"Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!"
-"If" Rudyard Kipling

Based upon Sanctuary, created by Damian Kindler

- Just something I whipped up after this week's episode "Resistance." No spoilers in the slightest.

. . . ~ The Future ~ . . .

"Doc," the voice weak with age wheezed.

Helen rushed to the bedside from the chair she had occupied by the window, dropping her book on the nightstand. "I'm here, Henry."

He reached out to her.

She sat on the side of the bed and took his hand in both of hers.

"I'm glad," he said.

"About what?" she asked.

"That I'm going out like this, old."

"Old?" she repeated, wiping some of the moisture from her eyes. "You're a young man, Henry, some two hundred fifty years younger than myself." Not that you could tell by looking.

"Did I?" He coughed once and cleared his throat. "Did I do enough?"

"Enough for what?"

"To make you proud of me?" he asked.

For a moment she saw him as a young man waiting for those three words of approval. "Oh, Henry," she answered, unable to stop the tears. She cupped his face gently. "I have always been proud of you. So proud of the man you became and the feats you accomplished. You . . ." she took a deep breath, "I could quote Kipling, Henry."

He squeezed her hand in great understanding. "I wanted to make you proud."

"You have, you do," she assured him, lightly stroking his hair. "You have always been my son, and I could not be more proud of you." She smiled through the tears dripping down her face. "I love you, my darling son."

He smiled softly, very reminiscent of the adorable smiles he gave in his youth. "I love you, too, Mom."

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, when she sat up, she knew. He was gone. Tears poured down her face with an audible sob as she clutched his limp hand.

A mother shouldn't have to bury her child, and now she was going to bury her second.

. . . ~ The End ~ . . .