disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: same as before.

Spoilers: Sanctuary, Season 1 in this chapter.

Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who read the first chapter! It's very encouraging. Also, I messed up the name in the first chapter. 'Tempest Shadow' not 'Tempest Storm'. Should have realized that 'Storm Storm' wasn't right. Oh well. Unbeta'd.

Enjoy!

Sam was laying underneath her bed, staring at the box spring. It had been three days since the night in the alley and she had been avoiding her mother.

She wasn't sure how to feel. Her mother wasn't exactly apologetic about what she had done, though she had said that she shouldn't have done such a thing in front of Sam. Sam kept replaying it in her mind. The blood. The smell of it, the feel of it spraying on her face. But, most of all, the look on her mother's face.

It had scared Sam. A lot.

She hated that it did. Sam hadn't been scared of a lot of things in her life. She had gotten over being scared of the dark when she had been two. And while she was sometimes wary of her mother and thought she was kind of insane at points, she had never been scared of her. She had been that night.

Sam laced her fingers together, not closing her eyes, because she was afraid that she would see it all again. She was resisting the urge to touch her face to make sure that the blood was gone. She knew that it was. The Big Guy had made sure of that.

When they had come home, both of them covered in blood, the Big Guy had been immediately concerned. When he had found out what had happened, he had scooped Sam up, snarled at Helen not to follow him, and taken her upstairs. He had stripped her out of her bloody clothing, desposited her in the shower and scrubbed the blood off of her himself. She had been shaking and in shock, more or less.

Sam thought she still might have been. She was trying to wrap her mind around all of it. Helen had pulled her from school for the week and a part of Sam wished that she hadn't. It would have been nice to have the distraction. Helen hadn't justified her actions. She hadn't really talked about it that much, honestly. Sam didn't mind.

Eventually, Sam scooted out from under the bed. Mostly because she was hungry. The Big Guy had been bringing her snacks if she didn't come down and have meals with him and her mother, but she was hungry now. And she couldn't stay in her room forever.

Sam's room was large. It was a part of the original church and had frescos painted on the ceiling. There was a room just like it next door. She had always thought that her mother had put her here when she had outgrown her nursery beside her mother's room because one day her sister might join her. So far, that hadn't happened. But in the meantime, Sam had certainly cluttered her own room with her own interests.

There were star charts and physics textbooks stacked haphazardly on the floor beside her desk. Plenty of half-finished engineering projects. Things like that.

Her socks were slippery on the hardwood floor, so Sam pulled on a pair of shoes and then stepped out into the hallway. Empty. At this time of day, her mother was most likely in her study and the Big Guy would be tending to the residents. She could go down to the kitchen without encountering either of them.

Maybe she would make some cookies.

Sam liked that idea. Something to do. It was also something that her mother didn't strictly approve of. Her mother disapproved of sweets, saying they were bad for Sam's health in general and her teeth, but Sam liked making cookies. When she had been younger, Helen had made them with her. Not anymore.

But having something to do would stop making her think of David's body laying in the alley. Of his blood on her face. Her mother promising her it was okay when it most definitely was not okay. Sam shuddered.

She made it down to the entrance hall and was about to race to the kitchen when the door knocker against the front door made her jump. That puzzled Sam. Only people her mother pre-approved of could get to the front door of the Sanctuary. They had to enter a code to open the gates.

So Sam went to open the door, feeling a little puzzled. She stared when she opened it.

The man standing on the front step was neatly dressed, complete with a cravat. He looked like he had stepped out of another decade. Probably another century. He had looked like that for as long as Sam could remember. She lunged forward as soon as she took in the fact that he was there, because it was almost out of context.

"Uncle James!" she cried, slamming into him in a hug that nearly knocked him off the step.

"Samantha, my dear. It's wonderful to see you." James said, closing his arms around her as well.

