Title: In Mourning
Pairing: Helen/Declan, slight Helen/James reference
Summary: After James' death in the caves of India, the Sanctuary team take his body back to the English Sanctuary where Helen and Declan find comfort in each other.
Warning: Character death, angst, smut.
Authors Notes: Another 'get well' fic, this time for Arones XD. She refuses to admit that she is sick but we all know she is. Hope you feel better lovey and I hope this is angst enough! And this is my first Helen/Declan fic so beware, there may be some OOC going on
Disclaimer: I own nothing :(
Helen wasn't sure where she was; she was vaguely aware of John beside, tugging at her and someone calling her arm but all she could see was James' withered, lifeless body slumped in front of her. Tears were rolling in fat drops down her dirty face silently and all she could think of was that her best friend was dead. The cave disappeared from around her with a red flash and was replaced by the warm interior of what must have been a Sanctuary, though she wasn't sure which one.
"Helen," a deep voice said in her ear but she didn't reply to it. She stared at the floor as there was a flash as John teleported away and then back again, Nikola, Will and Clara on his arms. Will raced to his boss' side, trying to catch her gaze but she just gazed at him vacantly.
"Magnus, look at me," he pleaded and footsteps bounded towards them from the staircase.
"What's happened?" Declan McRae, James' young protégé, demanded as he approached them, his face torn with worry. He studied Helen standing blankly in front of him, wondering what could have happened to reduce the toughest woman he knew to tears. He glanced around the people that now stood in the lobby, noticing that James wasn't there and then, like a piece of a puzzle falling into place, he realised why Magnus was crying.
"Where is Dr. Watson?" Declan asked cautiously, not wanting to hear the answer and with a sob, Helen raced past him, Will and Nikola lunging for her but John held them back as he returned with the body of his friend.
"He's dead," Will told the British man softly and Declan felt his heart drop into his stomach as he looked over the body on the floor. And suddenly he turned on his feet and ran after Helen, his mind trying to wrap around itself around the fact that his friend, his mentor and boss was dead. He should have listened to him when he said that he might not come back from this mission but Declan hadn't wanted to believe him, and now he was dead. The suit had been playing up for months and he should have told him not to go but James was stubborn.
He was dead.
Something constricted in his chest and tears burned behind his eyes but he held them back, instinctively knowing where Helen would be. He had only been to James' room a couple of times before when he had first come to the Sanctuary and he found himself spilling his heart out to the older man when he needed to talk. Those times were filled with curiosity at the lush surroundings and slight excitement at being in such an amazing place but this time, all of that wonder and happiness was gone. All he could feel was the guilt, the overwhelming sadness coursing through his veins.
Declan flung himself into James' room desperately and he saw Helen with her back to him, kneeling next the bed, her head in her hands.
"Dr. Magnus," He said gently, walking towards her slowly but she said nothing, not acknowledging his presence in the room. "Helen," he tried again.
Helen didn't know what caused her to do it, but she guessed later that it was his voice, so British and full of concern for her that she couldn't help but think of the way James would say her name. He had always been there to comfort her, to give her a shoulder to cry on; when John left, when she discovered about her pregnancy, when Ashley was born 130 years later; he had always been there.
She spun around and without thinking; she wrapped her arms around Declan, seeking comfort in him. He stood shocked for a brief moment and when the tears started burning more fiercely than ever behind his eyes, he copied her actions, burying his face into her hair. She sobbed against him, her hands curling into his shirt, her tears wetting his neck.
"He's dead," she cried softly, as if it was finally hitting her. "James is dead."
Declan's arms tightened around her as the tears freed themselves from the confines of his eyes and slithered down his cheeks, his chest shaking against hers. He smelt like James, Helen thought briefly, inhaling his scent; he smelt of brandy, and the faintest hint of cologne but he was missing the metallic tinge that James had. Somehow, it didn't matter. Her mouth was suddenly pressing against his as if only he could give her oxygen, her hands skimming over his sides and he shivered, closing his eyes as her tongue swiped across his lips.
"Helen…" He whispered, pulling back and Helen's eyes glittered, tears clinging to her lashes.
"Declan, please," She begged and he couldn't say no to her, no matter how much his brain told him this was a bad idea. His lips found his again, his arms pulling her to him as his fingers threaded themselves through her hair. Helen dragged him backwards, her legs hitting the bed and the pair toppled onto the mattress, Declan's leg sliding between her thighs. She gripped his hips and ground onto his knee, her teeth nibbling lightly at his bottom lip as he groaned. He grabbed her hands pinning them beside her head as he trailed his mouth down her collar bone, nudging the dusty shirt away from her skin.
Helen gasped as he bit down, her hips moving against his.
"Take me out of these clothes," she demanded and Declan released her hands, his fingers ripping the jacket off her in a cloud of dust and loose rocks.
