Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks to some recent requests for more, I'll continue this story. There should be six chapters in total, but I may be slow. Bug me and I'll write faster. Thanks to all who review, you rock! And this has no beta, so it's a mess. Next up should be Nigel.

The man who was once Gregory Magnus had forgotten what the surface was like. The scent of fresh roses. The odd rolling waddle of a fat pigeon. The glint of sunlight off his wife's, or his daughter's, blonde curls.

Although, he wasn't at the surface, not yet. He was in a blessed in-between world, standing at a hedge of richly scented roses that were blood red on the inside and pristine white on the outside. The murmur of happy voices filled the air, waiting for events to come, a crowd of witnesses gathered on benches on the other side of this living wall. But he stood here alone with his thoughts, his only companion a white pigeon with gray wings that seemed to cock her head at him and stare with intense curiosity. Most likely one of Tesla's pets. Odd man.

Guilt coiled in his stomach, and he shoved it down. Guilt had no place in this day.

He'd known he was wrong, making his disapproval so clear. It was 1878, and his 28 year old daughter, a confirmed spinster who was only interested in a life of a mind, suddenly spent all her time with a boy...no a man, who treated her like an equal, but whose eyes had held desire. He was a foreigner and full of himself. He embraced change and derided tradition. He was perfect for Helen, but he set Gregory's teeth on edge. He'd made his displeasure known, but he had truly thought that he was going to end up with a Serbian for a son-in-law. But it never happened.

James Watson had been a very interesting man, and he'd enjoyed their debates. He would not have been a bad option, but the man did not bring out Helen's true vivacity. Watson had quite obviously loved his Helen, but in the way a man loves a beautiful idea or a stunning work of art or a noble cause, not a flesh and blood female.

Then, when Montague Druitt had come courting, at first Gregory had been relieved. He was the perfect gentleman, who had the impeccable breeding and manners that any man would want for his daughter, and the intellect that Helen required for her passionate mind. But there was something that niggled him, something dark and twisted that lurked within the man, that made him think twice about letting her alone with that man. He'd shaken it off, allowed their engagement, ignored the sorrow pulsating from the man who had turned into a vampire - a man who had everything Gregory had wanted to know about, but who radiated frustration and stilfed brilliance and need with every breath.

He'd seen Druitt go mad, and Helen's heart broken. He'd seen Nikola Tesla leave London for America.

And he'd done nothing for his daughter but leave himself. He'd build his tests at Bhallassam, forcing Tesla and Helen into some kind of proximity. He knew they should be together, that without his interference maybe his little girl would never have been hurt.

But guilt had no place on this day.

He and his pigeon friend stood at the gate of an immense underground garden, the whisper of fountains and the murmur of the waiting crowd reaching them from over the rose hedges that had been bred to thrive amongst the orchids and fungi that were native to this underground haven.

It wasn't Praxis, but his little girl had created a true Sanctuary under the Welsh hills, and in her face he could see all the beauty and brilliance of her mother, combined with his own drive. He'd almost forgotten just how proud he was of her. How much he missed her.

It had been fifty years since he'd investigated a cave on the Sinai peninsula and had ended up a prisoner of Praxis. Fifty years since he'd been so close to the surface. He'd been so immersed in trying to learn everything, to take in the unique and brilliant world he'd discovered, that years seemed to go by when he'd entirely forgotten what life was like in England. His dead wife, his beloved daughter, all of it had been pushed into a tiny corner of his mind. They would not let him return to his life, given what he knew of Hollow Earth. And he'd thought Helen was long dead by the time he'd heard differently.

The High Council had received a coded message from the surface. There were rumors of a massive war above, one that would rock the entire planet. There were energy signatures that had truly frightened the people of Praxis. Tunnels that had once allowed a tiny amount of traffic to the surface for rare minerals and biolgicals where shut down entirely. To have received a message from so close to the surface so soon after such a war, the Council had been more than suspicious. When the message had asked for him by name, he'd been brought forward, interogated and belittled just as he had been when he'd first been brought here, so long ago.

But it was all worth it, to know that his Helen was still alive. That Adam Worth wasn't just a dangerous madman who had bamboozled the Praxian authorities into revealing just a fraction of their scientific secrets. Worth had said that he knew an evil woman who never aged, and that his daughter was a ruthless tyrant who refused her help to the needy. He'd known Worth was a liar, and that his Helen was far from evil. Controlling, perhaps. Immortal? They had never discovered her gift from the Source Blood. Perhaps she was somehow still alive. He had not dared to hope that he would get to see her one day.

Then, she'd asked for him by name and hinted that she wanted him as a emissary to warn of dangers to those below. She said she needed him and only him. And he'd been allowed to come so close to the surface, and to walk into this vast cavern and see the world she'd built and look into her blue eyes and hold her once again in his arms.

But he was here to give her away.

There were soft footsteps, and there she was, her reptilian friend by her side. She was truly a remarkable woman, his little girl. Helen smiled with her entire being as she took hold of his arm, and Gregory ceased trying to wrap his mind around the complexities that had brought them here to this moment. He looked up for a moment at the soaring stalagtites that gave this cavern the feeling of a giant cathedral, and the artifical sun against the far wall completed the look with it's gentle rose-orange glow, like light through a stained glass window.

He looked back to his daughter and smiled, a tear threatening to fall in the corner of his eye. Her hair was in thick dark, a rich chocolate that surprisingly suited her. Her gown was unconventional to say the least, but he knew that the Serbian would be struck dumb by the thing. But her eyes shone, a happy blush upon her cheeks. She was filled with a life and hope that he'd long forgotten could exist. In this moment, his daughter gave him new life, and new determination. There was so much still to be done.

He passed a hand to gather that tear and smile broadly. "Come now, my dear girl. You finally settle on one of your men, I think he's waited long enough."

She laughed, a rich sound full of layers of meaning he might never tease out. She shook her head and smiled mysteriously, and gestured to the tall, reed thin abnormal who seemed to suddenly guard the garden gates, who placed his webbed hands on the handles.

"I love you, Father. And I missed you." She tugged him forward, but he was rooted to the spot.

He clutched at her hand, and let his tears break free. "Even when I forget all that I was, Helen, I love you. Don't ever think differently, my dear girl."

She sucked in a breath, and he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she nodded at him, a small careful smile on her face.

He placed her hand back on his elbow, and nodded at the silent man at the gates. He threw open the gates, and the trilling of unearthly flutes began, signaling the entrance of the bride. She took the first step forward, and this time, he followed.