Sanctuary fic -- A New Prometheus
Next in my series about the early days of The Five, but you don't have to have read anything first. This is in the same series as The Best Laid Plans, Withering on the Vine, Consolation, Electricity, Dizzy, Dance and Power.
In which James Watson has a moral dilemma that lays the foundation for a great deal.
James Watson did not want a fight.
James Watson did not want a fight. A fight with his mentor was perhaps the last thing in the world he wanted, or at least the last before some things which seemed unlikely, like suddenly finding himself twelve years old again. He was quite aware that he was an arrogant young Turk. Everyone said so, including John, who said it fondly but meant it all the same. Only an arrogant young Turk would achieve an internship with one of the leading physicians of the age only to decide, ten months later, that he thought he knew better than his master. And yet by the beginning of the second autumn, James found himself doing so. There were some things about Dr. Magnus that were decidedly…. That he found himself decidedly ambivalent about.
At Helen's behest he had passed beyond the portals of Dr. Magnus' private laboratory, discovering wonders he had not anticipated. This internship was fruitful beyond his wildest imaginings. And yet he found himself growing more…discontented. He was quite aware he was an arrogant young Turk (who also had a good deal to lose if this internship went soggy around the edges), and thus it was almost Christmas before he brought it up, even to his best friend. John Druitt was hopelessly smitten with Miss Magnus, who could not seem to tell the difference between Druitt and a very tall potted palm tree, at least as far as romance went, so James was hesitant to raise the subject. Nevertheless, a long habit of personal confidences paved the way.
A soliloquy on Dr. Magnus followed, tentatively finished with, "…and there simply seems something dodgy about the whole endeavor."
Druitt had not uttered a word throughout. His long face managed to somehow resemble a thoughtful hound when he listened quietly, a not entirely flattering comparison, and yet he was as steady as the rocks of Britain. "The alterations," he said flatly.
James nodded and sat down on the end of John's bed, as there was no chair that wasn't piled high with laundry. "The alterations," he said flatly. "It's one thing to study unfortunate creatures who are misshapen by nature but...." He hunted for the words. "To alter a being into something strange and deadly, like that monstrous fighting thing…."
"Is very Victor Frankenstein," Druitt said with a small, cold smile. "Sometimes modern literature provides worthwhile insights, Watson. There are some valuable things besides science and classics."
James blinked. "Victor who?"
"He created a monster," John said. "In the book by Mary Shelley."
This information did not elucidate. "A woman writer? Is this one of Helen's Sufferage things?" Miss Magnus' passion for barely readable polemics was a trial to them all. He and Tesla and Griffith had long since given up on them and only Druitt endured.
Druitt put his hand to his brow. "Only in the most indirect sense, I assure you. Her mother addressed the subject, but…."
"Helen's mother?"
"Mary Shelley's mother." Druitt looked testy. "Mary Wollenstonecraft. She was in Paris during the Revolution and then her daughter had a complicated relationship with the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley while her half sister was Byron's lover and Byron and Shelley were sharing a house and anyway…." Druitt's nose was turning pink for some reason, inexplicable since he was recounting the romantic shortcomings of people that Watson had never before heard of, with the exception of the lamentably soppy Byron.
"What has that to do with Dr. Magnus?" James interrupted.
Druitt pulled up like a startled Clydesdale. "He creates monsters," he said.
"That is what I was telling you," James said patiently. "Before you decided to interject the doings of a great many dead poets. And I don't like it."
"I know you don't like poetry," Druitt began hotly.
"Monsters!" James exclaimed. "I don't like the bit with the monsters. Hang the poets!"
"They all went boating on Lake Constance. Or Lake Geneva," Druitt said. "In any event…."
"I don't care if they all went down with the Spanish Armada," James said. "I don't like this business and I don't know how to get out of it. I'm not about to do that sort of thing, not to any creature unwilling. And that's that."
To his surprise Druitt put his head to the side. "You're right."
"What?"
"I'm agreeing with you, Watson. It does happen." Druitt sat down on the other end of the bed, his back to the headboard, stretching out his long legs. "I don't much like it either."
"You've never said a word."
"He's her father, isn't he?" Druitt leaned back. "Helen will never hear a word against him. He's all four apostles wrapped up in a package and he nearly walks on water. Tesla may argue with him in no uncertain terms, but I'd better not, had I?" He looked at Watson keenly. "But you've as much to lose as I have by rocking the boat."
"He doesn't like Tesla anyway." James dismissed it.
