Family Portrait
Title: Family Portrait
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters: Helen/John, Ashley
Word Count: 1,024
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for this year's sanctuary_santa.
Summary: There’s a crackling noise and a smell of smoke and ozone, and Helen’s heart leaps into her throat as she turns her head toward the source. There’s a moment of silence as John takes in the scene.
It’s long past Ashley’s bedtime, and long past the time at which she actually fell asleep; Helen is sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. It’s a habit that Helen honestly hasn’t tried very hard to shake, watching over her daughter in the night to protect her from anything that might turn up. She knows better than most just how dangerous the world can be.
There’s a crackling noise and a smell of smoke and ozone, and Helen’s heart leaps into her throat as she turns her head toward the source. There’s a moment of silence as John takes in the scene.
“Helen,” he says, and this is John as she hasn’t heard him in years, truly astonished and not a little scared. His eyes are wide in his face, and though his complexion has been growing paler and paler through the years, she’s certain that all remaining color has drained from his face. “What-”
“It’s a child, John,” Helen says smoothly, rising from the rocking chair in Ashley’s room and moving towards the bed. She tries to make her steps even, unhurried, but John picks up her discomfort. He always has.
“Helen,” he repeats, and now his voice has that raw, nearly broken edge to it. That tone has never led anywhere good.
“Please don’t ask me,” she says, turning to look down at her daughter - their daughter, she supposes, though she’d thought John dead, so really it had been all her own doing-
Helen’s head snaps up as the thought registers. “I thought you were dead,” she says, trying to keep her voice from sounding accusatory. She’s not quite successful, she can tell, but John merely tilts his head to the side.
“So did I,” he replies, which doesn’t answer any of her questions. She can recognize a door slamming shut in her face when she hears one, though. John takes a careful step forward, then another; Helen wants to stop him and also doesn’t, and in a few more strides he’s by her side, peering down at the girl on the bed.
Ashley is a beautiful child, and there’s no doubt that she’s Helen’s daughter, not at four years old. Her hair is lighter than Helen thinks her own ever was, but she knows it will darken to her own natural blonde over time, and there’s no mistaking Helen’s eyes peering out from Ashley’s face when she’s awake.
Her facial structure is John’s, though, all high cheekbones and the same proud nose. There’s no outward sign to indicate that John has put the pieces together, but Helen can tell when he does all the same, and she spends a moment holding her breath before John takes a small step back.
“How can this be possible?” he asks, and she can’t tell the emotion in his voice, sadness or anger or bewilderment. His skin is pale, so pale, and there’s a fine trembling in his hands that Helen is just now noticing.
“John,” she asks sharply, moving between him and the bed, “why are you here?”
“Why did you not tell me?” he asks instead of answering her question. It’s as if he hasn’t heard her at all. He shifts to the right so he can peer around her, his eyes flicking over Ashley’s face. He reaches his hand out slowly, but stops well before Helen has time to tense up completely. His hand drops back to his side as he turns to look at Helen. “What is her name?”
“What are you doing here, John?” Helen asks again, more firmly this time. “It’s been decades. It’s been long enough that I finally thought it was safe to-” She cuts herself off, but John’s eyes go back to Ashley’s face, and she can see the rest of the puzzle fall together for him.
“You thought that I would come after her,” John breathes. “Helen, how could you think that I would ever-”
Helen’s eyes narrow, and she only just avoids crossing her arms over her chest. It’s not an illogical assumption on her part.
“I would never-” John says harshly, quietly, but he stops before completing his sentence. He bows his head and Helen can see the tremor that runs through him. It’s a long moment before he looks up again. “Helen, I swear on everything that we once held dear, I would never harm a child of yours.”
Helen doesn’t know what to say, how exactly to explain everything that terrifies her so. It’s not John that she’s afraid of, but there are times when she truly believes that this isn’t John at all, not any more. It hasn’t been since he gained his ability, if she’s truthful with herself. “John,” she says quietly, instead of trying to put it into words.
“Tell me her name,” John repeats, staring at Ashley again. “Please, Helen, do me this kindness.”
For all of Helen’s strengths, for everything she’s worked for, she’s never been able to refuse John when he’s sounded like this, as if her response would be the one thing he needed to keep him from plunging into true madness. “Ashley,” she says after a moment. “Her name is Ashley.”
“Ashley,” John echoes, the name gravelly across his lips, somehow reverent like John hasn’t been in longer than Helen can recall. He smiles, thin and spidery, and then takes another step back and vanishes.
Helen stands still by the bed for a moment before taking in a deep breath and turning to look down at Ashley. She’s unsurprised to find Ashley peering up at her from the bed.
“Mommy?” she asks, voice tired. “Who was that?”
Helen tries for a smile and hope that it doesn’t tremble. “Nobody, sweetheart.” She sits down on the bed and smoothes down the hair on Ashley’s head. “Go back to sleep, and we’ll have pancakes in the morning, okay?”
Ashley returns the smile and turns onto her side, curling up and shutting her eyes. She’s asleep again in under a minute, but Helen sits there for much, much longer, stroking her fingers through Ashley’s hair and wondering what, exactly, she’s supposed to be thinking.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters: Helen/John, Ashley
Word Count: 1,024
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for this year's sanctuary_santa.
