5 Sanctuary Fics I've Written that I Actually Like!
Title: Before
Characters/Pairing: Helen/John
Rating: Teen
Summary: Helen confronts her worst fear…John. Written for (and winner of) Syfy LAS Round 1 Challenge 1 on LJ.
Cross-posted: Shorter version with the Syfy LAS entries.
The gun was cold, heavy in her hand. A testament to the fact she had just loaded six bullets into it. Helen Magnus was not unfamiliar with holding or shooting a gun. While working with her father, she had come across many unfortunate situations when lethal force, and accurate aim, had been necessary. The difference tonight was she was not seeking an abnormal, hoping to bring it safely to the Sanctuary. Tonight, she hunted what she desperately hoped was not her fiancé. The gun, instead of promising her safety, felt foreign in her hand.
When Nikola had come to her, concerned about John's erratic behaviour, she had dismissed it as mere jealousy. It was only a week after they had announced their engagement. She ignored the fact that, when he thought he was unobserved, she had also noticed he was distant with thought. When Nigel came to her, a month after Nikola, he was concerned for John's wellbeing. He had noticed that John rarely attended the classes she did not, and was less and less inclined to join both him and Watson for drinks or lively debate on modern affairs, especially when her work at the Sanctuary kept them away from their meetings. Finally, James sought her out to convince her, as the others had failed to, that John was not himself. Where others had provided their opinions and questions as to John's mental health, he had provided objective facts, persuading her using the logic they both loved so dearly.
That night, when she finally asked him what had been troubling him, he hesitated and turned to smile at her. Coming close, he whispered "Nothing, my love." Before setting to work at making her forget her own name. That night, as she rested, he quietly left the room. She waited for him to creep down the stairs, finally hearing the door creak open, and closed, before she dressed. It was entirely possible he was returning to his lodgings, lest she be found in a position that would compromise her virtue, but she would just check.
She left the house minutes later, following the form she could see in the distance in the direction of his accommodation. She followed it through winding streets, eventually finding herself in one of the poorer areas of the city and unable to track him further. She returned home, banishing the thoughts from her mind. That was the night of the fifth Ripper killing.
The next morning, still in denial about the events of the previous evening, she talked to John, her father, and even James, as though nothing had happened. Because nothing had happened, he had just gone for an extremely extended stroll.
The second time she followed him, Helen had not planned to do so. They had returned from a night at the Opera and he gallantly held open the door for her, kissed he hand in parting, and departed into the cool and foggy night. She had merely clutched her coat, counted to ten, and followed him out into the night with the intention of putting her ridiculous doubts to rest. She trailed after him through the city. The hem of her nice gown was eventually hard with the grime of the streets. Just before dawn, after losing and following him several times, she came across him in one of the many darkened courtyards. His form was hunched over and muscles straining against the thin shirt he had worn. Small whimpering noises could be heard coming from before him.
The sight shook Helen to the core. She had not expected this. In all truth, she had known instinctively that something was amiss, but her conscious mind would never have permitted to conceive that her beloved John was the target of James's manhunt. Jack the Ripper. He turned to face her, and would probably have seen her had the woman he restrained not held his full attention. Upon seeing the knife he held to her throat, Helen quietly, with the timidness of a rabbit quivering in its burrow and waiting for the wolf to find it, slid from the alley and ran as fast as she could. Eventually she stopped and collapsed in a small heap. Her elegant dress had long ago been ruined, her sparse makeup smeared, her carefully crafted hair loose about her shoulders. She could easily be mistaken for one of the whores John had killed.
Each night she was not in John's presence she followed him, armed with a gun and wrapped in heavy layers of dark clothing, usually reserved for mourning. In a way she was mourning. She grieved for her love that was lost to madness, the women he had killed and their child who would not know her father. She stalked through alleys, hunting a predator, relentless in her search. Their confrontation was inevitable, she only hoped she could talk sense into him.
She finally came across him in an alley as he approached one of the women from the area. She could see the glint of his partially drawn blade as he neared the woman, Molly. His steps were slow, casual, but there was a bloodthirsty hunch in his shoulders, an eagerness in his step. The poor woman probably thought he was looking for satisfaction of a far different kind.
