(no subject)
Title: Deductions of the Heart*
Fandom: Sanctuary
Pairing/Characters: The Five; Helen/James, Helen/John, mentions of Helen/Nikola
Word Count: 2085
Summary: Four of the Five discuss what should be done about John.
Notes: for matildaswan for sanctuary_santa , who said she liked Helen/James and missing scenes/historical pieces, romances, and silver. Set after the Five learned of John being the Ripper. A bit more angsty than she wanted, perhaps, but a little bit of schmoop might make up for it. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
She was brilliant. Even Nikola would not dispute the term when applied to her. James had gained all the brainpower, but she was clever. She saw things in ways he couldn’t.
It still astounded him that none among them had seen John’s true nature.
“James,” she said. He turned his eyes to her-she was smiling in that way again, that small smile on the corners of her lips that indicated the feminine sweetness she oftentimes detested. But she was, indeed, a woman. Feminine in her own way.
“Helen,” he responded, forcing his voice to be light, the playful flirtation they had cultivated for years. His eyes took in her form in merely seconds, but he let his gaze sweep over her slowly a second time. Up and down, following the line of her body, taking his time to soak in her beauty. She blushed lightly, but met his eyes.
She wore a long dress, the corset she still adhered to hidden underneath, giving her shape and form. Else, she would be a phantom, a spirit. The dark blue suited her complexion and her blonde coiffure stunningly, and the silver laced through it highlighted the shine in her eyes.
James smiled softly to himself. He was a scientist, but Helen always did say he had a poet’s heart. Only she would say so because only she saw it. Helen Magnus would make poets of even the most mathematic of men.
“You best not be mocking me.”
“I would never dare.” He held a hand out to her, and she took it. He pulled her to him and she fairly swirled across the floor. They settled into a waltz position, but he could not bring himself to move. Not when he saw the look in her eye.
“James?”
He cleared his throat, dropping her gaze to look behind her out the window.
“I know you, James. You have no time, no need, for propriety.”
“That is a fact.”
She rolled her eyes, a strange sight in such a sophisticated face and setting. He held down a grin. Forget the waltz, this was their dance. She had a way of drawing knowledge, facts, words out of him, but he gave her a struggle. Made her work for her reward, as it were. He relished the sparring, deliberately pushing her until her patience gave out and she encircled him with feminine charm. He was always very proud when she resorted to using her feminine wiles to wring his answer out of him. He had exhausted her clever mind and so she fell back upon the most basic of tactics.
Perhaps that could be considered cruel, in some fashion. He never meant it in a cruel way. She knew exactly what he was doing, baiting her into moving closer, into his orbit. They had always been formally flirtatious, from the beginning, and-he had never been worried. It was simply the nature of their relationship. But now. Yes, now.
Now it did indeed feel cruel. But was it not better to keep that levity, that sense of the routine, especially at this time?
Their life was never routine, however.
“You have been distracted all day,” she said, eyes searching his face.
“I can hardly be blamed.”
“Come, let’s not start this now. The others are expecting us.” She squeezed his hand and turned, making her way down the hall. James followed.
“And here’s the woman of the hour,” Nigel said, greeting Helen with a big smile and an open hand. His smile was half in sympathy and half in genuine happiness and she knew it.
“At last,” Nikola said, gifting Helen with his trademark smirk. She returned it, still holding Nigel’s hand.
“Yes, Nikola, and you have never once delayed us with your constant need to be perfectly coiffed.” That drew a laugh from Nigel and James and a grimace from Nikola. James knew that underneath the frowning mustache, Nikola enjoyed Helen’s teasing. It was the nature of their relationship.
“It works, yes?” Nikola said, posing in a way that he had newly acquired. “I am, by certain standards, even handsome.”
“But of course,” Helen said. She walked over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. (James noted Nikola’s lids closing briefly over dark eyes and a faint blush on his skin, and felt a small turn in his stomach.) Then, turning to the others, gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”
The ride to the club was one of laughter and words, of friends and colleagues, and of veiled sadness. The subdued light in the eyes, the too-raucous laughter, they all recognized the root. They had lost one of their own.
