FIC: "Whistling Past the Graveyard," Helen/OFC

[geonncannon]

Title: Whistling Past the Graveyard
Author: geonncannon
Fandom: Sanctuary
Pairing: Helen/OFC
Word Count: 5,468
Category: Historical, drama, pre-relationship
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Helen Magnus and the Sanctuary do not belong to me.
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Violence and wartime drama.
Author's Notes: This is technically for the International Day of Femslash, which is tomorrow! Enjoy all the femslash, everyone!
Summary: During the London Blitz, Helen Magnus and her current assistant must protect three Abnormals from Hitler's army.

During the Second World War, there were two versions of Helen Magnus. One occupied the warm sitting rooms of Oxford, dressed in finery and discussing the morality of war. The other spent evenings in bombed-out shells of buildings with soot on her face, building blisters on her hands as she moved rubble to save whoever she could. Polite society would barely allow her to pour her own tea, so she wore gloves and kept her hands folded in her lap so no one would question how she became so damaged.

It was a bit more difficult to explain away her hair. When her blond curls suddenly became dark black and short enough that it barely brushed her neck, her friends were aghast. She told them she'd done it out of boredom, but the truth was that it made it easier for her to blend with the shadows on dark streets.

The only person who knew of her secret life was Winston. Telling the truth was easier than making up excuses for why she was unavailable for his brainstorming sessions. Nigel, Nikola and James would make do in her absence, she assured him, although he still asked her opinion privately the next time they met.

Currently, Helen had been in her "street" guise for nearly two weeks straight. London was smoldering, the whole of England burnt and bombed nearly to oblivion. The only thing Hitler's goddamn planes hadn't destroyed was the English spirit, but even that was starting to be strained. Over the past few months, London had learned to live in the darkness. When the sun went down and planes flew overhead unseen, every home and business shut out their lights. The streets were swallowed by the night, and the British became blind. Better than the alternative.

She was in the basement of what was once a tenement, the upper rooms now littering the street in chunks no bigger than a loaf of bread. The stairs led up out of the basement and ended in midair ten feet above the ground. It had the look of a drawing left unfinished, a charcoal sketch on a napkin that would be thrown away at the end of a meal. Helen's hair was flat against her forehead and her cheeks, her clothes filthy. She wore a man's shirt, suspenders holding up her baggy trousers.

There was a familiar scratch behind her and then the room lit with a soft glow. Helen turned and saw a disembodied face glowing in the flickering light from the match. In the brief illumination she could see Máire's shock of red curls, her crimson blouse. She knew that she was also wearing tight black pants, skintight ostensibly so they wouldn't snag on anything if she had to run. But Helen knew that Máire just enjoyed the way the leggings showed off her figure.

Helen moved to the small window near the ceiling, away from the stink of the cigarette. "Honestly," she murmured. "Isn't there enough smoke in this town already?"

"None with tobacco," Máire said, her Irish accent giving her words a musical lilt.

"Nasty habit," Helen said. She climbed onto a crate so she could look through the smudged and warped glass and out onto the street.

"We all need our vices," Máire said. Helen lifted the curtain with the side of her hand, and Máire moved to stand behind her. Máire was a bit taller than Helen, and put her hands on Helen's hips to steady her. "Are you certain they'll be here?"

"This was the place we agreed upon," Helen said. She tried to look past the white X of tape on the glass, but it was impossible to ignore. It seemed to float in the darkness in front of her face, the sky beyond it lit white and pink by explosions and weapon fire. "The sad fact is that punctuality has become a luxury in these dark days." She let the curtain fall back and turned to face Máire. "We may have quite a wait ahead of us."

"Should I sing to you?"

Helen smiled and climbed down off the box. Máire kept her hands on Helen's hips for a moment before Helen gently removed them and walked across the room. "That won't be necessary, but thank you." The cinder at the tip of Máire's cigarette glowed in the darkness. "I hope I'm not keeping you from your day job."

"You mean my night job," Máire said. "I got someone to fill in for me."

Helen nodded and then jumped as the ground shook again. She lifted her head as if she could see through the floorboards to the city above. It seemed like a joke, a cruel prank. That she would live long enough to see this happen to her beloved city. In a natural world, she would be an old woman by now. Safely ferried away to the country. Perhaps her mind would have gone years ago and her daughter would be able to convince her that everything was fine. She could be safe and sound in Oxford, watching the grandchildren play in the grass of her farmhouse.

