lock catch and open under her hand. Leaving it in place, she slipped through the narrow opening.