They all offered Helen a hand as they exited the carriage. She smiled softly, gazing at the three men.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as she carefully chose the side of the carriage and made her own way down. It was her way of showing respect to the men and to herself; she would not lean on one more than another and she was capable of moving on her own, even in the restrictive dress. An unmarried woman with a harem of helpful men. It was no wonder the other club members looked askance when they walked in and settled at their table.
“Wine is the elixir of the gods. Or it would be, if there were any,” Nikola proclaimed, drinking deeply from his glass.
“An alcoholic genius,” Nigel muttered. James coughed into his napkin and Helen smirked.
“If we are to discuss what needs discussing, I would prefer to have alcohol.”
“It has no effect on you.”
“I still prefer to have a nice Cabernet before we pull out our handkerchiefs to catch our tears.”
“We all have our foibles,” Helen said as Nigel opened his mouth to retort. All turned their eyes to her as she continued, “he merely has more than we.”
“Always a lady, our lovely Helen,” Nikola said as he raised his glass to her. She tilted her head in return, the light reflecting a sparkle in her eyes. The men saw before the door of sorrow closed over it and they silently rejoiced. They had a hard evening ahead and any amount of joy in their Helen during this hard time was a triumph.
Wine and talk flowed, all with an underlying tension. The main course arrived and with it, a silence. Mouths closed not with food, but with reluctance. James coughed again, Nikola studied the shapes the wine made as he tilted his glass this way and that, and Nigel was the first to speak.
“What should be done about John?” He looked at Helen, apologetic but determined. He was the blunt man of the group, not a man of words or poetry, but of direction.
“Tuck in,” Helen said to the group, meeting Nigel’s eye. “May I eat before I lose my appetite?”
“I’m sorry, Helen, but it must be said.”
“I understand, I merely want to enjoy a lovely supper before my stomach turns.”
They ate in silence. A delicious spread, but tainted by the ever-approaching conversation.
Helen was the first to finish, having not had much of an appetite to begin with. She waited as they one by one set the utensils down, patting their mouths and swilling their drinks.
“I should be the one to deal with him,” she said. She held up a hand as three men began to protest. “He was my charge, my fiancé. I should have seen the signs and I did not, blinded as I was.”
“We all were,” James said softly.
“Even Tesla didn’t suspect it, much as he hated him.”
“Hate is a harsh word, even for my emotions toward John.” Nikola drained his glass then looked earnestly to Helen. She nodded.
“I know, Nikola.” She looked around the table. Three pairs of wide eyes full of grief and guilt looked back. James, the other hurt most deeply by John’s betrayal; Nikola, wishing he could drown his feelings in wine, despite-or due to-his antagonism toward John; and Nigel, not a close friend of John’s, but of Helen’s, and fiercely protective of her. Three men who were perfectly willing to put their lives at risk, to hurt their friend for hurting them and the world at large. Three men who would do whatever she asked, if she only said the word.
Nigel, her dearest friend and oftentimes confidante. Nikola, a scientist she respected above all others, excluding her father. And James, her arm to lean upon these past few weeks, hurt in a different way and still putting her hurt above his own.
The Five, down to The Four, down to the Three men. She loved them all dearly, in different ways for each, but loved nonetheless.
“I know,” she repeated. “Just as you know it is my duty.” She paused, looking each man in the eyes, deliberately. “I must.”
They knew it. She could see it in their eyes, their demeanors as they drooped in their seats. She was right, but they would not accept it, not yet. She would do what was necessary, but they would not be comfortable until John was taken care of, preferably in a violent fashion, by their own hands. Which meant they would never be comfortable and neither would Helen.
They left without dessert. The same club members saw them out with the same sidelong looks.
Nigel and Nikola walked ahead, arguing about nothing, as they were wont. James offered his arm to Helen; she took it, wrapping her other hand around his elbow.
A little way on, he stopped, turning to her. “Helen, to hell with society and propriety and all the musts and musn’ts of the world. With our collective intelligence, and charm,” he cocked an eyebrow with a quick grin, “no one should dictate our lives but us.”
