Razor's Edge (Stargate Atlantis/Sanctuary) PG13
This has everything nothing to do with my girl!crush on Amanda Tapping, I swear.
Razor's Edge
Stargate Atlantis/Sanctuary crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: There's a fine line between savior and salvation.
Characters/Pairing: John Sheppard and Helen Magnus (later John/Helen)
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Pre-Sanctuary; up to the end of season one of Stargate Atlantis
Words: 2,350
Note: John Sheppard = Issues R Us.
John Sheppard first meets Helen Magnus on the day Mother tries to kill him.
It's not Mother's fault; nothing she does to John is ever her fault but that doesn't stop John from tearing away and running as fast as his seven-year-old legs will take him into the pitch-black woods.
She runs after him like always, and part of John's brain wonders if it might just be better to stop and take it. The more he runs, the angrier she gets.
And yet he runs like his life depends upon it, because this time it just might.
Then he trips and falls and something grabs him and he screams and screams, kicking and fighting and wanting to get away get away get away! Lights illuminate the darkness, shots ring out and he's falling to the ground. Quick as a thought, there's a scream and a thud and when John's eyes adjust he sees Mother lying motionless on the forest floor.
He doesn't have time to think when a woman comes out of the darkness at him. She's pale, shadows under her eyes and dark hair falling around her face and a really big gun in her hands.
She is, John remembers thinking, the most beautiful woman he will ever see.
"You're safe now," she says, her voice exotic and intelligent. She places one cold hand on his cheek. When she draws it away, John can see her fingers are covered in blood. "There, now, it's just a scratch."
Frankly, John has bigger things to worry about. His eyes slide over to Mother. "Is she dead?" he asks, not certain if he wants to know.
The woman doesn't answer for a moment, looking at Mother's dead face that isn't human at all anymore.
John's not afraid, not even a little. Mother has had dead eyes for as long as John can remember.
"Do you know who that is?" the woman asks, drawing John's attention.
John looks again at Mother. "Of course I do."
The woman blinks. "Who is it?"
"That's Mother," he says. Why would the woman ask that question? She was waiting for them in the dark, wasn't she?
The woman goes even paler in the light from what John now sees are car headlights. "That's your mother?"
"Yes."
She exhales softly. "Poor child," she says under her breath, but John doesn't react. He knows that grown-ups talk to themselves sometimes and you can learn a lot from them if you just listen.
Like he know what Mother had planned for him that night.
He lets the woman gather him up against her, all warm and soft and smelling like spices and leather. John doesn't mean to, but she's so nice and warm that he presses his face against her neck, wraps his arms around her because it's been so long since anyone hugged him that he's forgotten how safe it feels. The woman's hand slides down his back, comforting, and in an instant John wishes this woman is his mommy.
"I'll be back in a few minutes and then we can get you someplace safe," the woman says, setting John on the ground. "All right?"
"All right," John echoes, feeling so alone standing there.
The woman goes over to Mother, reaches down and pushes the hair back from the face made of sticks and skin, and pulls back sharply when Mother's hair flutters in the wind.
John watches her every move, uncertain on how he feels. When he looks at Mother, some part of him knows that she's dead.
And he doesn't think he's sad. Not even a little.
He knows that these are not the normal feelings to have for a mother -- other boys love their mothers and their fathers, and John loves his own daddy for the most part. But other boys don't have mothers like Mother.
The woman returns to John's side. "There, now," she says softly, her hand on his shoulder. "I'm not... It'll be all right."
"It's okay," John says, because he does wants to help. "She's only real during the day. She's not real in the dark."
Far from reassuring the woman, she touches his cheek again and looks like she might cry. But only for a moment. "Why don't we get you back into town?" she suggests. "Some place safe?"
John doesn't say that with Mother dead, he doesn't need protection. "Why can't I stay with you?"
Instead of dismissing him, she bends over to look John in the eye. "I know you're nearly a young man, but there are some things that are best left to those with experience." She touches his face again, and he barely feels the prick of the needle before the world starts to swim and everything goes black.
John's only comfort is believing that this woman is sincere about keeping him safe. It's a nice thought.
The next time John Sheppard sees Helen Magnus, he's twenty-one and she hasn't aged a damned day.
