Sanctuary Ficlet -- Proof Against the Cold
This little ficlet is for querulouspeg who wanted some Helen/Declan! And also because Declan's just had such a bad day.
James Watson had said it would happen. Of course, Watson had said a lot of things in the eleven years Declan had worked with him, many of which were very wise and sometimes germane, and some of which were utter shite. He had put this in the latter category. It had seemed not only distinctly unlikely, but also undesirable. Declan was very certain of his tastes, and he was generally not the sort who went looking for trouble. Trouble usually found him without much effort. So he had discounted this as another of Watson's smug conversational gambits intended to throw one completely.
However, sitting in a distinctly chilly private airport in the Aleutians that could only be called an airport on the grounds that there was a building and an airfield, surrounded by sleeping Will and Henry and the zippered bags containing the bodies of his team, with a dozen frozen Mogoi stacked out in the snow while they waited for Magnus' transport to arrive, it seemed like a godsend that at least Magnus had a flask of brandy at the ready. And it seemed somewhat reasonable to go into the office next door so that they could talk without waking Will and Henry. And at that point the entire thing began to seem remotely possible.
The brandy was warm and so was her smile, and as Declan bent in to kiss her he could almost hear the ghost of James Watson laughing. He'd said that in every man's life, sooner or later, there was the proper moment to sleep with Helen Magnus.
James Watson had said it would happen. Of course, Watson had said a lot of things in the eleven years Declan had worked with him, many of which were very wise and sometimes germane, and some of which were utter shite. He had put this in the latter category. It had seemed not only distinctly unlikely, but also undesirable. Declan was very certain of his tastes, and he was generally not the sort who went looking for trouble. Trouble usually found him without much effort. So he had discounted this as another of Watson's smug conversational gambits intended to throw one completely.
However, sitting in a distinctly chilly private airport in the Aleutians that could only be called an airport on the grounds that there was a building and an airfield, surrounded by sleeping Will and Henry and the zippered bags containing the bodies of his team, with a dozen frozen Mogoi stacked out in the snow while they waited for Magnus' transport to arrive, it seemed like a godsend that at least Magnus had a flask of brandy at the ready. And it seemed somewhat reasonable to go into the office next door so that they could talk without waking Will and Henry. And at that point the entire thing began to seem remotely possible.
The brandy was warm and so was her smile, and as Declan bent in to kiss her he could almost hear the ghost of James Watson laughing. He'd said that in every man's life, sooner or later, there was the proper moment to sleep with Helen Magnus.