Fanfiction: Ma Fille
Title: Ma Fille
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Helen/John (past) Ashley, James, Declan
Summary: A 7 year old Ashley yearns for the truth of her father throughout a dreary winter in London
The drift of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue floats hypnotically through the hallways, wrapping itself around her soothingly as she cuddles her daughter, away from the party.
“Mama?” asks Ashley gently. She smiles against her silky blonde locks, twists a strand behind her daughter’s tiny ear, and breathes out slowly.
“Tell me a story?” she asks, and turns her light baby blues towards her.
“Which, darling?” she whispers. “Shall it be fairies, or monsters or elves in woodlands?”
Ashley smiles charmingly and shakes her head, twisting the scarlet silk of her mothers dress between her fists. “About you, at your parties.”
“Me? They’re very boring parties. You wouldn’t like them one bit.”
“Yes I would!” exclaims Ashley, slightly shocked. “You get to wear pretty dresses and eat yummy food all night. And no one tells you what time to go to bed!”
Helen laughs lightly, the cadence mingling with the dying wisps of music still drifting towards the room, and hugs her daughter closer.
“Did you meet my father at a party?” Ashley asks suddenly, and shuffles as her mother falls rigid.
She’s been asking often, of this man. Such a mystery to the young seven year old. One minute she’s sure he’s a pirate, then an explorer, then an astronaut, and it’s all Helen can do to quell the image of young Molly sprawled amongst her own blood.
Ashley will never know the truth of her father.
“ I did, actually,” Helen murmurs as she calms.
Soon she is weaving a tale; of corsets and cast iron curls. Men buttoned up to their neckties, as horses and carriages carry them all off to dances, like Cinderella at the ball. There is a man and a woman, and his name is James, and Ashley laughs magically as she realises her uncle is part of the story. The man and the woman dance, and talk, and when James spots his old school pal across the room, she is immediately swept along to meet him.
“Is that him, my father?” asks Ashley excitedly, and Helen blinks as the rush of a string quartet mingling with James’ babbles halts. “What did you think of him?” her daughter is instead asking.
She replies honestly. “I thought he was very tall. And looked rather nervous.”
Ashley will never know the truth of Jack, but sometimes Helen thinks she might let her know small pieces of John.
---
They are in London over the winter. James has discovered a breed of rather remarkable creatures - part snake part spider (and snider, Ashley snickers under her breath) - and Helen feels it essential she is there to help catalogue the rather terrifying abnormals.
Ashley is left to her own devices, and runs amok up and down the halls. It is when she unleashes the small fire-breathing lizards (or fizzards, she giggles) that Uncle James calls upon his young intern, Declan, to keep her occupied.
Declan is barely 16, and believes the key to all children’s happiness is a park. Ashley is sorely disappointed with him.
Instead she finds amusement traversing the icy depths of secluded woodland, losing Declan as the poor boy struggles to follow. She is kicking her feet vibrantly from tree branches, waving a long stick she found (and quickly transformed into a sword) above her head, and yelling loudly to anyone who may dare pass her domain, when the crunch of footfall behind her has her swinging dangerously in surprise.
She falls backwards, as she twists, and barely catches sight of the stranger some meters away as her breath catches in her throat. She scrunches her eyes tight in terror; sure she is about to crash to earth, but instead lands safely in the arms of the stranger; his long limbs pulling her close as weight returns to her body and she erupts in tears.
He is cradling her, rubbing a hand soothingly up her back as she shuffles in closer to his winter coat. She can feel the scratch of his beard tingling roughly against her forehead, and as she breathes in deep, the aromatic whirl of ink rushes through her. He smells like Uncle James library, the library back at home, but with a subtle hint of soap.
She sniffs gently as her tears subside and rubs at her nose.
“That was quite a fall, little one,” he breathes quietly, and brushes a wayward lock from her forehead. She nods in agreement and grips the lapels of his coat, not quite ready to be placed on the ground.
“What is your name?” he asks, as he bends to pick up her fallen rapier.
“Ashley,” she murmurs, and takes it back gratefully.
“And what is this?” he asks, motioning to her blade.
“My sword. I was protecting my kingdom from intruders. Like you,” she replies in earnest.
The man laughs heartily. His nose and eyes crinkle upwards as he smiles and Ashley can just make out the stretch of a deep scar running along his cheek beneath his beard.
“Quite a hefty knife for someone your age,” he rumbles in amusement, and Ashley bristles at the comment.
“It’s not a knife, it’s a sword,” she tells him. He arches an eyebrow in response.
“If you insist, little one.”
“And I’m not little!”
“No, you’re rather hefty in fact,” he informs her, and drops her gently to the ground. He stays at her height, however, and Ashley finds herself studying him closely.
“You never told me your name,” she tells him eventually, as he continues gazing at her fondly.
“My name is Montague, or Monty if you prefer.”
“That’s a stupid name,” Ashley replies, wrinkling her nose. She can hear Declan calling to her in the distance, and scowls as the noise creeps closer.
“Your friend is looking for you,” Monty smiles, and reaches out to straighten the ribbon in her hair. “Mind he doesn’t trespass on your kingdom, little princess, or you might find use for your sword.”
She smiles brightly, and for a second Monty glances away, blinking.
“Do you come here everyday?” she asks him, as he stretches upwards. He’s magnificently tall, she realises, and his brown locks blow gently in the icy breeze.
“I’ll tell you what,” he murmurs, and pulls a pocket watch from inside his coat. “This is mine, but will you hold onto it for me. That way I’ll have to come back and visit you here one day.”
“But I don’t live here!” exclaims Ashley, hand already folding upon the watch. She can feel the cool metal vibrate beneath her fingertips with each second, like the steady beat of her heart. “I live in America. I’m visiting my Uncle James.”