"John! This ends here." She had to say something before the prostitute found she was unable to escape his strong arms. In reaction to her exclamation, he quickly thrust the blade back into the cane that concealed it. With yet more urgency he walked to Molly, standing beside her as he introduced her.
"Helen, what a lovely surprise. Molly, I would like you to meet my fiancée. Or, should I say, former fiancée, Helen Magnus. Doctor Helen Magnus." His manner and coldhearted words left little to the imagination about the impact this had on their relationship. Even if their 'relationship' had not existed in any real form for weeks.
"Doctor? I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am. Well...I'll be on my way." The situation was obviously making her uncomfortable. Though, again, her ignorance of the true situation, or dispute, involved was clear in her almost flippant manner. She gained a real idea of the significance of the moment when John reached, roughly, to grab her arm. His vice-like grip was preventing her from leaving and also causing significant discomfort.
"Stay. I insist." The gentlemanly words failed to disguise the contempt in his voice, the words a cruel parody on the kind man she had once known him to be.
"John, let me help you before you make things worse." In that moment, her greatest desire was that he would release the woman and come quietly. She wanted nothing more than to cure the disease he carried and return to the life she had loved for the last year. A life where their daughter could be safe with a loving family.
"And how is that possible? I've already murdered, what, seven whores? How could one more make the slightest difference?" The last of his guise as a man was dropped as his eyes conveyed pure malice to her and the woman in his arms. He was truly a monster.
"Murdered?" In the intense exchange of non-verbal communication between her and John, Helen had nearly forgotten Molly. As if his attention was also draw back to the figure before him, he pulled her towards him, hand covering her mouth, knife once again unsheathed and at her throat.
"What more have I to lose?" Helen knew it was a rhetorical question, but couldn't help but provide him with reminders of her, of his life before this had started.
"Your power's driving you mad, John. I can help." The woman who remembered John Druitt, as the man she had fallen in love with retreated to the back of her mind. Now she was Dr. Magnus. The woman who had fought to gain her medical degree, who hunted things most men didn't believe in.
"My power is all I have left." In a way he was right. He had lost his friends, his morals, his character. Soon, he would lose his love. The revolver now hot and slick with sweat, was raised. The force of will required to do so was phenomenal. To point the dangerous weapon at him screamed against everything in her being. She wanted to be back months ago in the carriage, leaving the play, as he proposed to her. She wanted to be years in the future, educating her child as its attentive father watched on and laughed, whole and sound. She wanted to be anywhere but in this moment, aiming a gun at John, tight coil of fear in her gut saying she might have to shoot him.
"Let her go." It was her last chance, the command that he would obey and renew his life with her, or ignore and destroy her heart. Her voice shook slightly with the level and multitude of emotions she felt.
"As the lady wishes." For a brief moment her heart soared. She would have him back. All would be well, the past forgotten. Her euphoria lasted only moments as he slowly relinquished his hold over the woman, before it was crushed as he pulled her closer towards him. Violently, he slit her throat before moving away from Molly's now lifeless body. She saw in his eyes that it was his last act of defiance. She aimed her gun at him and fired as he disappeared. She would not know for years to come if her shot had been fatal, or if she had missed and condemned others to die.
But for now, there was a lifeless body that would be discovered by the police and a woman who had just faced the worst conceivable outcome for the evening. She had killed her lover.
Title: Shortcomings of Logic
Fandom: Sanctuary
Prompt: Methodical Thinking
Warnings: Melodrama
Rating: K
Summary: Helen ponders what logic means in her life.
Helen was a devotee of logic. It dictated how she lived her life, almost every decision she made. Her world was a strange one, but logic in it did emerge. As the world changed around her, fashions, wars, governments and people, thought remained constant. It was relied upon, a friend. But methodical thinking offered no joy, no solace, no love. Rational thought dictated that she should need no joy, solace or love. Her greatest challenge had, and always would be, reconciling logic with her values and emotions. Logically, John Druitt should strike neither fear, nor love, into her heart.