“No one does dictate our lives, James.”
“Ah, but they all do. Even them,” he waved a hand toward the other two. “Your father and John and our professors, they all have instilled in us what they believe is right and wrong. We could throw off their rules and live by our own code.” He took a breath and looked away, gathering his thoughts. “Together.”
“James,” she said, a warning tone.
“No, I am not dropping to one knee with a silver ring in my hand, quaking as I wait for your answer. I am not that callous to forget our loss so soon. However, you live alone in a large house to which I am often invited for long stretches of time. It would make logical sense and it would make our work significantly easier.”
“And it would make your work of watching over me significantly easier.”
“Helen, you’re being unfair again.”
“I am not being unfair, James. I have not said one way or another. I am, however, stating a fact you believed I would overlook. You have taken on the task of caring for me, when I am perfectly capable of doing so.”
“You care too much, Helen. You have emotions which rage stronger than any of us men know. And I care, for you.”
Helen watched as Nigel and Nikola rounded a corner ahead of them, then turned her attention back to James, her blue eyes bright in the oncoming darkness.
“I will do nothing, if you wish it. I simply want to be clear that I mean you no harm and will do what needs be to protect you.”
“Will you protect me from my own mind?”
“I will try to protect you from your own heart.”
Helen’s breath caught and she dropped his arm, facing him fully. She leaned up and kissed him on the lips, a soft kiss, one full of trust and devoid of immediacy. She felt him tense underneath her mouth, his hands sweeping up to hold her waist. It was a comforting kiss, a comfortable kiss, and one that promised more, if she chose it. She held power, the power to choose if she would let herself be weak and womanly, comforted and coddled by a man who not only wanted but respected her, or if she would bear her burden alone.
Breaking the kiss, Helen decided then and there that she would be no martyr to the cause of love. She would let James hold her, help her, heal her. And she would do her best to do the same for him. Together-yes, together-they would begin again.
*title credit goes to snugduff
Fandom: Sanctuary
Pairing/Characters: The Five; Helen/James, Helen/John, mentions of Helen/Nikola
Word Count: 2085
Summary: Four of the Five discuss what should be done about John.
Notes: for matildaswan for sanctuary_santa , who said she liked Helen/James and missing scenes/historical pieces, romances, and silver. Set after the Five learned of John being the Ripper. A bit more angsty than she wanted, perhaps, but a little bit of schmoop might make up for it. Not beta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
She was brilliant. Even Nikola would not dispute the term when applied to her. James had gained all the brainpower, but she was clever. She saw things in ways he couldn’t.
It still astounded him that none among them had seen John’s true nature.
“James,” she said. He turned his eyes to her-she was smiling in that way again, that small smile on the corners of her lips that indicated the feminine sweetness she oftentimes detested. But she was, indeed, a woman. Feminine in her own way.
“Helen,” he responded, forcing his voice to be light, the playful flirtation they had cultivated for years. His eyes took in her form in merely seconds, but he let his gaze sweep over her slowly a second time. Up and down, following the line of her body, taking his time to soak in her beauty. She blushed lightly, but met his eyes.
She wore a long dress, the corset she still adhered to hidden underneath, giving her shape and form. Else, she would be a phantom, a spirit. The dark blue suited her complexion and her blonde coiffure stunningly, and the silver laced through it highlighted the shine in her eyes.
James smiled softly to himself. He was a scientist, but Helen always did say he had a poet’s heart. Only she would say so because only she saw it. Helen Magnus would make poets of even the most mathematic of men.
“You best not be mocking me.”
“I would never dare.” He held a hand out to her, and she took it. He pulled her to him and she fairly swirled across the floor. They settled into a waltz position, but he could not bring himself to move. Not when he saw the look in her eye.
“James?”
He cleared his throat, dropping her gaze to look behind her out the window.
“I know you, James. You have no time, no need, for propriety.”
“That is a fact.”