Monty smiles fondly, and nods. “I can’t promise which day I’ll be here. But I’ll be back before you and your mother leave. I promise. Now run along before your friend finds your kingdom. And best be quiet about the watch, yes?”
Ashley nods quickly, and smiles at him before turning.
She’s halfway towards Declan, with the steady tick of Monty’s pocket watch stuffed in her jacket, before she realizes he knew she only had a mother. She turns swiftly to him but he is gone. Vanished, and she is left standing in the crisp winter frost, leaves crunched bitterly under foot.
“You’re more trouble than the bloody elemental James brought back from the West Indies last weekend!” yells Declan in annoyance, leaning his hands against his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
There is no way he’s explaining this little mishap to Dr. Magnus.
“Promise I won’t tell your mum you ran away if you promise not to tell anyone I lost you.”
Ashley ponders the thought for a moment, and closes her fist over the watch in her pocket.
“Promise you’ll bring me to the park everyday?” she asks in return.
Declan nods in relief.
Ashley smiles.
---
In the evening she curls across a rug by the fire and watches a small beetle march its way across the floorboards. She follows it, small body wriggling further and further from the mat until Uncle James looks up from his reading and calls at her to stop crawling on the floor.
“You have perfectly good legs for a reason,” he winks at her, and she smiles back.
She waits until he is thoroughly engrossed once more before inching back over to her beetle friend.
She’s never seen anything like him before and suddenly wonders if he’s an abnormal. Perhaps the first of his species ever found! And wouldn’t that be a surprise for mummy, if she could catch abnormals just like the adults.
“Come here mister beetle,” she whispers softly, wondering briefly if he understands English, as her hand slowly creeps across the floor.
She is inches from him when mummy enters the room and the beetle is jolted with the movement. He quickly scurries into a crevice in the wall and Ashley sits up in annoyance, scowling at her mother as she bends over Uncle James shoulder.
They share a laugh and Ashley has the undeniable urge to throw herself at them, stop them smiling and laughing over their big books and abnormals and the Sanctuary, so they’ll maybe notice her.
This is why little girls have mothers and fathers; she realises slowly. So when one is busy with work the other is always be there to play with her.
She stamps her foot loudly, only serving to earn her a reprimand, and so she hastily deposits herself on the floor once more, glaring in defiance at Uncle James.
It is then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices the slight scrawl of a name etched into the woodwork. Tiny and fading, it is hidden almost behind the table leg, but with a tiny shuffle Ashley iss able to free it enough to read.
“H.M,” she assumes I mummy, and, “J.D,” she breathes slowly, immediately bolting upright.
“Mummy! Who’s J.D?” she asks, barreling over to tug at her mother’s side.
She notices Helen go stiff. Uncle James drops his book to his lap and the adults share a glance that has annoyance flare in the young girl once more.
“Mama, they scratched their name on the wall next to yours. Who was it?”
“No one.”
Helen’s voice is cold. Loud. Runs straight through Ashley and makes her shiver. Like tiny icicles down her spine.
“Mama…” she murmurs, and jumps as Helen turns on her.
“Go to bed Ashley,” she informs quickly, but the little girl holds strong.
“Tell me.”
“Ashley. Bed now.”
“No! I want to know. Why won’t you tell me anything?”
“Ashley,” begins James. “Your mother said it was bedtime.”
Thick tears rim the edges of her lashes and with a shaking hand Ashley reaches for the watch stuffed in the depths of her pocket.
“You’re not my father and you can’t tell me what to do!” she yells harshly before running from the room.
She flings herself against her bed as the tears build thick and fast, remembering Monty’s strong grip on her as she’d fallen and the way James sometimes watches her and mummy, like he’s missing something.
She hates all of them, for not being him. And all she knows is that he was tall and sometimes looked nervous.
With a sob she curls beneath the covers and cries, gripping the watch tightly. And when her mother came minutes later to sooth her to sleep she closes her eyes tightly and refuses to open them. Lies as still as possible until she is sure her mother is gone.
And then she sleeps.
---
“Why do you want to go to the same park?” grumbles Declan despondently, letting himself be dragged behind the free spirited blonde wrapped head to toe in knitwear.
It’s bloody freezing outside - quite literally and figuratively - and this is not what he had signed up for when he’d followed his late father into the ‘abnormal family business’.
“Ashley-“
“Stay here and don’t follow me or I’ll tell mum that you leave me at the park each day to go meet your friends,” she informs strictly, as she has each day for the past week.
Declan rolls his eyes and nods.
“Promise you’ll be back in an hour.”
“I pinky swear.”
The little girl holds out a gloved pinky and wraps it around Declan’s own.
With a shake they go their separate ways
---
“Monty! Where are you?” Ashley calls listlessly, swinging her feet from her branch. For a week now she’s awaited the return of her friend, and each day he’s not appeared.
“You’re looking rather red, little one,” comments a voice from behind, and Ashley swivels quickly, sure to not fall this time.
“You came!” she exclaims, and holds her arms out to him. He smiles softly and reaches upwards, pulling her carefully down from the tree branch.
“Do you have my watch for me?” he asks and she nods quickly, pulling it from her coat.
“Keep it, little one. I have another.”
“Really?” she asks, enraptured.
“No sword today?” he comments instead. She shakes her head quickly and holds her hands out. “I can’t use a sword with gloves on. It’s too cold!”
Monty laughs quietly and bends down to her level.
She likes when he does that, it means she doesn’t have to look up to watch his face.
“I could teach you how to use it.”
“My sword?”
“Yes.”
“A proper one too?”
“Well, I could. But I don’t think your mother would like it very much.”
Ashley scrunches up her face in agreement. “How did you know I only had a mother?”
Monty’s face grows still before he glances down, ruffling the brittle leaves underfoot with the tips of his leather gloved fingers.
