Who: John Druitt and Helen Magnus. What: Figuring things out. Where: Helen's office in the Sanctuary. When: Just before midnight, New Year's Eve. Rating/Status: PG / Complete.
John had just settled in to his room at the Sanctuary, in an actual room and not a cell...which was always a comfort. Nikola's presence was not such a comfort, but he could adapt. And, if nothing else, he had fond memories of watching his daughter spelling out 'kick me' on the man's back in magnets to warm his feelings. Of the Five, he would have preferred James's presence, and accompanying snide comments, to Nikola's any day. At least Watson had the distinct advantage of generally having the best of intentions, and his not to mention he was actually a genius and not a self-important bastard. And, of course, death always softened one's feelings. He really did miss the man.
But Helen was here, and she would always take precedence over others in his mind and in his heart. Looking around his room a last time, he checked his pocket once more and then nodded and closed his eyes. In a flash, he disappeared and reappearing inside Helen's office. Even though he was already inside, he knocked, giving her a small smile. Despite the late hour, he had known she would be there still. "Good evening, my dear," he said cordially. "I wanted to thank you again for offering me a place within your Sanctuary." His smile became more genuine. "And, though I was a few days late, it felt wrong not to offer you a token of my esteem in this Christmas season."
After her talk with Sophie, Helen had a lot to think about - particularly regarding John. It made her question slightly whether she had made the right decision, but there was no doubt in her mind. Helen would rather than John was at the Sanctuary and endure any unpleasantries than to shun him aside, especially after also inviting Nikola - it was the only thing that she could do. Time had slipped away from Helen again, and she only really noticed the time when John brought her from her work. Ashley, Kate and two werewolves that they'd encountered were out patrolling for any rogue werewolves. Helen had been out for a short while before returning to the Sanctuary to check on Henry and his young friend. They were doing well allowing Helen to return to her work, reading back on one of Henry's earlier files before making an addition to his current one. They may not be at home, but this would help if they were here for a while. Just in case.
Lowering her pen, Helen looked up at John's entrance, moving slightly in her seat to find a new comfort. "As thoughtful as that is John, it isn't necessary." Christmas had only been a vague thought in Helen's mind this year, with losing Ashley and being brought to Vegas. She'd decorated the Sanctuary and made an effort, but nothing that sat with her usual standards.
It was unfair that she should be so beautiful, sitting at her desk and engrossed in her reading. But then, he could not remember a single moment when he had not thought Helen Magnus to be the most extraordinarily lovely creature he had ever encountered. Even after more than a century, it was still true. He imagined it always would be. Making his way further into the room, he offered her his hand, helping her up and leading her over to the sofa. In some ways, no matter how much time might pass, he would always be a true Victorian gentleman. Of course, you had to ignore the slaughtering of prostitutes...but that was a bad time in his life. He didn't particularly like to think on it. Besides, his own guilt was more punishment than anyone would ever be able to mete. He had to live with his actions and their consequences, and his sole hope was that he might one day prove himself worth of the woman sitting next to him.
"Is it ever truly necessary, Helen," he asked with a warm laugh, "to give a gift to a beautiful woman? Necessary it might not be, but it is something I wanted to do. Something, indeed, that I chose to do. Please, my dear, just accept my gift. I ask for nothing in return, and I have no agenda and no motive, save that you might appreciate the sentiment I hope to express." He pulled out two small, neatly wrapped boxes from his jacket, and held them out to her. "Please, Helen. Do me this small service?"
Helen took his hand without a thought, relying on her instinct. At John's compliment she lowered her head slightly, trying to hide the blush that came with her smile. It was this part of John that had caught Helen's affection back in Oxford, which is what seemed to be happening again. Sophie's words echoed, almost lightly mocking now. With John here, present in front of her, Helen could hardly refuse - and she was rather curious. Giving a small nod Helen took the two boxes, placing one on her knee to open the other. She was taken by surprise, though Helen didn't know what she expected; it was beautiful.
"It's fully functional, in spite of its age," John said with a small, fond smile, as she looked at the telescopic pen. "And I know that you still enjoy documenting things by hand, in spite of the changes in times." It was something he quite admired about her. Too many people got caught up in the cold, impersonal interactions technology facilitated, but luckily Helen did not seem to share that trait. And he was very glad for it. Helen truly was a singular woman. He'd always imagined that was why her gift had been the most simple and elegant of all of theirs, a match to the woman to whom it belonged. He truly wondered what that said of him.
"Think of it," he continued, "as a remembrance of a better time." He looked down with a smile. A time when things had been simpler and she had loved him as much as he loved her. A time long gone but remembered fondly. He shook his head, knowing he was getting maudlin in his old age. "The other is not quite so...practical. But I do hope you will appreciate it, nevertheless." When she opened the second box, she would find a ring as old as the pen and in the same style, garnet set in rose gold. But the notable part was the inscription inside the ring. Amantes sunt amentes. Lovers are lunatics. From anyone else, perhaps not the most romantic sentiment, but uniquely fitting for them.
