On the second day of Christmas my true love sent to me...

Two Turtle Doves

Drama/Angst

London, 1900

"Really Helen, do you think Jack is going to have any appreciation for a perfectly written Christmas card? It wouldn't surprise me if he tore it into shreds first."

Her wide blue eyes turned on him with a modicum of surprise from above the flap of the envelope, "James, its Christmas! Besides which, we've been leaving the adnormals out of our celebrations, on the presumtion that they have no interest in participating."

"Well seen as though most of them could only appreciate it on the same level as a house cat I hardly think that warrants concern." He smirked sarcastically, fixing himself a glass of brandy and watching her seal her seasonal greetings. "Most of them could hardly be called Christians."

She gave him a remonstrating look, clasping the card in her hand a little tightly, "Yes, but who's to say that all this time Jack and Alice haven't been rather offended at being left to their own devices at Christmas? Perhaps they would enjoy the festivities immensely, and we've been depriving them all this time!"

James' beady eyes narrowed at her, his dark moustache twitching in thought, "Hmm, I still think Jack would rather be jumping rooftops than climbing down chimneys."

The thought made Helen chuckle, despite her disapproval. "Give it a chance James." Turning to leave, her envelopes slipped her grip, a few strays tumbling to the ground.

"Here, allow me." James jumped in to pick them up, noticing instantly that she had lunged for them first with particular urgency. Making sure to pick them up before her, he watched the expression on her face flick from irritation, to desperation, fear… and then nonchalance, no… challenging. She was challenging him to say something, to air his observations and put his foot in it, and give her a reason to be angry and dodge the real question.

He turned the letters in his hand and noticed that one of them was not like the others. The paper was more yellow, specked with soot and dirt, the ink of a coarse make and scrawled upon the paper with a ill-used pen. He suspected he knew the handwriting, though its slant had changed, and the spacing was smaller – and his stomach dropped. Looking Helen in the eyes, never leaving them, he fingered out the offending envelope and lifted the already opened flap. Who would look away first? He wondered absently, realising that if he wanted to read what correspondence Helen had received from Druitt it would have to be him.

Her eyes darted down to the page once he had started reading, and she felt dumb, physically incapable of doing or saying anything. She'd gotten it this morning, snuck into her top draw - a discovery which had sent a bolt of fear through her so strong she thought herself in the grip of a heart attack. But of course he could appear in her rooms at any time. He knew her house, knew her rooms, intimately. He would always be able to find his way back.

She was trembling at the thought, and yet, it wasn't entirely horrible. Even now, she couldn't admit it aloud, but… the thought of him being there, so close to her, drawn back by a force so powerful - it gave her an odd, perverse sort of pleasure alongside the torment.

In the grip of it she hadn't quite registered James' bitter expression, or the way his hands had tightened around the paper, the disappointment in his voice.

"You do know he's only trying to lure you in?"

She didn't respond, merely pressed her lips together. She couldn't give up, how could she give up? John hadn't.

"Helen," he implored, "who knows what sick game has taken his fancy this time?" He tried to gauge her expression and shook his head as he realised her frame of mind. "It is much too dangerous to toy with wishful thinking – there's absolutely nothing to indicate that he has changed-"

"I don't expect him to," she admitted quietly, taking him by surprise.

His thunder faltered slightly, "Then why do I still get the feeling that you'd quite readily take up his invitation, hmm?"

"James." Her eyes locked onto his with all seriousness, "He can't do anything to me skating on the River Thames that he couldn't do right now, or anytime, right here in the Sanctuary. The only thing keeping him away from us is himself – surely you had already realised that?"

He had, but it still didn't make him feel any better about Helen putting herself in way of harm. In fact, he was considering writing to Tesla and asking whether there was any electrical field they might be able to install which might keep Druitt out in the cold like the murderous dog he was – and give her some shelter from his ubiquitous presence.

"Besides it's Christmas," she sighed, hiding the tremor in her voice and hands which indicated her own concerns at her plan of action. "No one deserves to be alone at Christmas."

"I beg to differ." Watson muttered stiffly, shaking his head for the umpteenth time. "Can't you see this is just madness, absolute madness! It is a lapse one way, and then the other – you simply cannot allow yourself to keep being drawn in-"

"He needs our help James. Whether he wants it or not, he is not, can never be, beyond our assistance – it doesn't matter what he's done," Watson baulked instantly at the statement, "isn't that what we always tell any, every creature coming here?!" She pressed, "It's not the past, it's the future that matters most-"

"And it's the future that he keeps ripping into paper snowflakes every, single, time you come within a whiff of the Druitt we used to know Helen. John is already gone." She pulled away from him as though she'd been stung, "You are simply denying-"

"Denying what? That he's a killer?" she locked her stony gaze upon him, "I don't think I will ever forget that, but thank you," she narrowed her eyes at him, drawing herself upright, haughty and proper, "thank you for reminding me. Otherwise I might've forgotten the night I witnessed him slitting a girl's throat."

Watson growled in frustration, "And what makes you think that this time will turn out any differently?!"

Angrily she collated her envelopes and removed the letter from his hand with a jerk, "Nothing James! Absolutely bloody nothing." She started to sweep around him, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes, "It still doesn't change the fact that I have to try."

I owe him that at least, was the one part of that sentence that she couldn't admit aloud.

Author's Note: I was originally going to make this a tale of two Helen-s, and show you how differently her future self and past-self celebrated this year… But then I got sucked into the drama! And it kind of matches the theme perfectly actually. Two Turtle Doves represents the Old and New Testament – one being all about the obeying and the fire and brimstone, and the other being all about the love and the salvation and redemption. No prizes for guessing who is exemplifying which approaches here. ;)

Jack, of course, is Spring-Heeled, and if he was their first inhabitant in the Sanctuary [as Tempus informs us] then I'd like to point out to the fan community at large that before 1898 the Sanctuary as an organisation or entity did not exist... and now I'm going to dash off and edit my Griffin stories to reflect that!