“I guessed,” he answers finally, and winks at her.
Ashley rolls her eyes.
“Surely you didn’t get that from your mother - that eye roll. Did you?” he rumbles in amusement. Ashley bristles in annoyance.
“No. She said I got it from my father,” she informs him. Which is a lie. All she knows of her father is that he was tall.
Such news seems to delight Monty however, as he continues chuckling.
“And what else do you know of your father, little one?” he asks. His eyes are crinkled again, and Ashley is struck by the need to run her finger down his weathered cheek. He reminds her of Uncle James, and her mother; his tone of voice, so deep and rasping, and his stance; tall and straight, though somehow relaxed.
“Nothing,” she replies, and glances down instead.
She senses the shift in him as soon as she mumbles. He goes stiff, and stands quickly, taking a deep breath.
Ashley rocks back a moment, suddenly afraid. He was a stranger, even if she did feel more comfortable with him than anyone. Anyone except Biggie. What she wouldn’t do to have the Big Guy standing by her right now.
“Well that seems a little unfair,” he finally murmurs, and sweeps his finger along Ashley’s cheek. She smiles shyly at him, and watches as he relaxes slowly, though he stays standing at his full height.
“You should ask your mother, little one.”
Ashley nods softly.
“I have to go, when do you return to America?”
“In three weeks. Mum has…work here until then.”
Monty smiles faintly. “Well then I might see you again.”
And with a twist of his coat, she watches as he disappears amongst the trees.
---
“Mummy,” whispers Ashley softly, tiptoeing into her mothers room. She is curled upon the large bed, seemingly asleep, though Ashley knows from experience that Helen is merely resting.
She still hasn’t apologized for yelling at Uncle James, and thus has steered clear of all unnecessary dealings with the adults.
“Mama,” she tries again, and crawls onto the bed. She shifts closer, until she is pressed against her mother’s side, and watches as her startling blue eyes blink open.
“Can I have a story, mummy?”
Helen breaks into a smile, and pulls the little girl close.
“What would you like?” she asks, as Ashley fits herself amongst her arms and the blankets. She stiffens, suddenly, and Helen glances down in anticipation.
“Mummy, I know you don’t like talking about it, but please, tell me about daddy?”
Helen pauses a moment, and drops a kiss to her daughters temple.
“He was a poet,” she begins. “And a teacher, and a lawyer, and sometimes he pretended to be a scientist.”
“Mummy!” Ashley laughs, easily, and as Helen breaths she feels the words come easier too.
If she closes her eyes and focuses on Ashley’s breathing she can almost forget the terrible happenings throughout Whitechapel. Can focus on John, her John, sprawled across a picnic blanket reading sonnets to the stars whilst she curled against his chest and named constellations.
How he’d weave tales of traversing the Dorset coast until they found a perfect beachside cottage. He’d spin tales of his childhood that sounded straight from Mark Twain, playing Robin Hood with Arthur and William, and locking poor Georgiana in the cupboard until one of them could rescue her.
How he’d delighted in teaching children, and delighted in defending the law, and could never decide between the two professions so instead played cricket on the weekends to ease his mind.
John laughed. Easily, and with anyone, she remembers. He hummed under his breath and recited Shakespeare at inopportune moments to distract her. Nikola and Nigel, and even James, had found him exasperating to the point of locking him from experiments, because his merriment could be too much for their scientific sobriety and they were tired of her giggling girlishly when ever he oafishly clambered through an test.
“Mummy, did you love him very, very much?” asks Ashley gently, as the little girl pats her cheek.
She rubs her nose against the child’s hand and hums in response. “I did, very much.”
“Were you very sad when he died?”
“Very. I’ve never been so sad.”
Ashley nods softly, and seemingly settled with such newfound knowledge of her father, lies down to sleep. Helen pulls her closer, wrapping both arms around her warm body, and closes her eyes in response, drifting back towards an Oxford summer and another body pressed tight to her own.
And by the door, hand clenched tightly, James blinks back tears his own.
---
“One hour.”
“Pinky swear”
And so concludes another week of traversing the icy wilderness.
Monty had turned up the day after Ashley had last seen him, bright and smiling and offering her a ride on his shoulders through the park that had her giggling madly. He’d pointed out ducks and geese and a squirrel and wove a tale of them all living in the park, escaping through the city during the night to find fun of their own.
He’d promised her he’d return again, before she left, and so she waits patiently by her tree, with his watch in hand, feeling each second tick by beneath her fingertips.
And as an hour passes, even though she’s promised Declan, she refuses to leave her tree until she’s seen him.
He’d promised her this week and it was Friday.
“Ashley, where are you?”
Declan was calling now, it had been an hour and a half, and she feels sick. Feels like her stomach is full and heavy and tears might spring to her eyes. She is going home, on Sunday, and he’d promised her he’d say goodbye.
“Ashley, what on earth are you doing?” asks Declan, coming up behind her. He grips her hand gently as she turns around and barely has time to speak before she’s burst into tears, wrapping herself against him as she sobs.
The poor boy stands still, quietly, and pats her back.
“He promised he’d meet me, he promised!” she sobs repetitively, and Declan feels a chill settle as he realises what he’d been allowing. He bends down quickly and grips her shoulders.
“Who Ashley, did he hurt you? Did he do anything, at all?”
“No!” she sobs, and wrestles his fingers away. “He was my friend, that was all. He told me stories about the ducks and was nice to me and gave me his watch to keep.”
Declan nods quickly, bundles her up and exits the park.
Never again is he babysitting for Dr. Magnus.
---
“And you’re sure nothing happened?”
Ashley hears voices murmuring gently, and tiptoeing across the carpet, leans her face to the door.
Uncle James and Declan are discussing something quietly.