Summary: There’s a crackling noise and a smell of smoke and ozone, and Helen’s heart leaps into her throat as she turns her head toward the source. There’s a moment of silence as John takes in the scene.
It’s long past Ashley’s bedtime, and long past the time at which she actually fell asleep; Helen is sitting in the rocking chair in the corner. It’s a habit that Helen honestly hasn’t tried very hard to shake, watching over her daughter in the night to protect her from anything that might turn up. She knows better than most just how dangerous the world can be.
There’s a crackling noise and a smell of smoke and ozone, and Helen’s heart leaps into her throat as she turns her head toward the source. There’s a moment of silence as John takes in the scene.
“Helen,” he says, and this is John as she hasn’t heard him in years, truly astonished and not a little scared. His eyes are wide in his face, and though his complexion has been growing paler and paler through the years, she’s certain that all remaining color has drained from his face. “What-”
“It’s a child, John,” Helen says smoothly, rising from the rocking chair in Ashley’s room and moving towards the bed. She tries to make her steps even, unhurried, but John picks up her discomfort. He always has.
“Helen,” he repeats, and now his voice has that raw, nearly broken edge to it. That tone has never led anywhere good.
“Please don’t ask me,” she says, turning to look down at her daughter - their daughter, she supposes, though she’d thought John dead, so really it had been all her own doing-
Helen’s head snaps up as the thought registers. “I thought you were dead,” she says, trying to keep her voice from sounding accusatory. She’s not quite successful, she can tell, but John merely tilts his head to the side.
“So did I,” he replies, which doesn’t answer any of her questions. She can recognize a door slamming shut in her face when she hears one, though. John takes a careful step forward, then another; Helen wants to stop him and also doesn’t, and in a few more strides he’s by her side, peering down at the girl on the bed.
Ashley is a beautiful child, and there’s no doubt that she’s Helen’s daughter, not at four years old. Her hair is lighter than Helen thinks her own ever was, but she knows it will darken to her own natural blonde over time, and there’s no mistaking Helen’s eyes peering out from Ashley’s face when she’s awake.
Her facial structure is John’s, though, all high cheekbones and the same proud nose. There’s no outward sign to indicate that John has put the pieces together, but Helen can tell when he does all the same, and she spends a moment holding her breath before John takes a small step back.
“How can this be possible?” he asks, and she can’t tell the emotion in his voice, sadness or anger or bewilderment. His skin is pale, so pale, and there’s a fine trembling in his hands that Helen is just now noticing.
“John,” she asks sharply, moving between him and the bed, “why are you here?”
“Why did you not tell me?” he asks instead of answering her question. It’s as if he hasn’t heard her at all. He shifts to the right so he can peer around her, his eyes flicking over Ashley’s face. He reaches his hand out slowly, but stops well before Helen has time to tense up completely. His hand drops back to his side as he turns to look at Helen. “What is her name?”
“What are you doing here, John?” Helen asks again, more firmly this time. “It’s been decades. It’s been long enough that I finally thought it was safe to-” She cuts herself off, but John’s eyes go back to Ashley’s face, and she can see the rest of the puzzle fall together for him.
“You thought that I would come after her,” John breathes. “Helen, how could you think that I would ever-”
Helen’s eyes narrow, and she only just avoids crossing her arms over her chest. It’s not an illogical assumption on her part.
“I would never-” John says harshly, quietly, but he stops before completing his sentence. He bows his head and Helen can see the tremor that runs through him. It’s a long moment before he looks up again. “Helen, I swear on everything that we once held dear, I would never harm a child of yours.”
Helen doesn’t know what to say, how exactly to explain everything that terrifies her so. It’s not John that she’s afraid of, but there are times when she truly believes that this isn’t John at all, not any more. It hasn’t been since he gained his ability, if she’s truthful with herself. “John,” she says quietly, instead of trying to put it into words.
“Tell me her name,” John repeats, staring at Ashley again. “Please, Helen, do me this kindness.”
For all of Helen’s strengths, for everything she’s worked for, she’s never been able to refuse John when he’s sounded like this, as if her response would be the one thing he needed to keep him from plunging into true madness. “Ashley,” she says after a moment. “Her name is Ashley.”
“Ashley,” John echoes, the name gravelly across his lips, somehow reverent like John hasn’t been in longer than Helen can recall. He smiles, thin and spidery, and then takes another step back and vanishes.
Helen stands still by the bed for a moment before taking in a deep breath and turning to look down at Ashley. She’s unsurprised to find Ashley peering up at her from the bed.
“Mommy?” she asks, voice tired. “Who was that?”
Helen tries for a smile and hope that it doesn’t tremble. “Nobody, sweetheart.” She sits down on the bed and smoothes down the hair on Ashley’s head. “Go back to sleep, and we’ll have pancakes in the morning, okay?”
Ashley returns the smile and turns onto her side, curling up and shutting her eyes. She’s asleep again in under a minute, but Helen sits there for much, much longer, stroking her fingers through Ashley’s hair and wondering what, exactly, she’s supposed to be thinking.