"What happened in there?" He asked, sliding her shirt over her head as she shook it, her hair brushing out of her face. He sighed, dropping the clothes to the floor and she wiggled herself out of her pants. Declan sat back to admire the woman lying nearly naked in front of him and through his haze of sadness and arousal, he managed to remember why this was such a bad idea. Helen loved James; there was no doubt about it and that meant that she wasn't about to do what she was about to do because she wanted to. She was doing it to get over James and that meant that if he continued, Declan would be taking advantage of her.
"No," he muttered suddenly, pushing back off her. "No, Magnus, we can't-"
"Why not?" She interrupted, sitting up and her eyes flashed angrily through her haze of tears. "Why can't we, Declan?"
"Because James loved you, and you loved him! Is that anyway to pay respect to his memory?" He snapped and when a fresh bout of tears flooded her face, he sighed, making his way back over to her. "I'm sorry Magnus."
He took her in his arms again and she cried into his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline. He rubbed her back, letting his own tears fall again.
"Please, just make me forget. Just tonight, Deco," She mumbled into his shirt, her nimble fingers pulling at the buttons.
Declan said nothing but let her remove his shirt, her hands skimming across his bare chest and his muscles rippled under her calloused digits. Laying her down gently; he pulled back, stripping himself of his pants and boxers before he straddled her, his hands splaying over her hips. Helen leant up, securing her lips around his nipple and a hand around his cock, fisting him hard and he twitched in her hand. He threaded his fingers through her dark tresses again, his spare hand squeezing her breast and she gasped, her hot breath gliding across his chest. Her tongue flicked out to run over his nipple, her teeth biting down pleasurably.
"Jesus, Magnus," He moaned, growing hard in her skilled hand and he felt her roll them over so that she straddled him. She moved her hips against him in time with her hand, creating double friction that set heat pooling between her legs and she let out a soft whimper when Declan pulled her face towards his, kissing the tears away. He pushed her panties off her long alabaster legs, his fingers caressing her so softly that for a moment she was almost forgetting about James. Almost, but it still wasn't what she needed. She needed Declan deep inside of her, hammering her into the mattress to make her forget about her dead best friend.
Sensing her need, Declan thrust his fingers into her wet sex, testing her and she arched up as the pads of his fingers rubbed her walls. "More," she breathed and he added a third finger into her. "No, I need…" she swallowed hard, "I need you."
Declan didn't need to be told twice. He removed his fingers, holding them to his mouth as he licked her juices from them and then he thrust up into her, her back arching with the pleasure at being filled. Without waiting for him to catch his breath, she lifted herself up, almost causing him to pull out and then slammed back down with a gasp. Declan grunted, his fingers digging hard into her hips and he knew that it would leave bruises but he didn't care and by the look on Helen's face, neither did she. He helped her thrust over and over, his thick cock stretching and completing her, her face contorting in pleasure but she couldn't stop crying. She wasn't sure she could ever stop crying.
Even when Nigel died, she hadn't been this emotional. She was used to losing people that she loved but it never got any easier. Declan was right; she did love James and more than a friend but who wouldn't when she had known him for over a hundred years? They had shared nights of passion and nights of pain but she never would again. She wasn't sure if she could lose another loved one; if she ever lost Ashley, and she knew that one day she would, then it was likely to break her heart more than it had already shattered.
Declan slid his hands up her sides, his fingers brushing against the underside of her breasts and he reached around, unclipping her bra. It dropped to the bed and he kneaded them in his hands, his nails scraping against her skin. Helen increased the speed of her thrusts, his cock pounding into womb and she mewled, reaching down between them to massage her clit.
They were barrelling towards completion, the familiar coil tightening in the pit of their stomachs before it snapped simultaneously, their cries ringing out in the room. They collapsed onto the bed, moving as far away from each other as they could and with their backs to each other, they fell asleep.
Declan McRae awoke hours later, the surroundings around him confusing to his post-coital brain and then it hit him. He and Helen had sex in James' bed and James…James was dead.
He sat up quickly, staring over at the empty bed beside him and sighed. He knew this was how it would end up; with her leaving before he woke, but maybe it was for the best. As he stood, he glanced back at the bed, memories flashing through his mind and he caught sight of a piece of paper on the pillow beside him. In elegant scrawl was the message:
All I can say is that I am deeply sorry for using you. I know that you tried to fight me off, you tried to warn me that it was wrong and that I would regret it later. I am woman enough to admit that you were right. And don't you dare feel guilty. It was my decision and I am sorry I had to drag you through this.
I hope you can forgive me for this.
He sighed, scrunching it up and he threw it into the waste basket in the corner as he dressed. There was no use in dwelling on it; it had been a onetime thing and that was that. He couldn't let it interfere with his work or the task ahead of him. As he walked from the room, he looked back and whispered, "I'm sorry James," into the silence before turning his mind back to his main task. He had a funeral to organize.