“She promised me nothing happened. Just said he was her friend. I don’t even begin to know how to apologise, sir. I’ll pack my bags and be gone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” murmurs James. “You were careless and irresponsible, but Ashley Magnus is hardly the easiest of charges. I’ll go down there tomorrow, see what we’re dealing with.”
Monty! She realises. They’re talking about Monty! And Uncle James is going to see him tomorrow. Ashley bounds from the door towards her bedroom, catching mummy on her way and pushing her in quickly for a bedtime story.
The quicker she is asleep, the quicker the morning will appear.
---
It is a dreary day in London, notes Ashley, as she slowly makes her way towards the park. She’d slipped from the Sanctuary after Uncle James unnoticed, or so she hopes, telling mummy she was with Declan and Declan she was with Mummy and praying the two of them will not meet before she’s returned.
She can see the figure of Uncle James walk stoically down the street side in the distance. He’d barely spoken during breakfast, and Ashley had realized he’d not told mummy where he was going.
She pauses at the lights, waiting until they are green and crosses amongst the adults.
She reaches the park gates, finally, and then she runs.
---
It is the cool stretch of metal that takes him first by surprise. Not the telltale sound of teleportation. Even after 100 years he can still recall the titillating shiver of electricity down his spine.
Rather, it is that John’s first reaction is to press a cool blade to his throat from behind, his lithe bulk pressed firmly against James back.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her. I promise.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
A short chuckle. John had lost his rambunctious laughter with Jack.
“I didn’t even mean to meet her. But it was that or watch her crash to the ground, and I rather thought Helen would prefer her daughter didn’t break her neck.”
“She’s Helen’s daughter.”
“Is she now. Hair and eyes, I’ll give you that. And such stubbornness. There must be something of mine awaiting within her, however.”
“Helen’s daughter,” he repeats, loudly.
“Now, now James. No need to take that tone with me. You see I rather remember the little ones creation. Is it so wrong of me to want to see her in the flesh as well?” he drawls.
James swallows briefly, feels the blade twist suddenly, and blinks harshly before it is gone.
John steps from him, though not before pushing him to his knees.
“I was surprised, actually, that she waited this long. There was a stretch after the War where I was sure she’d lost too much to bear. Nikola gone, Nigel disappeared. Even you were off saving the world, or some such. I was sure she’d have to choose James. Death or a child. Child or death. “To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream; Aye, there's the rub” isn’t there James. She couldn’t choose either.”
“Thank you, by the way, for supporting her. Getting her through everything. It can’t have been easy. Watching her mourn another man, turn to other men, have another man’s child. One would think you a saint, Jimmy.”
Bile pits at the end of his throat, there is the slow rasp of his fingertips across metal, and with a twist he has the muzzle pointed at John’s temple.
He chuckles again.
“Maybe not a saint. Are you waiting then? Waiting for her to fall into you arms and pray you claim Ashley as your own. I mean really James, that’s a lot to hold out for; especially with a woman such as Helen. She’s awful stubborn.”
He is met with silence.
“Well this is rather tiresome,” he taunts. “Twice now I’ve had those most important to me press a gun to my face. Would you like the other cheek perhaps? Now there’s a thought. I’ll turn the other cheek for you Jimmy, if you only promise to aim.”
“You bastard,” murmurs James, “You-“
"Monty!"
It is a shattering moment. James’ hand trembles against the trigger as John’s face turns, silently, to the terrified little girl watching her uncle press a gun to her best friends head.
“Uncle James, please don’t,” she whimpers, and James’ heart breaks. The bastard has turned the most precious person in his life against him.
“He’s my friend. I’m sorry I lied to you and Declan and mummy. And I’m sorry I yelled at you that you weren’t my daddy,” John’s gaze flickers, falls upon him, and then turns once more to the shivering child. “I love you too, just like I love my daddy. And I love Monty too. He showed me the ducks in the pond and told me a story about how they walk up to Trafalgar Square each night, and watch the people from the statues and laugh and talk about us and how silly we all are.”
Ashley sniffles and steps closer, and James watches as she slowly unfolds her hand. John’s pocket watch, lies in her tiny fist, a present to him from James for his thirtieth birthday.
“If I give it back will you stop pointing the gun? Please Uncle James?”
“Ashley,” murmurs John, and James’ gaze turns cold.
“Step away from her.”
“James,” he growls. “Ashley, the watch is yours. But I won’t be able to see you again, little one. I came to say goodbye. Okay?”
He nods once and Ashley sniffles, nodding quietly in return.
James watches as John bit his lip softly, a gesture so reminiscent of days long forgotten he drops his gaze.
He cries out as John’s strong grip twists the gun from his hand, forcing him to the ground as Ashley cries out in terror. He glances up to the muzzle of a gun and beyond it, her tiny body twisting tight in John’s arm.
Ashley sobs loudly, pushing against Monty’s strong arms as Uncle James keeps his gaze on her. She feels Monty’s rough beard scratch against her forehead as he presses a kiss to her temple, murmuring gently to her in apology.
“Uncle James was trying to protect you ma fille, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, I was trying to hurt him.”
Ashley feels her heart lurch in her chest as she was thrown from his arms, colliding with Uncle James strong embrace, as the world seems to crackle past her.
She sobs loudly, gripping him tight before twisting to see Monty.
He is gone.
---
“Uncle James,” she murmurs gently, as he carries her slowly towards the Sanctuary. “I don’t want to tell mummy about today. It might make her cry.”
Uncle James sighs loudly, and nods in understanding.
“Let me take care of it sweetheart. I don’t want you to think or worry about today, yes?” he murmurs.
Ashley sniffles in agreement. She closes her eyes and listens to the steady thump of the machines keeping Uncle James alive. If concentrates she can pretend it is the watch, lost somewhere in the park.
“Thank you, Uncle James, for saving me,” she whispers finally.
James nods softly, “Always.”
...