Sam buried her face in his chest, even though the plate on his chest made it difficult for her to do so. But she didn't care. James had always been incredibly comforting to her throughout her entire life, even though she didn't see him that often now. Mostly during the summers and Christmas.

He was like a father figure to her. Both he and Biggie. The two men who had the biggest effect to her life.

James had known her mother since they had met in Oxford in the eighteen-eighties. He had stayed by her side since then. He had been there when Sam had been born and had helped with her when she had been first born. Sam had been born in the London Sanctuary, because her mother had wanted her born where she had been.

Sam clung to him more tightly than she usually did and much longer than normal. James cupped the back of her head, the other arm around her tightly.

"May I come in the door, Samantha?" he asked.

Sam nodded, pulling away, and let him come in. He had a single case with him. Sam recognized it and imagined that whatever else he had brought was in the car. It could stay there for now. Someone would go get it later.

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked as she pulled the door closed.

"Did your mother not tell you?" James asked. He continued off the shake of her head. "She wants some redesigns for the London House and doing it in person is a better idea than phone calls and the postal service."

Sam nodded, slipping her hand into his free one. She needed the contact. The comfort. James squeezed her fingers and set down his case, cupping her face with one hand. His brown eyes searched her face, the rings on his fingers somehow cold against Sam's cheek. His brow creased in concern.

"What is wrong?" he asked her, his English accent making the words sound more comforting than when her mother said them, for some reason.

Sam felt her lip tremble. She wasn't a little girl anymore -she was supposed to be growing up and she wasn't scared- but what had happened had scared her. Stuck with her. Traumatized her. And it only been three days.

"Mum..." her voice shook.

"What about your mother? Has something happened to her?"

Sam shook her head. A tear ran down her face. The whole story came pouring out, along with a few more tears. James's expression hardened, his eyes widening and then narrowing. He was trying to mask his emotions from her.

"Dear God."

James sighed heavily and pulled Sam back against him, cradling the back of her head again and kissing the top of it.

"Samantha, I am so sorry. That never should have happened. Are you all right?"

"I didn't get hurt. Biggie cleaned me up."

Sam knew that was no where near what he was asking, but it was the best she could do right now. She had no idea how she was feeling or if she was really all right mentally or emotionally. She had no answer to that and it was something that scared her.

"What has your mother said about it?" James asked.

"That she shouldn't have done that it in front of me. She promised me that everything is going to be all right. I don't..." Sam trailed off.

How could it be all right?

James's jaw set. He released Sam, keeping a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I am going to speak to your mother. Go back to what you were doing. We can speak more later."

"But-"

"Alone, Samantha."

He held her gaze. Sam wilted a little. She picked up the case that he had set on the floor.

"I'll take this up to your room." she said.

"Thank you."

They headed up the stairs and went their separate ways. Sam took the case to the room that James always stayed in when he was here. But she didn't stay away. Once she was done, once she had judged that James would have reached her mother's office, she headed to listen outside the door.

There were three entrances into her mother's study, but Sam chose to linger outside the one that almost everyone used. She had been able to hear their raised voices from down the hall.

"She is fine, James. Not a scratch on her." Her mother sounded calm, but was clearly tense.

"You murdered a man right in front of your ten year old daughter, Helen!"

Sam couldn't remember the last time she had heard James raise his voice like that.

"He was far from innocent." Helen snapped.

"That is not the point! Samantha is a child. You should not have brought her along to something like that in the first place, let alone killed a man in front of her."

Sam edged closer to look around the doorframe. The two adults were standing and facing each other, looking angry.

"I did not plan on killing him!" Helen said, the snap still in her tone.

"That does not make it better." James took a step towards Helen. "Why did you do it?"

Sam was shocked to see her mother stutter. For the look on her face to change. She didn't have an answer to that. Sam had no idea what her mother's motives for killing David had been, but she had thought that her mother would at least know. But it seemed that she didn't.

"I...David was always rude. Suggestive. He took it one to far. Was too suggestive. The way he always looked at me. The way he looked at Samantha. His comments..."