He's in a dingy bar on the drive back to San Diego, enjoying being able to order a beer in a bar without having to bribe the bouncer, when he spots her sitting at the back of the room, an untouched drink by her side and an open book capturing all her attention.
She's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
He walks across to her table and slides into the seat opposite her. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you'd probably turn me down."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she demands, startled by his abrupt appearance at her table. Of course, she won't remember him. He never told her his name. Truth be told, most of John's memory of that night long ago in the woods is blurred by age and trauma, but he's always been able to remember her.
Still, he sticks out his hand. "John Sheppard."
She knows his name, John can tell by her reaction. She hesitates only a moment before taking his hand in her and giving it a firm shake. Her palm is warm, solid and real in John's grasp, and he's reminded both that this woman saved his life and this woman killed Mother.
"Helen Magnus," she says quietly, closing the book. "It's been a long time."
"It sure has." John wants to thank her; to curse her for not taking him away with her; for leaving him at the emergency room with no idea what to tell the police about why Mother's body was lying broken in the woods.
He shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about Mother, because he's not exactly the kind of guy who's too interested in examining his own background. He's made it this far without turning into a monster in the moonlight, so he figures he's pretty much in the clear.
But Helen is staring at him, and he pushes those thoughts back with a wide-open smile and an invitation in his eyes. She smiles, then she laughs, and touches his wrist as she flags down the waitress to take John up on his offer of a drink.
He spends all night flirting with her, which develops into her finding new and exciting ways to shoot him down. By the time she whips out the Aristotle quotes, he's laughing too hard to care much that he'll never stand a chance with this woman.
She's laughing too, but with him, not at him, so it will end up in John Sheppard's book as a win.
He collides with her again years later, this time in DC while he's stationed at Andrews. He's on leave and since Nancy divorced him at some point when he wasn't paying attention (and really, that was practically inevitable), he doesn't have anything else to do but cruise the bars.
Only it goes from cruise the bars to run for his life with something chasing after him in a dark alley, something with sticks and claws for hands and screams coming from the hole in what might pass for a face, and John's thrown back to his childhood as he runs and runs from something that will never tire, never stop, not until there's a flash of fire behind him, and Helen is there holding a motherfucking flamethrower and yelling at him to run.
Of course, then it goes after them both and they run, together again after all these years, until they come to a halt in a blind alley, trapped at last.
Without a word, they both turn to face their attacker, stalking slowly down the alley towards them on stick feet.
Helen raises the flamethrower. It's a dry night. The screams fade quickly.
"Come on," Helen says, grabbing John's arm. "The police will come and I can guarantee you don't want to be here when they do."
John lets Helen guide him away, through alleys and side streets and even underground at one point. After a while, they arrive in a small secure apartment. Helen pushes a change of clothes into John's hands and leads him to the shower, then leaves him alone to wash off the blood and ash.
He spends longer in the water than he needs, looking at his hands for signs of any sort of change. But he is the same as always in the mirror after he steps out of the shower.
He looks exactly the same, and he can't help think that it's all a horrible lie.
Helen gives him a brief smile as he walks back into the bedroom, then she goes to shower and John's left alone with books and weapons and not much else.
Well, other than the bed.
He pulls a book off the shelf at random and sits on the edge of the bed. He flips through the pages, monsters on every page, and closes it again.
The bathroom door opens after an eternity and Helen comes out. She's in a faded t-shirt and sweats, wet hair hanging down over her shoulders. She doesn't say anything, just takes the book from John's hands and sits beside him.
It takes him a while to speak. "Will I turn out like..." He clears his throat. "Like Mother?"
"No," Helen says almost at once. "In cases such as yours, the change always happens... early. You would have known long ago."
John put his elbows on his knees and let his head fall. "Are you sure about that?"
"I'm certain, John." Her mouth twitches when she says his name.
He considers asking how she can be so certain, but as soon as the idea occurs to him, he pushes it away. He's spent his whole life trying so hard to fit in, and it never works. Not with his father or his brother, not with the kids at school, not with girls, not even in the Air Force. He's always been just a little too different.
And he knows why. He doesn't need this woman, who's only a fraction stranger than he, to explain his life to him.
Still, she looks like she might want to talk about it, so he falls back on instincts and kisses her full on the mouth.