As much as technology was an important measure in her work, having a handwritten copy also was something that she would never stop doing. The note about the gift however was unnecessary: Helen remembered those times often, and with a great fondness. She lay the pen back in it's box, taking note of John's words. Whatever surprise she'd had before didn't compare anymore. "John, I-" Helen couldn't manage to form the words, or even a coherent thought. She was stunned - by the beauty, the gesture and, if this were another time, the romance. It took her back to Oxford - how she'd felt, who they were - and she wished again that things hadn't changed. It almost felt as if he were in her mind, or at least had heard her earlier conversation with Sophie.
"Please, Helen," John cut her off, covering her hand with his. "I know that I cannot undo the wrongs I have done you in the past, or the mistakes I made, but I am not that man any more. All I want is the chance to prove to you that I can be once more the man you loved so many years ago." He looked at her, his expression sincere. "I am not asking anything of you, Helen...I forfeited that right more than a century ago...but I have never, even in my madness, stopped loving you. And I want to do whatever it takes to earn back the trust you once showed me. Helen, if it takes another century, I will never stop loving you. And I won't ask that you return my love, but I will wait, as long as you need, in the hope that one day you might care for me again. And if that day never comes, I only hope that you will be happy." He paused. "Only, please, not with Nikola." There were some things he simply could not abide.
The absurdity of the thought of being with Nikola made Helen smile, giving her a brief pause from the overwhelming feeling she'd just received. "You should already know that I have no interest in Nikola." Given that he was a thorn in her side. "I trusted you, even when you were not yourself." That trust had been shattered after Helen had realised that the hope of helping John was minimal if not non-existent, but after their search for Ashley she'd found it again - some of it. "You'll have to forgive my lack of a response, this is a little sudden." Only in the sense that he'd only just arrived - Helen had an idea as to how John still felt.
"I know," John admitted, "but that doesn't stop him from having an interest in you." Not to mention he had no idea how long she and Nikola had been here before his arrival. And yes, he was jealous, but could anyone blame him? He loved Helen, and watching the way Nikola acted toward her made his blood boil. Thankfully, he was beyond the days of reacting violently to such things. With Dana Whitcomb dead, he could put to rest his days as a killer. He listened as she spoke, shaking his head and smiling ruefully. "And I lost that trust. Don't deny it, Helen. I know that the things I did were unforgivable." He looked up, giving her a small, sincere smile. "You need not respond. I just wanted you to know that, after this, I will no longer push you. I won't ask anything of you and I won't pursue what is no longer mine. But my love for you will never waver and, should your feelings change, I will be waiting." At this, the clock struck the hour and he laughed quietly. "Happy new year, my dear," he said, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.
Helen had been ready to protest, or agree; that thought was quickly forgotten. And any thought after that. It was long since she'd brought in a new year in this fashion, and it was a better way than anything Helen had done over the past few years. Helen found herself caught, finding the feelings that she thought had been lost - or at least were very buried - and couldn't stop herself from kissing him. Now, if she tried any excuse, John would know that she was lying.
Suddenly it was as if they were back to where they had been more than a century ago. Kissing Helen was the same as it had been then, and for a moment John could pretend that all the horrors of the years were nothing more than a terrible dream. But one can only lie to oneself for so long, and he knew that he could not pretend those years had never happened. Indeed, he wouldn't. Perhaps, things would be worse without those trials. Perhaps they would have been destroyed long ago, had they remained naive. Their trials had made them stronger, and though he regretted his own follies, he would never presume to wish things had gone differently. It was a dangerous thing, to dwell on what might have been, and he could not fault his life now. Helen might not love him, or admit to it in any case, but she was in his life, and so was their daughter. That was enough for now. And if Helen chose to make excuses, he would accept them.
But, this time, Helen wouldn't. She couldn't, because that would be as if she were lying to herself. When the kiss ended Helen didn't move, not straight away. It took a while for the realisation to set in, for her other senses to return. Dear God, he'd-, though she'd hardly done anything to stop it. Helen lifted her head back up, looking into his eyes and searching - for what she didn't know, just a feeling, or that exact thing that he'd been trying to tell her - and it was not hard to find either. He did still love her, and Helen knew him well enough to believe that he had for the past century. She might have feared being close to him before, especially before her conversation earlier, but now that had already happened. And everything that she used to feel, Helen felt again. Dear God.
John had meant what he said. He wouldn't push her, and he would allow her to decide for herself. He had tried to force her hand before, admittedly not in matters of the heart but it changed nothing, and it did no good. "Love sought is good," he spoke with a fond smile, "but given, unsought, is better." She would know the reference. It was, after all, his favourite play, and one they had seen many times in the nineteenth century. It was another way of saying that the ball was in her court and he would no longer press his feelings. "For now, dear lady, I bid you good night. Think on me fondly, if you will, and I shall wait in the hope that you will respond favourably to the question I dare not ask." He took her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back, and then he was gone in a flash.
Helen had managed to give a brief nod before John had left. Staying sat on the couch Helen tried to make sense of it all, or at the very least herself. She had loved him a time ago, and apparently still did. It wasn't that hard to believe. John had left it to her and, while she was thankful that he wouldn't push her, it was something that couldn't be left. Whatever Helen had been working on before their encounter would have to wait until the morning - her mind was now occupied by what had just taken place. And no doubt it would occupy her for a while yet.