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Again, for this meme. Normandy tag.
Title: London, 1944
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: James/Nikola/Helen
Summary: Walking out of a warzone, and they look it
Disclaimer: Not mine
Title: London, 1944
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sanctuary
Characters/Pairings: James/Nikola/Helen
Summary: Walking out of a warzone, and they look it
Disclaimer: Not mine
London, 1944
They were coming back from a warzone, and they looked it, if not, perhaps, for quite the reason they should. James had refused help walking, determined to step onto English soil on his own two feet despite the bullet hole in his leg, and thus was looking pale and strained and an inch from collapsing. Helen, for her part, was pale and tired, and trying somewhat desperately not to look like she was hovering over him, because his pride, and thus his temper, were strained enough as it was. Neither of them looked at all well.
But it was the look in their eyes, the sheen of exhaustion and old pain, wounds torn open that only one who knew them would see, that clinched it. Walking home from war, but it was a much older battle that lurked behind their eyes, a much older wound than the one in James' leg that bore them down.
Nikola, waiting impatiently at the dock with a car at his back, took one look at them and knew, without their saying a thing, what was wrong. He had held the paper in his hand, after all. Half a message, containing the one word, one name, that explained all.
Growling faintly, Nikola moved forward. He swept them up, snapping, nervous energy parting their escort like the Red Sea and catching them up in his wake. A light touch on Helen's shoulder, guiding her forward, and a belligerent arm around James' waist that refused to budge under the wounded man's glare, and Nikola practically lifted them forward and into the privacy of the car by sheer force of personality alone. James, after a moment of bristling, offended pride, sagged into the silent strength of the vampire's arm, and Helen gifted him with an exhausted smile as she let herself, shockingly, be lead. Nikola blinked, helping the pair of them into the back seat, but didn't dare comment. Not here.
As soon as the door closed behind them, as soon as the engine started up underneath them, James abruptly lost all the stiff, furious will animating him, and collapsed against Nikola's side. Nikola caught him hurriedly, wrapping one arm around James' shoulders and tugging the drooping head to rest against his chest, staring down at the top of it in worry. Helen, on his other side, caught his eyes with a faint, rueful smile, and reached out with a pale hand to thread her fingers, very gently, through James' hair.
"It's been a long few weeks," she said quietly, smiling sadly down at James, her own energy almost silently dissipating. She curled into Nikola's side, tucked herself against him, and dropped her head against his shoulder as he put his other arm carefully around her. James made a soft noise against Nikola's chest, something that might have been a laugh as easily as a sob, and Helen caught his hand in hers, her smile slipping a little, sliding away.
"A long few weeks," Nikola agreed. Gently, for him, and he carefully refrained from saying all the rest he wanted to say, all the rest they weren't able to hear, not right now. Instead, he simply held them close, James near-slumped into his lap, Helen tucked against his side. He held them, as close to protection as he could offer, and watched a still-shattered London slip softly by beyond the windows, war layered over war, and wished, silently and fiercely, that there was something, anything, more that he could do.
They were coming back from a warzone, and they looked it, if not, perhaps, for quite the reason they should. James had refused help walking, determined to step onto English soil on his own two feet despite the bullet hole in his leg, and thus was looking pale and strained and an inch from collapsing. Helen, for her part, was pale and tired, and trying somewhat desperately not to look like she was hovering over him, because his pride, and thus his temper, were strained enough as it was. Neither of them looked at all well.
But it was the look in their eyes, the sheen of exhaustion and old pain, wounds torn open that only one who knew them would see, that clinched it. Walking home from war, but it was a much older battle that lurked behind their eyes, a much older wound than the one in James' leg that bore them down.
Nikola, waiting impatiently at the dock with a car at his back, took one look at them and knew, without their saying a thing, what was wrong. He had held the paper in his hand, after all. Half a message, containing the one word, one name, that explained all.
Growling faintly, Nikola moved forward. He swept them up, snapping, nervous energy parting their escort like the Red Sea and catching them up in his wake. A light touch on Helen's shoulder, guiding her forward, and a belligerent arm around James' waist that refused to budge under the wounded man's glare, and Nikola practically lifted them forward and into the privacy of the car by sheer force of personality alone. James, after a moment of bristling, offended pride, sagged into the silent strength of the vampire's arm, and Helen gifted him with an exhausted smile as she let herself, shockingly, be lead. Nikola blinked, helping the pair of them into the back seat, but didn't dare comment. Not here.
As soon as the door closed behind them, as soon as the engine started up underneath them, James abruptly lost all the stiff, furious will animating him, and collapsed against Nikola's side. Nikola caught him hurriedly, wrapping one arm around James' shoulders and tugging the drooping head to rest against his chest, staring down at the top of it in worry. Helen, on his other side, caught his eyes with a faint, rueful smile, and reached out with a pale hand to thread her fingers, very gently, through James' hair.
"It's been a long few weeks," she said quietly, smiling sadly down at James, her own energy almost silently dissipating. She curled into Nikola's side, tucked herself against him, and dropped her head against his shoulder as he put his other arm carefully around her. James made a soft noise against Nikola's chest, something that might have been a laugh as easily as a sob, and Helen caught his hand in hers, her smile slipping a little, sliding away.
"A long few weeks," Nikola agreed. Gently, for him, and he carefully refrained from saying all the rest he wanted to say, all the rest they weren't able to hear, not right now. Instead, he simply held them close, James near-slumped into his lap, Helen tucked against his side. He held them, as close to protection as he could offer, and watched a still-shattered London slip softly by beyond the windows, war layered over war, and wished, silently and fiercely, that there was something, anything, more that he could do.
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