She's surprised, but not so much as to push him away. He knows she's thinking too hard, so he slides his hand over her thigh and kisses her again, and she comes to whatever decision she needs.
Really, they were chased by a stickman who very nearly killed them both. They're only human (well, somewhat) and sometimes the intimate touch of skin on skin is the only thing that really matters.
He calls Helen before he leaves Earth for Atlantis.
He can't say anything about it, of course, but he asks her about work and she laughs and tells him. When she stops, he can't think of anything to say until she tells him in a quiet voice to be careful, and that he'll be just fine, she knows it.
She hangs up first.
He can't blame her.
Meeting Sam Carter is one hell of a shock to the system.
John thinks it'd be easier if the resemblance between Carter and Helen was just superficial, but Carter has a whole damned bucketful of Helen's mannerisms. She even moves like the woman.
John might have done something about it, but he's got this one-way ticket to the Pegasus Galaxy leaving in a few hours. He'll deal with this when he gets back.
Or, you know.
If he gets back.
So.
Atlantis.
Creatures trying to kill him and his own genetics spinning him for a ride and women with dark hair and light eyes saving his life six ways from Sunday?
John wishes his life didn't move in such neat circles.
But what the hell. At least he knows how this will probably end.
When he gets back to Earth after that first year in Atlantis, about three hours after the U.S. Air Force collectively loses its mind and promotes him to Lieutenant Colonel, he calls Helen and says, "Can I buy you a drink?"
There's a long pause. "In exchange for?" Her suspicion oozes down the line.
John can’t help but smile as he answers. "I'd like to ask you about a few things."
"What sort of 'things'?"
He never even thinks about lying to this woman. "Everything."
She hesitates again. "Do you mean 'everything', everything?"
"I mean everything," John confirms.
Helen sighs. "If you're not careful, I'll take you up on that, young man," she warns.
No one's called him a young man in ages. He stands up a little straighter. "I hope so," he says.
The call ends and John hurries to grab his gear to make his appointment with the eminent Helen Magnus, and the answers she may have for him.
(He can't wait to see if she has anything to tell him about Samantha Carter.)
end.
Razor's Edge
Stargate Atlantis/Sanctuary crossover
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: There's a fine line between savior and salvation.
Characters/Pairing: John Sheppard and Helen Magnus (later John/Helen)
Rating: PG-13
Setting: Pre-Sanctuary; up to the end of season one of Stargate Atlantis
Words: 2,350
Note: John Sheppard = Issues R Us.
John Sheppard first meets Helen Magnus on the day Mother tries to kill him.
It's not Mother's fault; nothing she does to John is ever her fault but that doesn't stop John from tearing away and running as fast as his seven-year-old legs will take him into the pitch-black woods.
She runs after him like always, and part of John's brain wonders if it might just be better to stop and take it. The more he runs, the angrier she gets.
And yet he runs like his life depends upon it, because this time it just might.
Then he trips and falls and something grabs him and he screams and screams, kicking and fighting and wanting to get away get away get away! Lights illuminate the darkness, shots ring out and he's falling to the ground. Quick as a thought, there's a scream and a thud and when John's eyes adjust he sees Mother lying motionless on the forest floor.
He doesn't have time to think when a woman comes out of the darkness at him. She's pale, shadows under her eyes and dark hair falling around her face and a really big gun in her hands.
She is, John remembers thinking, the most beautiful woman he will ever see.
"You're safe now," she says, her voice exotic and intelligent. She places one cold hand on his cheek. When she draws it away, John can see her fingers are covered in blood. "There, now, it's just a scratch."
Frankly, John has bigger things to worry about. His eyes slide over to Mother. "Is she dead?" he asks, not certain if he wants to know.
The woman doesn't answer for a moment, looking at Mother's dead face that isn't human at all anymore.
John's not afraid, not even a little. Mother has had dead eyes for as long as John can remember.
"Do you know who that is?" the woman asks, drawing John's attention.
John looks again at Mother. "Of course I do."
The woman blinks. "Who is it?"
"That's Mother," he says. Why would the woman ask that question? She was waiting for them in the dark, wasn't she?
The woman goes even paler in the light from what John now sees are car headlights. "That's your mother?"