Máire said, "What?"

"Pardon?"

"You laughed. I could do with one right now."

Helen said, "Ah. I was just wondering at how bad things must be if I'm fantasizing about a life of mediocrity, banality and dementia."

Máire made a quiet noise of affirmation and sat next to Helen on the crate. "How old are ya? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all," Helen said. She quickly did the math and raised an eyebrow. "I'm eighty-nine years old. I didn't realize; I only celebrate decades anymore."

"So next year is your ninetieth. Any plans?"

Another bomb landed nearby and dust fell on them. Máire protected her cigarette, and Helen looked toward the window. The curtain glowed white and then faded.

"Survive until then," Helen said. She took out her pocket watch and borrowed a match from Máire's pack to look at the time. "We should go out and keep a look out for them."

"Out in that?" Máire said.

Helen stood and walked to the stairs. "You're not becoming cautious on me, are you?"

"Not at all, Hel. Just makin' sure of the plan."

Helen picked up her long trenchcoat and led the way out of the basement. Two walls still stood, framing the basement entrance on either side. Helen lifted her eyes to the sky that was once full of stars and infinite wonder. She remembered the first night of the blackout, when every home and business turned out their lights and the stars shone as brightly as she remembered from her youth. The moon had looked close enough to touch and the stars were like the flashes of sun on a lake's surface. Now it seemed like that moment of beauty was a treasure meant to apologize for what was to come.

The sky was now full of thick smoke that formed apocalyptic clouds, spotlights swimming back and forth across the bellies of the plumes. The barrage balloons floated through the haze like fat bumblebees. She could hear the hum of engines - clearly identifying them as enemy and friendly just from the way the sounded - and she left the frame of the ruined home.

The street was lined with rubble. Máire and Helen stayed close to the buildings that were still standing, cautious that another bomb may cause them to finally collapse. They reached the end of the block and Helen looked to the west. Their guests were coming from Sutton, and even with the bombing they should have arrived by now. Helen was about to suggest aborting the mission when she spotted movement further down the street.

"I believe our guests have arrived."

Three people were moving quickly down the street toward them. Helen remained in the shadows until the tallest of the three stopped and flicked his lighter three times. There was a pause, and then he flicked it again. He fumbled to return it to his pocket and then continued walking.

"That was the signal," Helen said. She took another match from Máire and lit it. She held it between her thumb and forefinger and knelt to place it on the rubble in front of her. The trio across the street paused and Helen could hear them speaking to one another before they made their tentative way over. "Hail fellow well met," Helen said when they were close enough to hear without raising her voice.

"Dia dhuit," the tall man said. "Magnus? Doc-ter?"

Helen nodded. "Yes, Helen. This is Máire Hughes."

The man nodded. "Faolan." He gestured at the two women with him, their heads covered with cloaks and said, "Mo nigheans, Keela... Maolisa."

Máire said, "These are his daughters, Keela and Maolisa."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Helen said, while Máire translated. "We took a bit of a gamble tonight, and it didn't quite pay off. We're going to have a difficult time returning to the Sanctuary, but--"

"Helen," Máire interrupted. "Faolan needs to tell you something." She listened to him for a moment and then her eyes widened. She looked down the street. "They were followed."

"Come with me," Helen said, already turning as Máire translated the instruction. Their footsteps sounded suddenly loud on the street, the bombs apparently conspiring to expose them. Helen turned to Máire without slowing down. The gun was placed in her hand without her having to ask, and she checked the load.

Helen stopped when they reached the burnt out husk. She put a hand on Máire's shoulder and said, "Take them to the basement, where they'll be safe."

"And you?" Máire asked.

Helen said, "I'll hold them off as long as I can. Be ready."

Máire nodded and spoke to Faolan. She ushered him and his daughters into the house and they quickly disappeared into the black chasm of the basement door. Helen had her own gun tucked into the waistband of her trousers and she pulled it free. She had just started back down the street when the first two motorcycles rounded the corner. She raised her gun and fired twice. The headlights of the bikes shattered and cast the street into darkness. Helen ran to the pile of rubble, changing her position in case they returned fire.