"Did that mean he deserved you killing him?"

"At the time, it seemed the thing to do." her mother said, seeming to regain her composure.

"Did you enjoy it?" James demanded.

"What?"

"Did you enjoy it, Helen?"

"Why on Earth would you ask me something like that, James?"

"You know why." James took another step closer, his voice a growl. "Tell me -if Samantha had not been there, would you have taken it further? If I had been here instead of London, would I have walked in on White Chapel?"

"James. Do not go there." Helen snarled.

"Would I have?"

"No! I am not like that. I am not him. You know me, James!"

"Less and less every year, it would seem."

"James."

Helen looked wounded.

"It's true. You're murdering men in front of your daughter. This is not acceptable, Helen!"

"Do not tell me how to raise my daughter! I didn't want her to see that!"

"You don't care that she did."

"She needs to learn about that sort of thing sooner or later. Sooner than I intended, perhaps, but-"

"When I leave, I want to take Samantha back to London with me."

Sam felt a jolt of shock at these words. She watched her mother's face drain of color.

"What?"

"She saw you murder a man, Helen. You are pushing her too far. She would be better off in London for the time being."

Helen's color returned and anger flooded her features.

"You want to take my daughter away from me?" she snapped, voice low and dangerous.

"Not permanently, Helen. But she should not stay here. Pull yourself together. Figure things out. But do not make her suffer while you do." James's voice was flat. Final.

"She is my child, James."

"Then treat her like she is! Dear God, Helen! She was covered in a dead man's blood and you are the reason! She saw you slash his throat and shoot him! What sort of enviornment is that for a little girl?!"

"She is staying here. You are not taking her away from me."

"If I try?"

"You would dare stand against me, James?"

"In the interest of a child? Indeed I would. I would take it to the Network."

"Is that what this is, James? A power play? Take my child and my Network? You stand as my second-in-command."

"I would cede both back to you in a heartbeat. But you need time. This is not all right. Whatever has caused this, Helen-"

"This is me, James! Perhaps I went too far, but you are not taking my child from me."

"She-"

Helen moved to slap James. Sam flinched, but the blow never landed. James, with surprising agility, caught her wrist. The two adults stared each other down. James slowly released Helen's wrist. Helen lowered her hand and balled her hands in the fabric of her skirt.

"I know that you love her, Helen. And loving her means that you need to do what is best for her."

"I am her mother. What is best for her is my decision. To be with me."

Sam couldn't take it anymore. Instead of going into the room to try and put the argument between the adults to rest like she wanted to, she turned and ran away. She didn't stop until she had reached the sublevels and slipped into the room where the cryogenic container was kept.

She sat beside it and pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the dials miserably.

Sam was freaked out by what her mother had done, but she wasn't certain that she wanted James to whisk her off to London with him. This was her home. And, no matter what had happened, her mother was her mother. It was all too confusing. Sam didn't want to be here, but at the same time she did. She wasn't certain she wanted to leave. But she wanted things to be different.

She pressed her fingers against the container and fanned them.

"You're lucky." she whispered to her sister. "You aren't here right now. You don't have to deal with this. You didn't have to see. And you didn't make them argue."

Sam had never seen her mother and godfather argue like that. With raised voices and venom in their tones. Anger. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

"What will happen if he takes me away?"

Helen wasn't the only driving force between Sam feeling reluctant on the idea of James taking her back to London. This was her home. And while she may have felt removed from the abnormals here, they were her family, in a way. She also didn't want to leave the Big Guy. And what would happen with her mother if James took her?

Her sister had no answers for her. Sam sat in the solitude of the room for quite some time. The door opened again after over an hour and she jolted upright, staring. It was just James. Sam stared at him. She didn't say anything. He walked over and, after a moment, eased himself down on the floor a few feet away from her.

"I remember the day we made this." he said to Sam conversationally, indicating the container with the tilt of his head. "Your mother was so afraid. So determined to make certain the two of you were safe. The day I removed the two of you from your mother's womb, I believed that I may kill you."