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Helen/John (past) Ashley, James, Declan
Summary: A 7 year old Ashley yearns for the truth of her father throughout a dreary winter in London
The drift of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue floats hypnotically through the hallways, wrapping itself around her soothingly as she cuddles her daughter, away from the party.
“Mama?” asks Ashley gently. She smiles against her silky blonde locks, twists a strand behind her daughter’s tiny ear, and breathes out slowly.
“Tell me a story?” she asks, and turns her light baby blues towards her.
“Which, darling?” she whispers. “Shall it be fairies, or monsters or elves in woodlands?”
Ashley smiles charmingly and shakes her head, twisting the scarlet silk of her mothers dress between her fists. “About you, at your parties.”
“Me? They’re very boring parties. You wouldn’t like them one bit.”
“Yes I would!” exclaims Ashley, slightly shocked. “You get to wear pretty dresses and eat yummy food all night. And no one tells you what time to go to bed!”
Helen laughs lightly, the cadence mingling with the dying wisps of music still drifting towards the room, and hugs her daughter closer.
“Did you meet my father at a party?” Ashley asks suddenly, and shuffles as her mother falls rigid.
She’s been asking often, of this man. Such a mystery to the young seven year old. One minute she’s sure he’s a pirate, then an explorer, then an astronaut, and it’s all Helen can do to quell the image of young Molly sprawled amongst her own blood.
Ashley will never know the truth of her father.
“ I did, actually,” Helen murmurs as she calms.
Soon she is weaving a tale; of corsets and cast iron curls. Men buttoned up to their neckties, as horses and carriages carry them all off to dances, like Cinderella at the ball. There is a man and a woman, and his name is James, and Ashley laughs magically as she realises her uncle is part of the story. The man and the woman dance, and talk, and when James spots his old school pal across the room, she is immediately swept along to meet him.
“Is that him, my father?” asks Ashley excitedly, and Helen blinks as the rush of a string quartet mingling with James’ babbles halts. “What did you think of him?” her daughter is instead asking.
She replies honestly. “I thought he was very tall. And looked rather nervous.”
Ashley will never know the truth of Jack, but sometimes Helen thinks she might let her know small pieces of John.
---
They are in London over the winter. James has discovered a breed of rather remarkable creatures - part snake part spider (and snider, Ashley snickers under her breath) - and Helen feels it essential she is there to help catalogue the rather terrifying abnormals.
Ashley is left to her own devices, and runs amok up and down the halls. It is when she unleashes the small fire-breathing lizards (or fizzards, she giggles) that Uncle James calls upon his young intern, Declan, to keep her occupied.
Declan is barely 16, and believes the key to all children’s happiness is a park. Ashley is sorely disappointed with him.
Instead she finds amusement traversing the icy depths of secluded woodland, losing Declan as the poor boy struggles to follow. She is kicking her feet vibrantly from tree branches, waving a long stick she found (and quickly transformed into a sword) above her head, and yelling loudly to anyone who may dare pass her domain, when the crunch of footfall behind her has her swinging dangerously in surprise.
She falls backwards, as she twists, and barely catches sight of the stranger some meters away as her breath catches in her throat. She scrunches her eyes tight in terror; sure she is about to crash to earth, but instead lands safely in the arms of the stranger; his long limbs pulling her close as weight returns to her body and she erupts in tears.
He is cradling her, rubbing a hand soothingly up her back as she shuffles in closer to his winter coat. She can feel the scratch of his beard tingling roughly against her forehead, and as she breathes in deep, the aromatic whirl of ink rushes through her. He smells like Uncle James library, the library back at home, but with a subtle hint of soap.
She sniffs gently as her tears subside and rubs at her nose.
“That was quite a fall, little one,” he breathes quietly, and brushes a wayward lock from her forehead. She nods in agreement and grips the lapels of his coat, not quite ready to be placed on the ground.
“What is your name?” he asks, as he bends to pick up her fallen rapier.
“Ashley,” she murmurs, and takes it back gratefully.
“And what is this?” he asks, motioning to her blade.
“My sword. I was protecting my kingdom from intruders. Like you,” she replies in earnest.
The man laughs heartily. His nose and eyes crinkle upwards as he smiles and Ashley can just make out the stretch of a deep scar running along his cheek beneath his beard.
“Quite a hefty knife for someone your age,” he rumbles in amusement, and Ashley bristles at the comment.
“It’s not a knife, it’s a sword,” she tells him. He arches an eyebrow in response.
“If you insist, little one.”
“And I’m not little!”
“No, you’re rather hefty in fact,” he informs her, and drops her gently to the ground. He stays at her height, however, and Ashley finds herself studying him closely.
“You never told me your name,” she tells him eventually, as he continues gazing at her fondly.
“My name is Montague, or Monty if you prefer.”
“That’s a stupid name,” Ashley replies, wrinkling her nose. She can hear Declan calling to her in the distance, and scowls as the noise creeps closer.
“Your friend is looking for you,” Monty smiles, and reaches out to straighten the ribbon in her hair. “Mind he doesn’t trespass on your kingdom, little princess, or you might find use for your sword.”
She smiles brightly, and for a second Monty glances away, blinking.
“Do you come here everyday?” she asks him, as he stretches upwards. He’s magnificently tall, she realises, and his brown locks blow gently in the icy breeze.
“I’ll tell you what,” he murmurs, and pulls a pocket watch from inside his coat. “This is mine, but will you hold onto it for me. That way I’ll have to come back and visit you here one day.”
“But I don’t live here!” exclaims Ashley, hand already folding upon the watch. She can feel the cool metal vibrate beneath her fingertips with each second, like the steady beat of her heart. “I live in America. I’m visiting my Uncle James.”
Monty smiles fondly, and nods. “I can’t promise which day I’ll be here. But I’ll be back before you and your mother leave. I promise. Now run along before your friend finds your kingdom. And best be quiet about the watch, yes?”