She rolled her eyes, a strange sight in such a sophisticated face and setting. He held down a grin. Forget the waltz, this was their dance. She had a way of drawing knowledge, facts, words out of him, but he gave her a struggle. Made her work for her reward, as it were. He relished the sparring, deliberately pushing her until her patience gave out and she encircled him with feminine charm. He was always very proud when she resorted to using her feminine wiles to wring his answer out of him. He had exhausted her clever mind and so she fell back upon the most basic of tactics.
Perhaps that could be considered cruel, in some fashion. He never meant it in a cruel way. She knew exactly what he was doing, baiting her into moving closer, into his orbit. They had always been formally flirtatious, from the beginning, and-he had never been worried. It was simply the nature of their relationship. But now. Yes, now.
Now it did indeed feel cruel. But was it not better to keep that levity, that sense of the routine, especially at this time?
Their life was never routine, however.
“You have been distracted all day,” she said, eyes searching his face.
“I can hardly be blamed.”
“Come, let’s not start this now. The others are expecting us.” She squeezed his hand and turned, making her way down the hall. James followed.
“And here’s the woman of the hour,” Nigel said, greeting Helen with a big smile and an open hand. His smile was half in sympathy and half in genuine happiness and she knew it.
“At last,” Nikola said, gifting Helen with his trademark smirk. She returned it, still holding Nigel’s hand.
“Yes, Nikola, and you have never once delayed us with your constant need to be perfectly coiffed.” That drew a laugh from Nigel and James and a grimace from Nikola. James knew that underneath the frowning mustache, Nikola enjoyed Helen’s teasing. It was the nature of their relationship.
“It works, yes?” Nikola said, posing in a way that he had newly acquired. “I am, by certain standards, even handsome.”
“But of course,” Helen said. She walked over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. (James noted Nikola’s lids closing briefly over dark eyes and a faint blush on his skin, and felt a small turn in his stomach.) Then, turning to the others, gestured to the door. “Shall we go?”
The ride to the club was one of laughter and words, of friends and colleagues, and of veiled sadness. The subdued light in the eyes, the too-raucous laughter, they all recognized the root. They had lost one of their own.
They all offered Helen a hand as they exited the carriage. She smiled softly, gazing at the three men.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said as she carefully chose the side of the carriage and made her own way down. It was her way of showing respect to the men and to herself; she would not lean on one more than another and she was capable of moving on her own, even in the restrictive dress. An unmarried woman with a harem of helpful men. It was no wonder the other club members looked askance when they walked in and settled at their table.
“Wine is the elixir of the gods. Or it would be, if there were any,” Nikola proclaimed, drinking deeply from his glass.
“An alcoholic genius,” Nigel muttered. James coughed into his napkin and Helen smirked.
“If we are to discuss what needs discussing, I would prefer to have alcohol.”
“It has no effect on you.”
“I still prefer to have a nice Cabernet before we pull out our handkerchiefs to catch our tears.”
“We all have our foibles,” Helen said as Nigel opened his mouth to retort. All turned their eyes to her as she continued, “he merely has more than we.”
“Always a lady, our lovely Helen,” Nikola said as he raised his glass to her. She tilted her head in return, the light reflecting a sparkle in her eyes. The men saw before the door of sorrow closed over it and they silently rejoiced. They had a hard evening ahead and any amount of joy in their Helen during this hard time was a triumph.
Wine and talk flowed, all with an underlying tension. The main course arrived and with it, a silence. Mouths closed not with food, but with reluctance. James coughed again, Nikola studied the shapes the wine made as he tilted his glass this way and that, and Nigel was the first to speak.
“What should be done about John?” He looked at Helen, apologetic but determined. He was the blunt man of the group, not a man of words or poetry, but of direction.
“Tuck in,” Helen said to the group, meeting Nigel’s eye. “May I eat before I lose my appetite?”
“I’m sorry, Helen, but it must be said.”
“I understand, I merely want to enjoy a lovely supper before my stomach turns.”
They ate in silence. A delicious spread, but tainted by the ever-approaching conversation.