"Because he's a Slav. You heard that long diatribe about the Huns and Slavs destroying civilization the other week, just as clear as I did." Druitt's mouth narrowed. "Damnation to that, I say, and if it means being less than John Bull, so be it."
"You didn't say a word at the time," James observed.
"He's her father. You know if he forbids it I'll never get her to marry me."
"She's not going to anyway," James said. "There's no sign of it that I see. She's more like to run off to New York with Tesla."
"She'll come around," Druitt said. "And she'll never marry Tesla, not for all the tea in China. He's not half malleable enough."
"Whereas you're a King Charles Spaniel," James said.
"I'm a considerably better lapdog than Tesla," Druitt said complacently. "And you're not trying to marry Helen. You could have sounded off at dinner."
"My internship?" James reminded him. "I can't go four rounds with him about Slavs any more than I can over monsters." He shook his head. "But it's wrong, John. Wrong to the bone. We ought to be conservators, not…."
"…tormentors?" Druitt's brows quirked. "And we'll do it differently, you and I, when it's our turn. You think he's beastly. I know that look. Well, perhaps he is. Or perhaps he's just old. You can't expect old men to be forward-thinking. But you won't have this internship forever. You'll be on your own and you can do as you like. Personally I think he's a piss-poor excuse for a father and Helen deserves better, but no one chooses their family and it's to her credit that she loves him even if he's a bit of a shit."
James blinked. For Druitt that was quite a speech. "You really don't like him."
"Not at all. The way he runs off on his own business when he ought to be home. The way he plays with Helen and manipulates her feelings in these complicated intellectual games…. Love ought not be conditional, James, least of all to your child. At least my mother…."
"Well, she's a lunatic but she loves you," James said. And that was the best that could be said for the poor woman.
"I'd never play a daughter's affections like that," Druitt said grimly. "Honesty is the best policy, however painful. No games, no lies. Helen's heard too many of those." He shook his head. "Look, old man. You've two choices as I see it. Tell him what you think and resign the internship, or carry on and finish and then do as you please. I can't tell your conscience which is best."
"But you mean to be mum," James said resentfully.
"There are plenty of men who suck it up with their fathers in law."
"You aren't a son in law yet," James said. "Helen's not so much as said she reciprocates."
"I see definite signs of softening," Druitt said.
"She hits you less often."
"Something like that."
James nodded slowly. "I'll have to think on this," he said.
In which James Watson has a moral dilemma that lays the foundation for a great deal.
James Watson did not want a fight.
James Watson did not want a fight. A fight with his mentor was perhaps the last thing in the world he wanted, or at least the last before some things which seemed unlikely, like suddenly finding himself twelve years old again. He was quite aware that he was an arrogant young Turk. Everyone said so, including John, who said it fondly but meant it all the same. Only an arrogant young Turk would achieve an internship with one of the leading physicians of the age only to decide, ten months later, that he thought he knew better than his master. And yet by the beginning of the second autumn, James found himself doing so. There were some things about Dr. Magnus that were decidedly…. That he found himself decidedly ambivalent about.
At Helen's behest he had passed beyond the portals of Dr. Magnus' private laboratory, discovering wonders he had not anticipated. This internship was fruitful beyond his wildest imaginings. And yet he found himself growing more…discontented. He was quite aware he was an arrogant young Turk (who also had a good deal to lose if this internship went soggy around the edges), and thus it was almost Christmas before he brought it up, even to his best friend. John Druitt was hopelessly smitten with Miss Magnus, who could not seem to tell the difference between Druitt and a very tall potted palm tree, at least as far as romance went, so James was hesitant to raise the subject. Nevertheless, a long habit of personal confidences paved the way.
A soliloquy on Dr. Magnus followed, tentatively finished with, "…and there simply seems something dodgy about the whole endeavor."
Druitt had not uttered a word throughout. His long face managed to somehow resemble a thoughtful hound when he listened quietly, a not entirely flattering comparison, and yet he was as steady as the rocks of Britain. "The alterations," he said flatly.
James nodded and sat down on the end of John's bed, as there was no chair that wasn't piled high with laundry. "The alterations," he said flatly. "It's one thing to study unfortunate creatures who are misshapen by nature but...." He hunted for the words. "To alter a being into something strange and deadly, like that monstrous fighting thing…."
"Is very Victor Frankenstein," Druitt said with a small, cold smile. "Sometimes modern literature provides worthwhile insights, Watson. There are some valuable things besides science and classics."
James blinked. "Victor who?"
"He created a monster," John said. "In the book by Mary Shelley."