Ashley nods quickly, and smiles at him before turning.
She’s halfway towards Declan, with the steady tick of Monty’s pocket watch stuffed in her jacket, before she realizes he knew she only had a mother. She turns swiftly to him but he is gone. Vanished, and she is left standing in the crisp winter frost, leaves crunched bitterly under foot.
“You’re more trouble than the bloody elemental James brought back from the West Indies last weekend!” yells Declan in annoyance, leaning his hands against his knees as he tries to catch his breath.
There is no way he’s explaining this little mishap to Dr. Magnus.
“Promise I won’t tell your mum you ran away if you promise not to tell anyone I lost you.”
Ashley ponders the thought for a moment, and closes her fist over the watch in her pocket.
“Promise you’ll bring me to the park everyday?” she asks in return.
Declan nods in relief.
Ashley smiles.
---
In the evening she curls across a rug by the fire and watches a small beetle march its way across the floorboards. She follows it, small body wriggling further and further from the mat until Uncle James looks up from his reading and calls at her to stop crawling on the floor.
“You have perfectly good legs for a reason,” he winks at her, and she smiles back.
She waits until he is thoroughly engrossed once more before inching back over to her beetle friend.
She’s never seen anything like him before and suddenly wonders if he’s an abnormal. Perhaps the first of his species ever found! And wouldn’t that be a surprise for mummy, if she could catch abnormals just like the adults.
“Come here mister beetle,” she whispers softly, wondering briefly if he understands English, as her hand slowly creeps across the floor.
She is inches from him when mummy enters the room and the beetle is jolted with the movement. He quickly scurries into a crevice in the wall and Ashley sits up in annoyance, scowling at her mother as she bends over Uncle James shoulder.
They share a laugh and Ashley has the undeniable urge to throw herself at them, stop them smiling and laughing over their big books and abnormals and the Sanctuary, so they’ll maybe notice her.
This is why little girls have mothers and fathers; she realises slowly. So when one is busy with work the other is always be there to play with her.
She stamps her foot loudly, only serving to earn her a reprimand, and so she hastily deposits herself on the floor once more, glaring in defiance at Uncle James.
It is then, out of the corner of her eye, she notices the slight scrawl of a name etched into the woodwork. Tiny and fading, it is hidden almost behind the table leg, but with a tiny shuffle Ashley iss able to free it enough to read.
“H.M,” she assumes I mummy, and, “J.D,” she breathes slowly, immediately bolting upright.
“Mummy! Who’s J.D?” she asks, barreling over to tug at her mother’s side.
She notices Helen go stiff. Uncle James drops his book to his lap and the adults share a glance that has annoyance flare in the young girl once more.
“Mama, they scratched their name on the wall next to yours. Who was it?”
“No one.”
Helen’s voice is cold. Loud. Runs straight through Ashley and makes her shiver. Like tiny icicles down her spine.
“Mama…” she murmurs, and jumps as Helen turns on her.
“Go to bed Ashley,” she informs quickly, but the little girl holds strong.
“Tell me.”
“Ashley. Bed now.”
“No! I want to know. Why won’t you tell me anything?”
“Ashley,” begins James. “Your mother said it was bedtime.”
Thick tears rim the edges of her lashes and with a shaking hand Ashley reaches for the watch stuffed in the depths of her pocket.
“You’re not my father and you can’t tell me what to do!” she yells harshly before running from the room.
She flings herself against her bed as the tears build thick and fast, remembering Monty’s strong grip on her as she’d fallen and the way James sometimes watches her and mummy, like he’s missing something.
She hates all of them, for not being him. And all she knows is that he was tall and sometimes looked nervous.
With a sob she curls beneath the covers and cries, gripping the watch tightly. And when her mother came minutes later to sooth her to sleep she closes her eyes tightly and refuses to open them. Lies as still as possible until she is sure her mother is gone.
And then she sleeps.
---
“Why do you want to go to the same park?” grumbles Declan despondently, letting himself be dragged behind the free spirited blonde wrapped head to toe in knitwear.
It’s bloody freezing outside - quite literally and figuratively - and this is not what he had signed up for when he’d followed his late father into the ‘abnormal family business’.
“Ashley-“
“Stay here and don’t follow me or I’ll tell mum that you leave me at the park each day to go meet your friends,” she informs strictly, as she has each day for the past week.
Declan rolls his eyes and nods.
“Promise you’ll be back in an hour.”
“I pinky swear.”
The little girl holds out a gloved pinky and wraps it around Declan’s own.
With a shake they go their separate ways
---
“Monty! Where are you?” Ashley calls listlessly, swinging her feet from her branch. For a week now she’s awaited the return of her friend, and each day he’s not appeared.
“You’re looking rather red, little one,” comments a voice from behind, and Ashley swivels quickly, sure to not fall this time.
“You came!” she exclaims, and holds her arms out to him. He smiles softly and reaches upwards, pulling her carefully down from the tree branch.
“Do you have my watch for me?” he asks and she nods quickly, pulling it from her coat.
“Keep it, little one. I have another.”
“Really?” she asks, enraptured.
“No sword today?” he comments instead. She shakes her head quickly and holds her hands out. “I can’t use a sword with gloves on. It’s too cold!”
Monty laughs quietly and bends down to her level.
She likes when he does that, it means she doesn’t have to look up to watch his face.
“I could teach you how to use it.”
“My sword?”
“Yes.”
“A proper one too?”
“Well, I could. But I don’t think your mother would like it very much.”
Ashley scrunches up her face in agreement. “How did you know I only had a mother?”
Monty’s face grows still before he glances down, ruffling the brittle leaves underfoot with the tips of his leather gloved fingers.
“I guessed,” he answers finally, and winks at her.