"Yes."
She exhales softly. "Poor child," she says under her breath, but John doesn't react. He knows that grown-ups talk to themselves sometimes and you can learn a lot from them if you just listen.
Like he know what Mother had planned for him that night.
He lets the woman gather him up against her, all warm and soft and smelling like spices and leather. John doesn't mean to, but she's so nice and warm that he presses his face against her neck, wraps his arms around her because it's been so long since anyone hugged him that he's forgotten how safe it feels. The woman's hand slides down his back, comforting, and in an instant John wishes this woman is his mommy.
"I'll be back in a few minutes and then we can get you someplace safe," the woman says, setting John on the ground. "All right?"
"All right," John echoes, feeling so alone standing there.
The woman goes over to Mother, reaches down and pushes the hair back from the face made of sticks and skin, and pulls back sharply when Mother's hair flutters in the wind.
John watches her every move, uncertain on how he feels. When he looks at Mother, some part of him knows that she's dead.
And he doesn't think he's sad. Not even a little.
He knows that these are not the normal feelings to have for a mother -- other boys love their mothers and their fathers, and John loves his own daddy for the most part. But other boys don't have mothers like Mother.
The woman returns to John's side. "There, now," she says softly, her hand on his shoulder. "I'm not... It'll be all right."
"It's okay," John says, because he does wants to help. "She's only real during the day. She's not real in the dark."
Far from reassuring the woman, she touches his cheek again and looks like she might cry. But only for a moment. "Why don't we get you back into town?" she suggests. "Some place safe?"
John doesn't say that with Mother dead, he doesn't need protection. "Why can't I stay with you?"
Instead of dismissing him, she bends over to look John in the eye. "I know you're nearly a young man, but there are some things that are best left to those with experience." She touches his face again, and he barely feels the prick of the needle before the world starts to swim and everything goes black.
John's only comfort is believing that this woman is sincere about keeping him safe. It's a nice thought.
The next time John Sheppard sees Helen Magnus, he's twenty-one and she hasn't aged a damned day.
He's in a dingy bar on the drive back to San Diego, enjoying being able to order a beer in a bar without having to bribe the bouncer, when he spots her sitting at the back of the room, an untouched drink by her side and an open book capturing all her attention.
She's still the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
He walks across to her table and slides into the seat opposite her. "I'd offer to buy you a drink, but you'd probably turn me down."
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she demands, startled by his abrupt appearance at her table. Of course, she won't remember him. He never told her his name. Truth be told, most of John's memory of that night long ago in the woods is blurred by age and trauma, but he's always been able to remember her.
Still, he sticks out his hand. "John Sheppard."
She knows his name, John can tell by her reaction. She hesitates only a moment before taking his hand in her and giving it a firm shake. Her palm is warm, solid and real in John's grasp, and he's reminded both that this woman saved his life and this woman killed Mother.
"Helen Magnus," she says quietly, closing the book. "It's been a long time."
"It sure has." John wants to thank her; to curse her for not taking him away with her; for leaving him at the emergency room with no idea what to tell the police about why Mother's body was lying broken in the woods.
He shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about Mother, because he's not exactly the kind of guy who's too interested in examining his own background. He's made it this far without turning into a monster in the moonlight, so he figures he's pretty much in the clear.
But Helen is staring at him, and he pushes those thoughts back with a wide-open smile and an invitation in his eyes. She smiles, then she laughs, and touches his wrist as she flags down the waitress to take John up on his offer of a drink.
He spends all night flirting with her, which develops into her finding new and exciting ways to shoot him down. By the time she whips out the Aristotle quotes, he's laughing too hard to care much that he'll never stand a chance with this woman.
She's laughing too, but with him, not at him, so it will end up in John Sheppard's book as a win.
He collides with her again years later, this time in DC while he's stationed at Andrews. He's on leave and since Nancy divorced him at some point when he wasn't paying attention (and really, that was practically inevitable), he doesn't have anything else to do but cruise the bars.
Only it goes from cruise the bars to run for his life with something chasing after him in a dark alley, something with sticks and claws for hands and screams coming from the hole in what might pass for a face, and John's thrown back to his childhood as he runs and runs from something that will never tire, never stop, not until there's a flash of fire behind him, and Helen is there holding a motherfucking flamethrower and yelling at him to run.