The first bike ran into a chunk of brick a few seconds later. Helen heard the rider shout and the clatter as his motorcycle somersaulted. The other was wise enough to stop rather than blunder forward. She could just barely make out his silhouette in the shadows and she fired again without stopping. He crouched behind his machine and fired back at her. His pistol was automatic, and Helen cursed as she took cover.

The pistol was a German Luger. The men were Nazis.

Helen found an open doorway and stepped inside. The roof had been blown off this building as well, but the first floor still had some cover. There were holes where meager light shone through, and she used it to move to the north. If she could get behind the soldiers, she had a chance. She could hear the motorcycle riders outside now, talking to each other in rapid German. Helen could only make out one word in three, but that was enough to get the gist of the conversation.

"...forget woman... troublemaker..."

"Not coincidence. Faolan nearby. Woman... tell."

Helen opened the revolver Máire had given her and closed her eyes, rubbing her thumb over cartridges in the cylinder. Six bullets. She snapped it shut again and moved to the window. The glass was all gone, leaving a framework of wood with sharp teeth. Helen didn't risk the noise of brushing them free, risking a cut as she threaded her arm out and cocked the pistol. One of the Germans turned toward the noise as she fired.

He was caught in the shoulder, and the force of the impact threw him to the ground. The other German shouted a curse at her and crouched, firing blindly. Helen withdrew into the building and let him shoot. If he wanted to waste bullets, she was more than happy to let him. She brushed her sleeve across her sweaty forehead, feeling the grime of soot that was left behind from the move. She didn't mind; more camouflage in the darkness.

The German eventually wised up and stopped firing. Helen moved back to the door and heard a low rumble that shook the wall next to her. She tried to identify the make of plane, but it eluded her. It seemed like the entire neighborhood was shaking, that the world was finally fed up with their war and was going to put an end to it. Only after she thought of the analogy did she realize why it was apt; the rumble was coming from the ground.

She left the house in time to watch a small Panzer I roll onto the street. It crushed debris under the treads, the wicked machine gun thrust forward from the turret like a bayonet. Helen stared at it in disbelief; how could the Germans have possibly gotten a tank onto British soil? She spun and faced the crashed motorcyclists and saw the one left standing was raising his gun to her. Helen fired twice and he was thrown back onto the ground.

The Panzer slowly rotated the gun toward her and she ran. Her guns were useless against a monster like this, and trying to fight back was hopeless. If the driver decided to start bombing houses, Máire and Faolan and his daughters would be buried alive. When the gun fired, the sound was deafening. It seemed to echo off the ruined buildings and return with twice as much force. A wall across the street seemed to be transformed into a shapeless swarm of dust before the wind spread it and revealed an empty space left behind.

Helen stumbled toward the house where Máire and the girls were hiding. She didn't know what she would do once she got there; having four other people with her would just make a larger target. Her heart slammed against her chest as she ran, still holding onto the guns though they were useless. She had almost reached the house when she spotted movement ahead of her.

Máire took a moment to determine Helen wasn't a German before she shouted, "Brace yourself, Helen!"

Helen dropped to one knee and hunched her shoulders. She pressed her arms against her ears and squeezed her eyes shut as Máire inhaled and stretched her jaw open wide. Her chin seemed to almost reach her chest as she released the air from her lungs.

Debris shook all around them. The remnants of buildings all seemed to dance as the wild wind spread to fill the narrow lane. Dust devils swirled on the ground around them, picking up from the ground and pelting the tank as if it was in the middle of a sandstorm. And above it all was a piercing, inhuman wail. Louder than if every siren in London began sounding simultaneously, and all of it centered on one ten-foot stretch of land. Even with her ears covered it was almost too much for Helen to bear. Two walls collapsed before the siren began to quiet. A minute or so after it began, the street was silent again.

Through the ringing in her ears, Helen heard Máire say, "Come on! Oh, God, Helen, come on!"

Helen felt Máire's hand on her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. Helen imagined the Germans in the tank clutching their bleeding ears, the sound of Máire's siren call echoing inside their tin can until it shattered their eardrums. She couldn't imagine how they could possibly still be a danger until she turned and saw that the Germans were the least of their problems.