Ashley rolls her eyes.
“Surely you didn’t get that from your mother - that eye roll. Did you?” he rumbles in amusement. Ashley bristles in annoyance.
“No. She said I got it from my father,” she informs him. Which is a lie. All she knows of her father is that he was tall.
Such news seems to delight Monty however, as he continues chuckling.
“And what else do you know of your father, little one?” he asks. His eyes are crinkled again, and Ashley is struck by the need to run her finger down his weathered cheek. He reminds her of Uncle James, and her mother; his tone of voice, so deep and rasping, and his stance; tall and straight, though somehow relaxed.
“Nothing,” she replies, and glances down instead.
She senses the shift in him as soon as she mumbles. He goes stiff, and stands quickly, taking a deep breath.
Ashley rocks back a moment, suddenly afraid. He was a stranger, even if she did feel more comfortable with him than anyone. Anyone except Biggie. What she wouldn’t do to have the Big Guy standing by her right now.
“Well that seems a little unfair,” he finally murmurs, and sweeps his finger along Ashley’s cheek. She smiles shyly at him, and watches as he relaxes slowly, though he stays standing at his full height.
“You should ask your mother, little one.”
Ashley nods softly.
“I have to go, when do you return to America?”
“In three weeks. Mum has…work here until then.”
Monty smiles faintly. “Well then I might see you again.”
And with a twist of his coat, she watches as he disappears amongst the trees.
---
“Mummy,” whispers Ashley softly, tiptoeing into her mothers room. She is curled upon the large bed, seemingly asleep, though Ashley knows from experience that Helen is merely resting.
She still hasn’t apologized for yelling at Uncle James, and thus has steered clear of all unnecessary dealings with the adults.
“Mama,” she tries again, and crawls onto the bed. She shifts closer, until she is pressed against her mother’s side, and watches as her startling blue eyes blink open.
“Can I have a story, mummy?”
Helen breaks into a smile, and pulls the little girl close.
“What would you like?” she asks, as Ashley fits herself amongst her arms and the blankets. She stiffens, suddenly, and Helen glances down in anticipation.
“Mummy, I know you don’t like talking about it, but please, tell me about daddy?”
Helen pauses a moment, and drops a kiss to her daughters temple.
“He was a poet,” she begins. “And a teacher, and a lawyer, and sometimes he pretended to be a scientist.”
“Mummy!” Ashley laughs, easily, and as Helen breaths she feels the words come easier too.
If she closes her eyes and focuses on Ashley’s breathing she can almost forget the terrible happenings throughout Whitechapel. Can focus on John, her John, sprawled across a picnic blanket reading sonnets to the stars whilst she curled against his chest and named constellations.
How he’d weave tales of traversing the Dorset coast until they found a perfect beachside cottage. He’d spin tales of his childhood that sounded straight from Mark Twain, playing Robin Hood with Arthur and William, and locking poor Georgiana in the cupboard until one of them could rescue her.
How he’d delighted in teaching children, and delighted in defending the law, and could never decide between the two professions so instead played cricket on the weekends to ease his mind.
John laughed. Easily, and with anyone, she remembers. He hummed under his breath and recited Shakespeare at inopportune moments to distract her. Nikola and Nigel, and even James, had found him exasperating to the point of locking him from experiments, because his merriment could be too much for their scientific sobriety and they were tired of her giggling girlishly when ever he oafishly clambered through an test.
“Mummy, did you love him very, very much?” asks Ashley gently, as the little girl pats her cheek.
She rubs her nose against the child’s hand and hums in response. “I did, very much.”
“Were you very sad when he died?”
“Very. I’ve never been so sad.”
Ashley nods softly, and seemingly settled with such newfound knowledge of her father, lies down to sleep. Helen pulls her closer, wrapping both arms around her warm body, and closes her eyes in response, drifting back towards an Oxford summer and another body pressed tight to her own.
And by the door, hand clenched tightly, James blinks back tears his own.
---
“One hour.”
“Pinky swear”
And so concludes another week of traversing the icy wilderness.
Monty had turned up the day after Ashley had last seen him, bright and smiling and offering her a ride on his shoulders through the park that had her giggling madly. He’d pointed out ducks and geese and a squirrel and wove a tale of them all living in the park, escaping through the city during the night to find fun of their own.
He’d promised her he’d return again, before she left, and so she waits patiently by her tree, with his watch in hand, feeling each second tick by beneath her fingertips.
And as an hour passes, even though she’s promised Declan, she refuses to leave her tree until she’s seen him.
He’d promised her this week and it was Friday.
“Ashley, where are you?”
Declan was calling now, it had been an hour and a half, and she feels sick. Feels like her stomach is full and heavy and tears might spring to her eyes. She is going home, on Sunday, and he’d promised her he’d say goodbye.
“Ashley, what on earth are you doing?” asks Declan, coming up behind her. He grips her hand gently as she turns around and barely has time to speak before she’s burst into tears, wrapping herself against him as she sobs.
The poor boy stands still, quietly, and pats her back.
“He promised he’d meet me, he promised!” she sobs repetitively, and Declan feels a chill settle as he realises what he’d been allowing. He bends down quickly and grips her shoulders.
“Who Ashley, did he hurt you? Did he do anything, at all?”
“No!” she sobs, and wrestles his fingers away. “He was my friend, that was all. He told me stories about the ducks and was nice to me and gave me his watch to keep.”
Declan nods quickly, bundles her up and exits the park.
Never again is he babysitting for Dr. Magnus.
---
“And you’re sure nothing happened?”
Ashley hears voices murmuring gently, and tiptoeing across the carpet, leans her face to the door.
Uncle James and Declan are discussing something quietly.