Sam had heard this story. She couldn't remember when she had first been told that her mother had frozen her to keep her safe. But she didn't interrupt James. He had told her stories of her mother's past and his all her life and his voice was soothing.

"You didn't." she said, to prompt him forward.

"No. Every time Helen and I upgraded and improved it, there was a part of me that knew that fear all over again. You were only embryos, but you were babies at the same time. Hers. It was a very...strange thought. Realization. I am a scientist, but I could not help but view it that way. I know that it was nothing compared to how your mother felt."

"Why did you let her unfreeze me?"

James heaved a sigh.

"Perhaps that was a mistake on my part, Samantha. But your mother...at the time, I did not believe things would be like this. It did not seem a horrible idea. Though I worried how you would be, alone. She had initially thought to unfreeze your sister as soon as possible, if carrying you went well."

Sam hadn't heard that before. She stared at the container. Something had gone wrong, obviously. One twin was still sitting on ice ten years later.

"Why me?"

"We agreed you would be the better choice."

"Why?"

"You were the larger of the embryos. Most likely the strongest. It was logical."

Ah. her mother loved hitting her with logic as being the reason for things. And Sam couldn't argue with logic. It was how she looked at things.

"Are you taking me to London?" she asked.

James closed his eyes with a sigh. He didn't bother to ask her if she had been listening. He had to have known that it had been likely she would try to listen.

"It is up for debate. I believe it would be best for you. To take you now. Your mother would follow in the summer, as she always does. But it would be best for you to be away from her for a time, I believe."

Sam felt tears well in her eyes and she was mortified. She ducked her head.

"I don't hate her." she told James.

"Dearheart, I never thought you did."

"Should I?" Sam burst out. "I hate so much of what she does. I like learning to fight and I don't. I hate that she wants me to take over without even asking me what I want. And she killed... I hate a lot of it, but I don't think I hate her. I just want to know why."

Sam hugged her knees to her chest.

"I do not know. All I know is she was not always like this, Samantha."

Sam sniffed and wiped at her eyes. She wanted to launch herself into James's arms again, but she didn't. She had no idea what to feel. What to want. Other than the fact that she wanted to stop feeling the blood on her face. Stop seeing it when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

"What will she do if you take me?"

"I think she will see the logic of the argument." James paused. "You need to understand. I do not want to make it permanent. She was not always like this. It is my sincere hope that she can change again."

"Will she want to?" Sam asked bitterly.

Her mother seemed firm in her beliefs. And Sam couldn't shake the image of her mother actually enjoying killing David from her mind.

James didn't answer.

She had been expecting that.

XXXXXXX

Sam avoided both her mother and James for the rest of the day and well into the evening. She didn't want to talk to them. She most certainly didn't want to speak with her mother. She was going to have to, sooner or later.

She had dinner with the Big Guy and laid out what she had overheard and what she and James had talked about. He wanted her to go. He wasn't swayed by the fact that Sam didn't want to leave him. He thought it would be best for her. He thought she needed to talk to her mother as well. Sam supposed it probably was best. She couldn't keep avoiding her mother forever and she was almost afraid of what things would be like when she wasn't able to.

The Big Guy and James both bid her goodnight, the Big Guy giving her a slap over the head affectionately and James actually coming into her room and telling her a story, like he had used to do when she was little. Sam took comfort in it.

And still woke up frantically rubbing at her face to get off blood that wasn't there.

Sam sat up in bed, breathing hard, hair sticking to her face with a sheen of sweat. Her room was mostly dark, light coming through the window from the city. She hugged herself and let out a breath, trying to steady her pounding heart. She couldn't go to her mother with a nightmare. Not this nightmare. She didn't want to disturb the Big Guy either. If she went to James, she would just worry him more.