Helen was the first to finish, having not had much of an appetite to begin with. She waited as they one by one set the utensils down, patting their mouths and swilling their drinks.
“I should be the one to deal with him,” she said. She held up a hand as three men began to protest. “He was my charge, my fiancé. I should have seen the signs and I did not, blinded as I was.”
“We all were,” James said softly.
“Even Tesla didn’t suspect it, much as he hated him.”
“Hate is a harsh word, even for my emotions toward John.” Nikola drained his glass then looked earnestly to Helen. She nodded.
“I know, Nikola.” She looked around the table. Three pairs of wide eyes full of grief and guilt looked back. James, the other hurt most deeply by John’s betrayal; Nikola, wishing he could drown his feelings in wine, despite-or due to-his antagonism toward John; and Nigel, not a close friend of John’s, but of Helen’s, and fiercely protective of her. Three men who were perfectly willing to put their lives at risk, to hurt their friend for hurting them and the world at large. Three men who would do whatever she asked, if she only said the word.
Nigel, her dearest friend and oftentimes confidante. Nikola, a scientist she respected above all others, excluding her father. And James, her arm to lean upon these past few weeks, hurt in a different way and still putting her hurt above his own.
The Five, down to The Four, down to the Three men. She loved them all dearly, in different ways for each, but loved nonetheless.
“I know,” she repeated. “Just as you know it is my duty.” She paused, looking each man in the eyes, deliberately. “I must.”
They knew it. She could see it in their eyes, their demeanors as they drooped in their seats. She was right, but they would not accept it, not yet. She would do what was necessary, but they would not be comfortable until John was taken care of, preferably in a violent fashion, by their own hands. Which meant they would never be comfortable and neither would Helen.
They left without dessert. The same club members saw them out with the same sidelong looks.
Nigel and Nikola walked ahead, arguing about nothing, as they were wont. James offered his arm to Helen; she took it, wrapping her other hand around his elbow.
A little way on, he stopped, turning to her. “Helen, to hell with society and propriety and all the musts and musn’ts of the world. With our collective intelligence, and charm,” he cocked an eyebrow with a quick grin, “no one should dictate our lives but us.”
“No one does dictate our lives, James.”
“Ah, but they all do. Even them,” he waved a hand toward the other two. “Your father and John and our professors, they all have instilled in us what they believe is right and wrong. We could throw off their rules and live by our own code.” He took a breath and looked away, gathering his thoughts. “Together.”
“James,” she said, a warning tone.
“No, I am not dropping to one knee with a silver ring in my hand, quaking as I wait for your answer. I am not that callous to forget our loss so soon. However, you live alone in a large house to which I am often invited for long stretches of time. It would make logical sense and it would make our work significantly easier.”
“And it would make your work of watching over me significantly easier.”
“Helen, you’re being unfair again.”
“I am not being unfair, James. I have not said one way or another. I am, however, stating a fact you believed I would overlook. You have taken on the task of caring for me, when I am perfectly capable of doing so.”
“You care too much, Helen. You have emotions which rage stronger than any of us men know. And I care, for you.”
Helen watched as Nigel and Nikola rounded a corner ahead of them, then turned her attention back to James, her blue eyes bright in the oncoming darkness.
“I will do nothing, if you wish it. I simply want to be clear that I mean you no harm and will do what needs be to protect you.”
“Will you protect me from my own mind?”
“I will try to protect you from your own heart.”
Helen’s breath caught and she dropped his arm, facing him fully. She leaned up and kissed him on the lips, a soft kiss, one full of trust and devoid of immediacy. She felt him tense underneath her mouth, his hands sweeping up to hold her waist. It was a comforting kiss, a comfortable kiss, and one that promised more, if she chose it. She held power, the power to choose if she would let herself be weak and womanly, comforted and coddled by a man who not only wanted but respected her, or if she would bear her burden alone.
Breaking the kiss, Helen decided then and there that she would be no martyr to the cause of love. She would let James hold her, help her, heal her. And she would do her best to do the same for him. Together-yes, together-they would begin again.
*title credit goes to snugduff