Of course, then it goes after them both and they run, together again after all these years, until they come to a halt in a blind alley, trapped at last.
Without a word, they both turn to face their attacker, stalking slowly down the alley towards them on stick feet.
Helen raises the flamethrower. It's a dry night. The screams fade quickly.
"Come on," Helen says, grabbing John's arm. "The police will come and I can guarantee you don't want to be here when they do."
John lets Helen guide him away, through alleys and side streets and even underground at one point. After a while, they arrive in a small secure apartment. Helen pushes a change of clothes into John's hands and leads him to the shower, then leaves him alone to wash off the blood and ash.
He spends longer in the water than he needs, looking at his hands for signs of any sort of change. But he is the same as always in the mirror after he steps out of the shower.
He looks exactly the same, and he can't help think that it's all a horrible lie.
Helen gives him a brief smile as he walks back into the bedroom, then she goes to shower and John's left alone with books and weapons and not much else.
Well, other than the bed.
He pulls a book off the shelf at random and sits on the edge of the bed. He flips through the pages, monsters on every page, and closes it again.
The bathroom door opens after an eternity and Helen comes out. She's in a faded t-shirt and sweats, wet hair hanging down over her shoulders. She doesn't say anything, just takes the book from John's hands and sits beside him.
It takes him a while to speak. "Will I turn out like..." He clears his throat. "Like Mother?"
"No," Helen says almost at once. "In cases such as yours, the change always happens... early. You would have known long ago."
John put his elbows on his knees and let his head fall. "Are you sure about that?"
"I'm certain, John." Her mouth twitches when she says his name.
He considers asking how she can be so certain, but as soon as the idea occurs to him, he pushes it away. He's spent his whole life trying so hard to fit in, and it never works. Not with his father or his brother, not with the kids at school, not with girls, not even in the Air Force. He's always been just a little too different.
And he knows why. He doesn't need this woman, who's only a fraction stranger than he, to explain his life to him.
Still, she looks like she might want to talk about it, so he falls back on instincts and kisses her full on the mouth.
She's surprised, but not so much as to push him away. He knows she's thinking too hard, so he slides his hand over her thigh and kisses her again, and she comes to whatever decision she needs.
Really, they were chased by a stickman who very nearly killed them both. They're only human (well, somewhat) and sometimes the intimate touch of skin on skin is the only thing that really matters.
He calls Helen before he leaves Earth for Atlantis.
He can't say anything about it, of course, but he asks her about work and she laughs and tells him. When she stops, he can't think of anything to say until she tells him in a quiet voice to be careful, and that he'll be just fine, she knows it.
She hangs up first.
He can't blame her.
Meeting Sam Carter is one hell of a shock to the system.
John thinks it'd be easier if the resemblance between Carter and Helen was just superficial, but Carter has a whole damned bucketful of Helen's mannerisms. She even moves like the woman.
John might have done something about it, but he's got this one-way ticket to the Pegasus Galaxy leaving in a few hours. He'll deal with this when he gets back.
Or, you know.
If he gets back.
So.
Atlantis.
Creatures trying to kill him and his own genetics spinning him for a ride and women with dark hair and light eyes saving his life six ways from Sunday?
John wishes his life didn't move in such neat circles.
But what the hell. At least he knows how this will probably end.
When he gets back to Earth after that first year in Atlantis, about three hours after the U.S. Air Force collectively loses its mind and promotes him to Lieutenant Colonel, he calls Helen and says, "Can I buy you a drink?"
There's a long pause. "In exchange for?" Her suspicion oozes down the line.
John can’t help but smile as he answers. "I'd like to ask you about a few things."
"What sort of 'things'?"
He never even thinks about lying to this woman. "Everything."
She hesitates again. "Do you mean 'everything', everything?"
"I mean everything," John confirms.
Helen sighs. "If you're not careful, I'll take you up on that, young man," she warns.
No one's called him a young man in ages. He stands up a little straighter. "I hope so," he says.
The call ends and John hurries to grab his gear to make his appointment with the eminent Helen Magnus, and the answers she may have for him.
(He can't wait to see if she has anything to tell him about Samantha Carter.)
end.