“She promised me nothing happened. Just said he was her friend. I don’t even begin to know how to apologise, sir. I’ll pack my bags and be gone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” murmurs James. “You were careless and irresponsible, but Ashley Magnus is hardly the easiest of charges. I’ll go down there tomorrow, see what we’re dealing with.”
Monty! She realises. They’re talking about Monty! And Uncle James is going to see him tomorrow. Ashley bounds from the door towards her bedroom, catching mummy on her way and pushing her in quickly for a bedtime story.
The quicker she is asleep, the quicker the morning will appear.
---
It is a dreary day in London, notes Ashley, as she slowly makes her way towards the park. She’d slipped from the Sanctuary after Uncle James unnoticed, or so she hopes, telling mummy she was with Declan and Declan she was with Mummy and praying the two of them will not meet before she’s returned.
She can see the figure of Uncle James walk stoically down the street side in the distance. He’d barely spoken during breakfast, and Ashley had realized he’d not told mummy where he was going.
She pauses at the lights, waiting until they are green and crosses amongst the adults.
She reaches the park gates, finally, and then she runs.
---
It is the cool stretch of metal that takes him first by surprise. Not the telltale sound of teleportation. Even after 100 years he can still recall the titillating shiver of electricity down his spine.
Rather, it is that John’s first reaction is to press a cool blade to his throat from behind, his lithe bulk pressed firmly against James back.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her. I promise.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
A short chuckle. John had lost his rambunctious laughter with Jack.
“I didn’t even mean to meet her. But it was that or watch her crash to the ground, and I rather thought Helen would prefer her daughter didn’t break her neck.”
“She’s Helen’s daughter.”
“Is she now. Hair and eyes, I’ll give you that. And such stubbornness. There must be something of mine awaiting within her, however.”
“Helen’s daughter,” he repeats, loudly.
“Now, now James. No need to take that tone with me. You see I rather remember the little ones creation. Is it so wrong of me to want to see her in the flesh as well?” he drawls.
James swallows briefly, feels the blade twist suddenly, and blinks harshly before it is gone.
John steps from him, though not before pushing him to his knees.
“I was surprised, actually, that she waited this long. There was a stretch after the War where I was sure she’d lost too much to bear. Nikola gone, Nigel disappeared. Even you were off saving the world, or some such. I was sure she’d have to choose James. Death or a child. Child or death. “To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream; Aye, there's the rub” isn’t there James. She couldn’t choose either.”
“Thank you, by the way, for supporting her. Getting her through everything. It can’t have been easy. Watching her mourn another man, turn to other men, have another man’s child. One would think you a saint, Jimmy.”
Bile pits at the end of his throat, there is the slow rasp of his fingertips across metal, and with a twist he has the muzzle pointed at John’s temple.
He chuckles again.
“Maybe not a saint. Are you waiting then? Waiting for her to fall into you arms and pray you claim Ashley as your own. I mean really James, that’s a lot to hold out for; especially with a woman such as Helen. She’s awful stubborn.”
He is met with silence.
“Well this is rather tiresome,” he taunts. “Twice now I’ve had those most important to me press a gun to my face. Would you like the other cheek perhaps? Now there’s a thought. I’ll turn the other cheek for you Jimmy, if you only promise to aim.”
“You bastard,” murmurs James, “You-“
"Monty!"
It is a shattering moment. James’ hand trembles against the trigger as John’s face turns, silently, to the terrified little girl watching her uncle press a gun to her best friends head.
“Uncle James, please don’t,” she whimpers, and James’ heart breaks. The bastard has turned the most precious person in his life against him.
“He’s my friend. I’m sorry I lied to you and Declan and mummy. And I’m sorry I yelled at you that you weren’t my daddy,” John’s gaze flickers, falls upon him, and then turns once more to the shivering child. “I love you too, just like I love my daddy. And I love Monty too. He showed me the ducks in the pond and told me a story about how they walk up to Trafalgar Square each night, and watch the people from the statues and laugh and talk about us and how silly we all are.”
Ashley sniffles and steps closer, and James watches as she slowly unfolds her hand. John’s pocket watch, lies in her tiny fist, a present to him from James for his thirtieth birthday.
“If I give it back will you stop pointing the gun? Please Uncle James?”
“Ashley,” murmurs John, and James’ gaze turns cold.
“Step away from her.”
“James,” he growls. “Ashley, the watch is yours. But I won’t be able to see you again, little one. I came to say goodbye. Okay?”
He nods once and Ashley sniffles, nodding quietly in return.
James watches as John bit his lip softly, a gesture so reminiscent of days long forgotten he drops his gaze.
He cries out as John’s strong grip twists the gun from his hand, forcing him to the ground as Ashley cries out in terror. He glances up to the muzzle of a gun and beyond it, her tiny body twisting tight in John’s arm.
Ashley sobs loudly, pushing against Monty’s strong arms as Uncle James keeps his gaze on her. She feels Monty’s rough beard scratch against her forehead as he presses a kiss to her temple, murmuring gently to her in apology.
“Uncle James was trying to protect you ma fille, he wasn’t trying to hurt me, I was trying to hurt him.”
Ashley feels her heart lurch in her chest as she was thrown from his arms, colliding with Uncle James strong embrace, as the world seems to crackle past her.
She sobs loudly, gripping him tight before twisting to see Monty.
He is gone.
---
“Uncle James,” she murmurs gently, as he carries her slowly towards the Sanctuary. “I don’t want to tell mummy about today. It might make her cry.”
Uncle James sighs loudly, and nods in understanding.
“Let me take care of it sweetheart. I don’t want you to think or worry about today, yes?” he murmurs.
Ashley sniffles in agreement. She closes her eyes and listens to the steady thump of the machines keeping Uncle James alive. If concentrates she can pretend it is the watch, lost somewhere in the park.
“Thank you, Uncle James, for saving me,” she whispers finally.
James nods softly, “Always.”
...