Love was an emotion he once evoked. He was willing to see her as an equal when women were second-class citizens unable to comprehend the simplest of ideas. He had compassion for those rejected by society, as she was compassionate for those rejected by humanity. They were so similar and in love, there came a time when she couldn't differentiate between what she valued and what he encouraged her to value.
Fear had been dominant as she confronted him in the alley, more than a century past. She feared what she would find, what she would see, what the confrontation meant for her future. She feared the outcome of that evening to the point she had almost run home. She feared she had lost him. The emotion was summoned within her again as he appeared in her home, her Sanctuary. With her daughter close by, she envisioned every possible outcome, where her daughter discovered who her father was. When the world discovered she still harboured feelings for one of the most vicious killers of all time. She sought a logical solution when none existed.
Amidst the threat of global uprisings by abnormals, her emotions had been in turmoil. She wanted to love him again, wanted comfort as once again an impossible task was placed on her shoulders. But it was not a solution that encouraged success in their war against the Cabal, nor eternal happiness. She wanted to fear him again, burn away her confused emotions with a potent mixture of hate, fear, disgust, moral superiority and anger. But this course of action would mean losing a valuable asset in their battle and distracted her from a larger threat.
In truth, methodical thinking could not solve a problem concerning emotions to the degree this one did. Ultimately, methodical thinking had so little say in her worlds. Her friends, her daughter, where connections to the world she could not function without. The work that was central to her life was driven by passion for discovery and respect for the creatures of the world she sought to protect. Logic was a tool she used to protect those she cared for. Her emotions were her guiding light as fashions, wars and governments changed. Her emotions anchored her to the people who could provide her with joy, solace and love.
Title: After
Author: Japanese and Chocolate
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: Not mine…yet…
Summary: For the Diehard Challenge: Worst Case Scenario and in response to a comment on the audio commentary for 'Sanctuary For All'. What happened to John immediately after he was shot?
Reviews: Would be very nice. For my survival.
In a dark alley, somewhere in London, a man materialised in the shadows. He appeared in the small space between two buildings, leaning heavily on one, as he tried to staunch the bleeding from his cheek. Men crawling away from drunken bar fights, nursing all manner of injuries, were not uncommon at this time of night. What was uncommon about this man was that the injury was not sustained in a brawl, by a knife or broken glass, but by a shot that had barely missed him. Also uncommon about him was the person who had done him such damage. It wasn't a burly dockworker or a miner, but a woman. A doctor with a slim body disguised under layers of cloth that society dictated she wear. Golden curls cascading down her back and startlingly blue eyes piercing into him, asking why?
For a moment John Druitt contemplated going to see the very woman who had just tried to kill him, wondering whether she would shoot him again, or tend his wounds. Something in him rejected the idea of seeking help from her, wanting instead to kill her as violently as possible, despising her for weakening him and providing him with connections to the world around him. He was not part of the world. He was never meant to grow old with a wife he loved and children to adore. No place should hold him so tightly he couldn't leave with but a thought.
Whatever he eventually decided on, remaining in the foul smelling alley would not accomplish it. He sought out his angel, his would be murderer. Following her through darkened alleys as she wandered with no apparent destination. She was apparently oblivious to the blood that stained the hem of her gown, or the small smear of red bellow her eye, as if she had wiped away tears. Part of him felt pity for her, wanting nothing more than to take her into his arms and comfort her. But something in his mind rebuked the notion, this was only just the beginning of her pain. He may never lay a hand on her, but she would never know peace from him and the crimes he committed around her, for her. Both forces, equal in power, remained unable to overwhelm the other. So they continued to follow her and struggle for supremacy.
As dawn shadowed the horizon, she took an unexpected turn, and led them to a place they had not expected her to travel in her musings. They found themselves standing before their best friend's townhouse, only able to guess what occurred inside. For once, the two forces inhabiting his body agreed that this was a betrayal. The man couldn't help but feel jealous that she had turned to…him for comfort. The monster saw the threat that discovery by Watson posed. So they left, appearing some place on the opposite side of the world. The man, overcome with emotions and sensations, the monster calculating in how he would find vengeance.
They would track her as they had for years, centuries, to come. Neither would find peace until they accomplished what their nature dictated they should. Neither allowed what they wanted by the other. They would find her again, and one would win. Or, they would continue to follow her forever. One seeking forgiveness, one to inflict suffering.
