Grief

Set immediately following "Eulogy."

Rated: T for dark themes

A/N I had a little Sanctuary marathon today and watched Eulogy. This sprung into my mind during that viewing. Unedited.

. ~ . . . ~ .

John Druitt sat on a cold stone bench in a cold cemetery in London in the middle of the night. It was the cemetery where both his parents and his sister were interred.

The anger was returning, he could tell. He was, again, becoming a man he could not control. A force of destruction which he did not want to control. The anger, the darkness, had been festering as he and Nikola made their way about the world, murdering agents of the organization which took his daughter from him. The organization which took Helen's daughter from her.

When they finally tracked down the head, the woman who masterminded the perverse experimentation of his child, Nikola stepped back, allowing him to take the life from her. Allowed him to extract vengeance.

"Do you know who I am?" he had asked her. Hate seeping from his throat.

She had looked up at him from the stone floor of the ally, terrified. He had broken one of her legs. A quick death would be too merciful for her.

"Answer the question, Ms. Whitcomb," he had told her in a slightly lighter tone. He didn't shout at her. No, blatant anger would be too satisfying for her. He needed to be cold. His lack of emotion would terrify her more than his anger. His control over the situation would terrify her more.

"John Druitt," she had whispered. "A member of The Five."

"Yes, but not quite the answer I was looking for. Try again."

She swallowed hard. Her eyes darting back and forth, her hands clutching her broken leg. "Ashley's father."

He nodded again. "Again, true, but not what I was looking for. Your ability to guess is not at question here, we will move on." He paused and took a dramatic step closer, forcing her to tilt her head up further to see his face. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jack the Ripper."

He had killed her. He had done such a thorough job, if the authorities did find anything, they would not think what they found was evidence of the murder of a human. And, he thought, it barely qualified. She was barely human, and her death reflected that fact.

He had done his part. For Ashley. For Helen.

John stood, and made his way to the place where his family lay. A joint stone marked the plots of his parents. He regretted them never having met Ashley. Of course, that was impossible. Had Ashley been born while they were still alive she would not be the woman he had first met a year previous.

John bent to a knee, placing his hand on the stone of his parents. There were likely words which could have been, should have been said. Had the anger been quieter, the grief softer, he would have had very poetic words. As it was, nothing came to mind.

He stood and moved one plot to the right. A small stone stood next to his parents'. Catherine Druitt. Beloved daughter and sister. She had been so young when fate took her. John still remembered the day. It had been the worst day of his life, until the day Ashley was killed.

"She would've liked you," he whispered to his sister's headstone.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small object. It was a plain silver pennant on a plain silver chain. The name Ashley was engraved on the pennant. He pressed his thumb into the dirt in front of his sister's stone and dropped the chain and pennant in, then covered it.

John stood. Since the development of the anger, since his descent into darkness, he had lost his ability to be good for Ashley. He had lost his ability to protect her, to earn her respect and adoration. His sister had not lost that. He would entrust Ashley's soul to his dear departed sister.

It was the last thing he could give her.

John took several steps back from the graves of his family and turned.

The Ripper walked away.

. ~ . FIN . ~ .

Yes, darker, I believe, than what I am accustomed, to. But the dynamic between Druitt and Magnus was so powerful, and I tried to reflect that.