She lay back down, pulling her blankets up to her chin and closing her eyes. It didn't work. Sam had no idea how long she lay there, trying to sleep but unable to, her mind racing with the images of that night.

Sam eventually slipped out of bed. Pulled on shoes and a jacket. She slipped out of her room. She had a telescope set up on the roof. If she couldn't sleep, she might as well look at the stars. That usually calmed her. The telescope, oddly, had been a birthday gift from her mother three years earlier.

Sam remembered her mother helping her set it up that night and looking through it with her, naming the constellations and stars. She had known about Sam's longing to study the stars. That made Sam frown a little. Even three years ago, there had been brighter spots to her mother than there were now. The bright spots were becoming further and further apart.

She shoved those thoughts out of her mind, because they just complicated things. But it was one her favorite memories. A memory where her mother had just seemed like a mom. It was a sharp, jarring contrast to what was going on now.

She walked through the Sanctuary undisturbed and walked up the stairs to the roof, opening the door. Sam froze, because the roof was not as empy as she had thought it would be. She had forgotten that this was one her mother's favorite spots to think. She thought to slip away, but Sam stepped forward, because something was obviously wrong. And, despite everything, this was her mother.

Helen usually just stood on the parapet, watching the city. Tonight, however, she walking back and forth across it, arms stretched out, jumping over the small gaps and losing her balance a little before continuing across it. When she reached the end, she turned back.

"Mum?" Sam said tentatively.

Her mother looked at her.

"There you are, Samantha. I was wondering when I would see you again."

Sam's first reaction was to be insulted by this, but there was still something off about her mother, so she tried to tamp it down.

"I didn't know you were up here."

Helen snorted.

"Of course you didn't. If you'd known, you would keep hiding."

"I...Mum. You killed that man!"

"I know what I did."

"And I..." Sam swallowed. She couldn't explain, not really.

All the emotions inside of her were in a complicated, tangled ball. She couldn't unwind it. She hadn't tried, because she didn't even know where to start. Her eyes dipped down to the roof by the parapet. There was a glass and a bottle. It hadn't occurred to her before, because she had never seen it before, but her mother was drunk. Or close enough that it didn't matter.

Sam's heart leapt into her throat and pulsed there as her mother continued her perilous back and forth across the parapet.

"Can you come down?" she asked.

Helen glanced at her, then seemed to dismiss the question with a flick of her head.

"Do you need anything, darling?" she asked instead.

Sam was surprised by this question. She had to think.

"I want to know why." she said, forcing her voice to be stronger than she felt.

Her mother laughed.

"Of course you do. But you will not be happy with the answer. The truth is -I'm not certain. It seemed like a good idea. The thing to do. He had it coming, sooner or later."

Sam was chilled by the response and stared at her mother. She had no idea why she had expected any other answer. Her mother paused and looked at her.

"I'm surprised that it bothers you so much. I suppose I believed you had more of your father in you than you do."

Sam's stomach knotted and shrunk.

"Because he was a serial killer?"

Her mother looked stunned and stared at her. Sam had heard her and James discussing it years ago. She had never told her mother. Her mother had only given her vague things about her father when she had asked. Sam had always hoped Helen would tell her. Apparently not.

"How do you know that?"

Sam ignored the question, even as the color drained from Helen's face.

"So the Ripper's daughter is just supposed to be okay with killing?" Sam spat.

"Samantha-"

"I know what he was, Mum! Did you really think I would be like him?"

"Darling, no. Not like that. Admittedly, I did hope there were some aspects that you had inherited. But his predilection for bodies and blood? No."

Sam wasn't certain she believed that. She stood there, shaking a little. She felt like the crack between her and her mother had just spread further into a rift. She wasn't sure which one of them had grabbed the edges and pulled.

"Are you going to let me go with James?" she asked.

Helen stared at her for another few moments.

" 'Let you go'? Does that mean you want to?" she asked.

Sam shrugged. Her mother continued her perilous path across the parapet.

"You are my daughter!" she cried, turning her face to the sky. "No one has the right to take you away from me."