This information did not elucidate. "A woman writer? Is this one of Helen's Sufferage things?" Miss Magnus' passion for barely readable polemics was a trial to them all. He and Tesla and Griffith had long since given up on them and only Druitt endured.
Druitt put his hand to his brow. "Only in the most indirect sense, I assure you. Her mother addressed the subject, but…."
"Helen's mother?"
"Mary Shelley's mother." Druitt looked testy. "Mary Wollenstonecraft. She was in Paris during the Revolution and then her daughter had a complicated relationship with the poet Percy Bysshe Shelley while her half sister was Byron's lover and Byron and Shelley were sharing a house and anyway…." Druitt's nose was turning pink for some reason, inexplicable since he was recounting the romantic shortcomings of people that Watson had never before heard of, with the exception of the lamentably soppy Byron.
"What has that to do with Dr. Magnus?" James interrupted.
Druitt pulled up like a startled Clydesdale. "He creates monsters," he said.
"That is what I was telling you," James said patiently. "Before you decided to interject the doings of a great many dead poets. And I don't like it."
"I know you don't like poetry," Druitt began hotly.
"Monsters!" James exclaimed. "I don't like the bit with the monsters. Hang the poets!"
"They all went boating on Lake Constance. Or Lake Geneva," Druitt said. "In any event…."
"I don't care if they all went down with the Spanish Armada," James said. "I don't like this business and I don't know how to get out of it. I'm not about to do that sort of thing, not to any creature unwilling. And that's that."
To his surprise Druitt put his head to the side. "You're right."
"What?"
"I'm agreeing with you, Watson. It does happen." Druitt sat down on the other end of the bed, his back to the headboard, stretching out his long legs. "I don't much like it either."
"You've never said a word."
"He's her father, isn't he?" Druitt leaned back. "Helen will never hear a word against him. He's all four apostles wrapped up in a package and he nearly walks on water. Tesla may argue with him in no uncertain terms, but I'd better not, had I?" He looked at Watson keenly. "But you've as much to lose as I have by rocking the boat."
"He doesn't like Tesla anyway." James dismissed it.
"Because he's a Slav. You heard that long diatribe about the Huns and Slavs destroying civilization the other week, just as clear as I did." Druitt's mouth narrowed. "Damnation to that, I say, and if it means being less than John Bull, so be it."
"You didn't say a word at the time," James observed.
"He's her father. You know if he forbids it I'll never get her to marry me."
"She's not going to anyway," James said. "There's no sign of it that I see. She's more like to run off to New York with Tesla."
"She'll come around," Druitt said. "And she'll never marry Tesla, not for all the tea in China. He's not half malleable enough."
"Whereas you're a King Charles Spaniel," James said.
"I'm a considerably better lapdog than Tesla," Druitt said complacently. "And you're not trying to marry Helen. You could have sounded off at dinner."
"My internship?" James reminded him. "I can't go four rounds with him about Slavs any more than I can over monsters." He shook his head. "But it's wrong, John. Wrong to the bone. We ought to be conservators, not…."
"…tormentors?" Druitt's brows quirked. "And we'll do it differently, you and I, when it's our turn. You think he's beastly. I know that look. Well, perhaps he is. Or perhaps he's just old. You can't expect old men to be forward-thinking. But you won't have this internship forever. You'll be on your own and you can do as you like. Personally I think he's a piss-poor excuse for a father and Helen deserves better, but no one chooses their family and it's to her credit that she loves him even if he's a bit of a shit."
James blinked. For Druitt that was quite a speech. "You really don't like him."
"Not at all. The way he runs off on his own business when he ought to be home. The way he plays with Helen and manipulates her feelings in these complicated intellectual games…. Love ought not be conditional, James, least of all to your child. At least my mother…."
"Well, she's a lunatic but she loves you," James said. And that was the best that could be said for the poor woman.
"I'd never play a daughter's affections like that," Druitt said grimly. "Honesty is the best policy, however painful. No games, no lies. Helen's heard too many of those." He shook his head. "Look, old man. You've two choices as I see it. Tell him what you think and resign the internship, or carry on and finish and then do as you please. I can't tell your conscience which is best."
"But you mean to be mum," James said resentfully.
"There are plenty of men who suck it up with their fathers in law."
"You aren't a son in law yet," James said. "Helen's not so much as said she reciprocates."
"I see definite signs of softening," Druitt said.
"She hits you less often."
"Something like that."
James nodded slowly. "I'll have to think on this," he said.