[Sanctuary] Calling London
Calling London
Sanctuary. Helen, Declan, Helen/James, Helen/John, Declan/James (if you're so inclined). PG mild angst. Spoilers for Into the Black. 563 words. For June's screencap challenge.
She calls Declan her first night back in Old City as if somehow he can ease her mind the same way James always could. He can't of course, but he's the closest thing she has to James in this time and she's willing to settle for the slightest hint of James in Declan's careful mannerisms.
She wants him to remember those days back in Oxford they way they always talked about them over brandy, over dinner, during the quiet lonely nights earlier in the century before she had left London for good. She wants him to, but she knows he can't.
He fills her in on their latest research, the new habitats they're building, the benefit they're holding next month. He talks as if they hadn't, just a few days passed, avoided a major global catastrophe. He talks so she doesn't have to.
She listens. She listens to his careful pauses, listens to the way his voice changes when she knows he's smiling, when he's hiding a laugh, an amused chuckle. He makes her smile when he tells her about high tea with the Prime Minister. He's openly flippant, cheeky in a way that normally would get him scolded. Tonight, there's no place for that. He talks and she listens, judgment reserved for another time.
When he goads her into a small chuckle, she can hear the victory in his voice. The quiet reassurance that not everything’s quite as bad as she thinks. It makes her want to weep. She knows the look that would cross James' face at a time like this, patient, sad, a bit longing, his optimism hidden by the careful downturn of his mouth. He had always been so careful, hidden his joy and his sorrow from her; a fact she of which she is now painfully aware.
It's this fact that taints her memory of the time before, that happy time at Oxford, the long nights spent in the lab, the afternoon boat rides, her boys with their shirt sleeves rolled up lounging in the grass on hot summer days.
She had gone back to stop Worth, save them all from being lost. She had kept Worth from his goal, kept things as they should be. The world was right and she was wrong. She had lost a part of herself, the universe compensating for its indignity. They had no right to spoil the sands of time, building castles, living the lives of ancient, timeless gods.
She remembers now, the looks, the soft lines of pain around his eyes. She had always been John's. He had always wanted her, always loved her. She could see it now, so clearly, the pain she had caused him. John had stolen her heart, even now he still held a piece of it, and yet, it was James who had loved her. He had loved her then, in Oxford. She had been blind to his affection then, it was only now that she yearned for them.
Declan runs through a list of requisitions: computer equipment, software. She cries softly, face turned down toward her desk, her stilted exhales too quiet to be picked up by the speakerphone.
The litany continues as she sighs, a hand running over her eyes. "Thank you, Declan." She interrupts.
"I'll be here again tomorrow." He accepts her gratitude and the line falls silent with a soft click.