So that was how it was going to be. Her mother was going to try and guilt her into taking her side. Sam wrapped her arms around herself and said nothing. There was no reasoning with her mother under normal circumstances. Now with alcohol and apparent emotional distress thrown into the mix, there was no telling what might happen.

"Do you have the right to cover me in blood?" Sam asked, having no idea where the boldness came from.

Helen spun on her heel, so close to the edge that Sam thought she was going to pitch over it and her heart stopped. Her mother maintained her balance and stared down at her. She was shaking.

"Do you not understand, Samantha? If you are not prepared, the world is a danger. Especially to you. You're a little girl. It will take you alive if it has the chance."

"Is that why you killed him? Because he called me a 'pretty little thing'? Did you think that he was going to hurt me?"

And if she had, why had her mother taken her along in the first place?

"No."

Sam felt tears welling in her eyes again. She had no idea why. She had no idea what she wanted from her mother, not really. Just...not this.

Her mother stepped off the parapet and walked over to her, staring down at her. Sam stared back, her whole body tensing. Her mother just stared at her, then reached out and stroked a hand down Sam's hair, the gesture unexpectedly tender.

"Do you want to go?"

Sam wished that she wouldn't ask that question again.

"Mum-"

"Do you want to go, Samantha? Do you want to run away with James because I made a mistake? Because I've somehow failed you?"

A tear ran down Sam's face. It was at least partially spurred by anger. She hated that her mother was presenting her with these questions. She hated that her mother had put them in this situation in the first place. Helen gently wiped the tear away.

"I just want you be better." Sam whispered.

Her mother's expression stilled as she stared down at her and Sam knew she had said the wrong thing.

"What is so wrong with me that you need to go across a continent and an ocean to get away from me, Samantha?"

Another tear spilled down Sam's face. Helen turned away from her, resuming her place on the parapet. Somehow, that action made Sam feel abandoned.

"You killed someone."

"I have before. I will again."

"This time was different."

Helen's shoulders stiffened. She wasn't pacing the parapet now. She was just staring out over the city. Sam sniffed hard, wanting to both hug her and run away.

"Go." her mother said.

"What?" Sam asked, wiping at her face.

"With James. Go to London."

"Mum-"

"Go, Samantha. You can return in the fall. If you wish to."

The last four words speared into Sam's heart. This was so unfair. She needed to go, but wanted to stay. Her mother needed her to stay -for whatever reason- and was telling her to go. She was acting like Sam was being ripped away from her. Making her feel guilty for it. Like what she had done wasn't enough to warrant such a concern.

Sam felt so, so small. Abandoned and loved. Sad and afraid. Confused and frustrated.

She couldn't say any of that to her mother.

"But, Mum-"

"You've grown up enough not to need me every day. Go with James. I'll arrange for it tomorrow."

That would be cutting James's business here short. Sam was stunned by the turn around. She stood there, shivering. Her mother was ignoring her. She started to walk along the parapet again, her arms lowered this time. Giving her more chance to fall. She flicked a glance at Sam.

"Do you need something else, darling?"

Sam glared at her, tears still in her eyes, still hugging herself. She was angry and hurt. So she decided to return the favor.

"Not from you." she spat.

Her mother froze and looked at her. Sam kept her glare in place.

"Go. Now." Helen ordered.

"Glad to."

Sam spun on her heel and stalked back to the door. She glanced back at her mother as she yanked it open and saw her wobble on the edge.

Sam yanked open the door and ran through, tears starting to run down her face faster than before.

Author's Note: Wanted to ignore the fallout from chapter one, couldn't. So here it is! Next chapter will take a slight time jump. When a time jump occurs, the year (and sometimes more) will be listed at the top. Chapters will most likely continue to be this far apart.

Watson is also one of my favorite Sanctuary characters and I think he and Carter would have liked each other.

All questions, comments, and reviews welcome at any time.

Please review!