There was no greater torment.
Title: Disciple and Deity (Part 1)
Fandom: Sanctuary
Prompt: Apotheosis
Warnings: Angst
Rating: K
Summary: A collection of goddesses through the eyes of men.
A/N: this is from a set of drabbles all about how men perceive those they love. Let the cheesiness ensue.
She was immortal, invulnerable, unreachable and worshiped. If that did not define a goddess, what did? He was absolutely devoted to her from the moment he set eyes on her. She was the centre of his world and he held her in the highest regard he had any person. She gave purpose to his life. Even during darker days after he had turned from her and his former life, he could not find it in himself to truly relinquish the hold she had on him.
In London, when they were decades younger than now, she had been a goddess of beauty, intelligence and passion, Athena made flesh. Now, she was so much more. A darker beauty, wise and determined. It had been so long that he no longer truly known her, but the mystery that enveloped her like smoke made her even more God-like.
He was not alone in his worship. Her friends, her patients, all had cast her as a larger-than-life figure. In a way she was, no-one remained normal at 157.
He looked at her again and realized how entirely mortal she was. Human, goddess, healer, killer, ruler and servant.
And it only made him love her more.
Title: Constant
Fandom: Sanctuary
Prompt: Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure
Warnings: A bit of an angsty look into John's mind. Spoilers for End of Nights and Haunted
Rating: Teenager
Summary: In John's mind love is fleeting, but hate is an overpowering constant.
Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;
men love in haste but they detest at leisure.
Lord Byron, Don Juan Canto XIII (1823)
Kneeling in one of the Sanctuary's cells, Helen pointing a gun at him, John reflected on the silence, the peace in his soul. Something had changed. Ripping the violence, fear, insanity, hatred out of his being and throwing it to the wind. In brief seconds his mind wander to examine every detail of his life in detail, from his time as Jack the Ripper to his systematic destruction of the Cabal and could only conclude it was not him. His actions had not been his own, at least not entirely. Yes, John had once viewed the streetwalkers he would slaughter as lesser beings, but he never hated them as he one day would. Yes, he had sought revenge for his daughter's death, but before injecting himself with the source blood he would not have reveled in feeling the blood of those responsible on his hands.
The first time John had truly hated was when he was twelve. A pair of thieves had stolen his mother's purse, slitting her throat when she cried out. Again he felt hatred when he realized Tesla's intention of wooing Helen. The knowledge in his mind that she was not so fickle, or easily swayed, did little to temper the rage in his heart at the thought of Tesla touching her or laughing with her as he did. Before Helen had procured the vial of vampire blood he had hated, but not so strongly or as often as he had after.
He hated almost everyone after that. The jealous rage that Tesla had sparked earlier became an inferno every time he saw them together and it took all his self control, and the idea of loosing Helen, not to teleport him somewhere very unpleasant. Nigel's joking nature no longer amused him as it once did, and every time Helen laughed, or told a joke of her own in response, he couldn't quell the sense of ownership: Helen's smile should be for him and him alone. Helen's eager discussions and debates with James took a great deal of her time, time she could be spending with him. A deep dark part of his mind could not help but whisper that she regarded him as the intellectual John would never be. After this he gained a perverse amusement from misleading him in his thoughts of the Ripper case. Reveling in the fact that Watson was asking the advice of the very man who he hunted: his best friend.
For all the hatred in his life, he had only loved once. Malevolence to almost every life form he encountered only opposed by his utter devotion to one woman, whom he could not harm if his life depended on it. The only person he had never hated, but perhaps the one who had given him the most reason to do so. Even now, as she leveled the gun at his head John Druitt could not bring himself to place any blame on Helen Magnus. Still it was unfair: their love had sparked so bright in Oxford, their relationship so meaningful for both that they did not wait for the wedding to consummate it, yet the torch had burned so fast it was extinguished within a year. The darkness and hatred that had followed had never been so potent, but it had been much more persistent. His hatred had been as constant as Helen, but it had been closer for so much longer. Men love in haste but they detest at leisure.