Incendiaries were tracing down from the sky, brilliant falling stars headed directly for their street. Helen pulled away from Máire and they ran side by side down the road. They felt the impact before they heard it. The sudden vacuum of air wrapped around them, stealing their breath, and then the wave of pressure throwing them off their feet. Helen hit the ground and rolled, the rubble piercing her flesh and tearing at the backs of her hands when she used them to cover her face.

The initial glow of the explosion had faded, and white pinpricks of fire slowly flickered out of existence. But the damage was done, and every building in the neighborhood seemed to be on fire. The tank was also ablaze, and Helen saw the access hatch flip open. The German from within tried to escape only to be engulfed himself. Fortunately Helen's damaged ears couldn't hear his cries as he was burned to death.

She crawled to where Máire had fallen and grabbed her shoulders. "We must help the girls," Helen cried, but Máire didn't move. The red of her hair seemed to be spread across her face, dark and glistening against the pale flesh. Helen rolled Máire into her lap and stroked her face. Máire's dark eyelashes fluttered and she looked past Helen. More incendiaries were falling, Helen could see the light they shone on the disaster around them, and Máire smiled with broken lips.

"Stars shining bright above you..."

Helen applied pressure to Máire's wound to try to staunch the bleeding. She could hear the sirens filling the air, members of the volunteer service coming to put out whatever fires they could. They would bring doctors or nurses, whoever could be spared, and Máire would get her help. Helen said, "Faolan and his daughters..."

Máire seemed confused for a moment and then nodded. "Safe. I moved them to the next block... 'nother building..." She closed her eyes. "My head hurts, Helen."

"I know," Helen said. She looked up and scanned the street, hoping the tank wouldn't prevent their rescuers from reaching them. She checked Máire's wound and began to rock her. "Stars shining bright above you," she said, refusing to sing the words even in such dire circumstances.

"Night breezes," Máire sang. She pressed her head against Helen's chest. "Seem to... whisper."

Helen closed her eyes and remembered the first time she had heard the song.

#

The words echoed off the curved ceiling of the Underground. Bare bulbs hung from the ceiling, swinging in wire cages so they couldn't easily be broken. The space was filled with people, and she could see the desperation in their eyes. They had to be entertained, they had to come here and play, because the world would really be ending if they didn't. If they couldn't take this small respite from the war, desperation would set in and there would be no coming back. It was in places like this where the British spirit refreshed itself, and it was places like this Hitler could never destroy.

"Say nighty-night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me." The voice came from speakers placed every few feet. Helen passed one and saw a couple taking advantage of the fact everyone was looking the other way. They were mostly hidden by the shadows and dark clothing, but Helen could see a flash of thigh and a sheer stocking before the woman's dress fell back into place. The woman lifted her head, met Helen's eye, and blushed when Helen smiled at her. "While I'm alone and blue as can be, dream a little dream of me."

Máire Hughes stood on the edge of the Underground station, the entrance behind her blocked by stacks of sandbags. An effort had been made to conceal the wartime materials, with bright sunny posters and streamers wrapped around the support beams. But it was a pointless exercise; every eye in the place was riveted on the singer.

Máire clung to the stand with both gloved hands, leaning into the microphone as she sang. Her hair was loose, one finger waved curtain of it draping over the right side of her face like a red veil. Her dress was low cut and dark green, showing off her bare shoulders and the freckles of her décolletage. Helen stopped at the edge of the platform and looked up, trying not to look as entranced as she felt.

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you, sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you." Máire's eyes were scanning the crowd, making contact with various men and women to give them the illusion she was singing only to them. Her strawberry-red lips were curled into an amused smile and, when she spotted Helen, it grew fractionally larger. "But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me."

The myth surrounding the banshee weren't wrong; they were just a bit simplistic. A banshee was able to issue an alarmingly loud sound, capable of bursting eardrums and shattering glass. The sound was inhuman and it was easy for Helen to understand why the stories focused on that aspect of the Abnormals. But the truth was that banshees were simply women capable of precisely controlling her voice. While the deafening cry was part of their defensive arsenal, they also had angelic singing voices.

Máire turned slightly and locked eyes with Helen as she sang the final lyric. "But in your dreams whatever they be, dream a little dream of me." The band finished with a flourish, and the crowd filled the silence with applause and stomping of feet. "Thank you," Máire said. If anyone noticed that her voice was loud enough to be heard over the din without the use of a microphone, no one said anything. "Thank you very much. I think I'll let the band play a little bit without me walking all over 'em. Rollie?"

The bass player nodded and began playing a simple tune. Helen moved to the side of the platform and Máire reached down to help her climb up. They walked behind the threadbare curtain hanging on either side of the stage. There were a few chairs set up, and a table with a pitcher of water. Máire slipped a finger under the edge of her glove and peeled it down her arm, repeating the move on the other one before she spoke.

"I've missed you, Hel."

"There were other responsibilities to which I had to attend. I came as quickly as I could."

Máire smiled. "I know. I'm just giving you a hard time. Any news from the front?"

Helen shook her head. "Nothing concrete. Nothing worth sharing. James and Nikola are at each other's throats, but what else is new." She sighed and looked toward the curtain. "I see your spending your spare time well."

Máire raised an eyebrow. "Is that derision I hear in your voice?"

"Hardly," Helen said, turning back to face Máire. "I think it's admirable what you're doing here. People need the escape from the atrocities of..." She gestured at the ceiling. "Mental wellbeing is as important as physical. Not to mention the fact I'm grateful you have finally found an audience for your singing."

"I don't mind singing for an audience of one."

Helen lowered her chin and smiled bashfully. "Well, you deserve the thunderous applause."

Máire sat in front of the dirty mirror that looked as if it had been salvaged from a bombed home. The glass was smeared with soot, cleaned as best it could so that she could see herself. She began touching up her rouge and Helen moved to sit behind her and watch the transformation. She could see herself behind Máire, and she did not compare well. Her blouse was baggy with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows, and she wore a man's pair of pinstripe trousers. Máire was watching her as well and put down her wipes.

"I assume since you're here, and you're all dirtied up for me, that's probably the last applause I'll get to hear for a long while."

"Perhaps," Helen said. "We have a family coming in from Scotland. The children, two girls, are Abnormals known as Rosettas."

Máire thought for a moment. "Don't know that one."

"It's a sad affliction. They cannot speak for themselves, but they can translate any language into another. Named for the Rosetta stone. They can't do it immediately, but given enough time they can decrypt anything."

Máire said, "Anything?"

"You see the dilemma."

"Has the Reich found out about them yet?"

Helen nodded. "There are rumors and innuendo. Hitler's forces have narrowed down their location to a handful of towns. I have operatives working as we speak to get the family to safety. It will take some time."

Máire shrugged. "I've been looking forward to the thrill of the chase again." She turned on her stool and stood up. "Can I finish my set tonight?"

"It would be a crime to refuse you," Helen said. "Go on. We'll discuss details this evening, and we can travel to the Sanctuary together tonight."

"Great." She put her hand on Helen's cheek. "Are you staying?"

"Will you dedicate a song to me?"

Máire leaned in and pressed her lips to Helen's cheek. She pulled back, leaving a clear imprint of her lipstick on Helen's cheekbone. Helen reached up to touch it, but couldn't bring herself to wipe it away. She followed Máire back to the edge of the curtain, and the crowd applauded when she reappeared. Máire gave a slight bow and walked to the microphone. "You boys and girls sure know how to make a lass feel welcome. I have a special song for a special lady. She knows who she is." She turned to the band and held up two fingers, then four. The bandleader nodded to her and the music started up. Máire caressed the microphone stand again, this time with her hands bare, and began to sing.

"I'll be seeing you... in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces, all day and through..."

#

The phonograph in the corner of Helen's office was quietly playing a Glenn Miller record as she finished the last piece of paperwork transferring Keela and Maolisa to the care of the Sanctuary. She had offered a room to Faolan as well, but he insisted that he had to keep running to draw the Nazis off his daughter's trail. Helen agreed to let him go, but only if he stayed in contact with the Sanctuary in case he ever needed their help. He agreed, and Helen escorted him to the train station so he could continue his flight across the country.

Helen put down her pen and pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the headache that was coming on. The doctor told her that she should take it easy and rest, but his words lacked conviction. No one in London was taking it easy, not as long as the bombing continued. Blackout curtains hung over her windows, blocking the view of her beloved town. She leaned back in her chair and listened to the song for a moment. She thought she was drifting off when a woman began singing along with the music.

"The moon that lingered over London town, Poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown. How could he know we two were so in love? The whole darn world seemed upside down."

Helen smiled before she opened her eyes. Máire was standing in the doorway, smiling at her. She had changed into a silk robe, the top half parted wide enough to reveal the top of her jade green slip. "I couldn't help myself. It's a beautiful song." She stepped into the office and examined Helen's blouse and her pinned-back hair. "Who are you right now? Helen Magnus or Hel?"

"I'm a bit in between. Right now I'm just my regular self."

"Nothing regular about that from what I've seen," Máire said.

Helen let her gaze drift to the bandage on Máire's forehead. "How are you?"

"Doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I just have to--"

"Take it easy," Helen said with her. They both chuckled and Máire leaned against the edge of the couch. "You're more than welcome to stay here during your recuperation. We have some security precautions that wouldn't be available elsewhere."

"I think I'll take you up on that, Doctor. Thankee kindly."

Helen stood up and walked around to sit on the front edge of the desk, leaving only a few inches between them. "I want to thank you, Máire. You've been doing an outstanding job for me these past few months. I've been doing this job alone for a while now, but with the world the way it is..."

"It gives me purpose," Máire said. "I'm not saying that singing for folks isn't admirable and necessary, but doing this..."

"You're helping them more than you know, Máire. At a time like this it would be easy to allow despair to overwhelm you. Your singing helps people carry on for another day."

"I'm just whistling past the graveyard."

"How else would we get past it?"

Máire arched an eyebrow and shrugged, chewing her bottom lip as she looked toward the window. Even though the view was blocked, the sounds of bombing were impossible to ignore. Occasionally the ground shook when there was a nearby impact. "You know I saw the Sanctuary about a year before I ever met you. I was being driven to a concert, and we went past. It looked so beautiful all lit up and mysterious, like some kind of Gothic palace. Out of time, but perfectly in place. I used to dream about it. And then you showed up." She smiled.

"And the rest is history," Helen said.

"Not yet," Máire said. "We have to get through it first."

"Right," Helen said. She met Máire's eyes and then they both looked away. "I was considering whether or not you would take the offer of a full-time position here. It's been a long time since I had an assistant. You've more than proven yourself capable."

"Would I still be able to sing?"

"I'm sure there would still be time for that, of course," Helen said. "It would be an honor to have you stand by my side, Máire."

Máire nodded and said, "Let me think on it before I give you an answer?"

"Of course. It's not a decision that should be made lightly."

Máire pushed off the couch and stepped closer to Helen. "Until then, you can just call me whenever you need me. I'll come running."

"I know you will."

Máire leaned in. Helen only hesitated a moment before she closed the distance between them and softly kissed Máire's lips. The contact was fleeting, but Máire kissed the corners of Helen's mouth before she stepped back and smiled. "I'll get back to you on that job offer. Trust me on that."

"I look forward to it."

Máire pulled back almost reluctantly and walked back to the door. She paused and said, "What will happen to them now? Keela and Maolisa. The Nazis won't just back off because you defeated them once."

"No, they won't," Helen said. "The girls will be safe here, but they will always be hunted. If not the Nazis, then there will be another army who desires their abilities. It's the same as with any other powerful Abnormal. We'll grant them peace and security, and defend them if necessary. It's what we do here."

"Better than whistling."

Helen shrugged. "Depends on your perspective."

Máire was quiet for a long moment. She finally looked at Helen and nodded once. "Sign me up, Dr. Magnus. You never know; it might be fun."

"With you onboard, I'd almost guarantee it." She pushed off the edge of the desk and said, "And I would be honored if you would have breakfast with me, since you'll be staying the night."

"Wouldn't miss it. Good night, Doctor."

"Helen, please."

Máire nodded and said, "I'll see ya in the morning, Helen. Sleep well, if you can. At least our dreams can be pleasant."

Helen smiled. "Yes, at least there's that. Good night, Máire."

Máire left the office, pulling the door shut behind her. Helen went to the window and pushed the curtain back a bit, peering out at the world beyond. The spotlights and the barrage balloons, the death being dropped from invisible planes high above the clouds... It wasn't a curse that she'd lived long enough to see this happen to London. It was a blessing that she would live long enough to see it survive and overcome the current hardships.

She let the curtain drop back into place and went back to her desk to finish her work.