Making a conscious effort to rejoin the day to day functions of the Sanctuary, Dr. Helen Magnus made her way to the small, informal dining room. It was dinner time and, from the smell of things, Bigfoot had made some sort of spicy stir fry. Her stomach gave an encouraging rumble, reminding her that she'd been ignoring the need to eat for far too long.

Since Ashley's death nearly two weeks earlier, she'd been utterly consumed by the idea that perhaps her daughter had survived. Her quest for any evidence to support that theory had superseded any and all hunger pangs.

Thus, she had sequestered herself (though she had allowed Will to lend some assistance) and gone to work. The relocation of numerous Abnormals, something she would have normally carefully supervised, she left up to Henry. Unfortunately, nothing came of her searching and again Will tried to reason with her.

He reminded Helen that they all needed her. That the Sanctuary needed her and she was ignoring them all. No one was asking her to give up on Ashley (though they did hold a memorial), but she needed to stop pushing them all away.

So that was why she found herself entering the dining room and looking around at it's occupants, her friends and staff.

Bigfoot, in a grey, Mandarin collared shirt and vest, was eating and listening to something Will Zimmerman was saying. The young forensic psychologist was gesturing, the gleaming white of his long sleeved t-shirt a startling contrast to the rooms more muted colors. The most recent addition to the team, Kate Freelander, rolled her eyes in an amused manner but didn't comment.

Everyone looked up as she entered and took her seat, accepting the plate of hot, fresh stir fry from Bigfoot. It looked as good as it smelled.

For a moment, the light conversation resumed, before Helen asked, "Where's Henry?"

Henry Foss, the resident computer/tech guru, was nowhere to be seen. Helen knew the young man tended to retreat to his room when his lycanthropy was in a volatile stage, but she thought he'd been doing rather well with that as of late.

At her question, Bigfoot and Will exchanged glances. Never a good sign. Fortunately, Kate lacked their discretion.

"He's in the crypt again," the former Abnormal hunter for hire said, momentarily pausing her food intake.

"The crypt." Helen's heart fell and her hunger faded. "Why?"

Kate shrugged. "Dunno. He just takes his tablet down there to work when he's not dealing with any particular new resident. Weird, huh?"

"Oh, Henry," Magnus breathed, grief filled heart breaking just a bit more. She should have considered how badly Ashley's death must have hurt him. Henry tried to keep up a good front, but her was a sensitive soul and had adored her daughter. Always had.

Flashback:

Sitting in the mission style rocking chair, Helen cradled her two month old daughter, looking down at her tiny, delicate features and fine blond hair. Ashley was her little miracle, conceived over a century ago and frozen in time until recently, when Helen had decided that it was time. The Sanctuary Network was well established and she had trusted colleagues to rely on, so she felt it safe to take a step back and carry her child to term.

Bigfoot, Michael, her current protégée, and Brian, who made and maintained the Sanctuary's weapons and computers, all doted on the baby. It was all quite adorable to see.

A tiny noise from the doorway drew her attention and Helen smiled at what she saw.

Three weeks earlier, she'd received a communiqué from one of her contacts in Scotland about possible werewolf activity in the highlands and moors. Though she'd been reluctant to leave Ashley, werewolves were an extremely rare species of Abnormal and she was one of the few who possessed any knowledge of how to deal with them. So she left Ashley in the extremely competent care of Bigfoot and traveled to Scotland to investigate.

The dead livestock was a fairly clear indicator and, to Helens' dismay, some locals had set out to track the creatures responsible. Out on the moors, she had come across the bodies of two adult werewolves, a male and a female, each bearing several gunshot wounds. As rare as their species was, losing the pair of them was a tragedy.

As she knelt by the bodies, she became aware that someone was observing her. Glancing around, she saw a small boy, shaggy haired and dirty, crouched by a small mound of rocks. He was shaking and there were tear tracks streaked through the grime on his cheeks.

Her maternal instincts flaring up, Helen approached the boy, who was clearly too traumatized to run. She knelt by him and asked questions, but he didn't respond, never even took his eyes off of the murdered werewolves. Taking in his features, she realized they had been the child's parents. He issued no protest when she gathered him up, only reaching one small hand towards his family in silent plea.

Helen and her local contacts made sure the were pair were given a respectful burial and, when all signs of Abnormal activity in the area dried up, she returned to the United States with the little boy in tow. She simply could not abandon him and knew the poor little dear would have more than a few troubles adjusting to life amongst non weres.

As he was still silent, Helen took to calling her new little charge Henry and gave him the surname Foss, in tribute to the blacksmith whom had forged much of the Sanctuary's ancient iron work. Once at the Sanctuary, Henry quickly took to Bigfoot, showed that his distaste for baths was not merely a reaction to having Helen bathe him and, despite much coaxing, still remained silent.

She postulated that it was possible that were tribes with no interactions outside of fellow Abnormals had little spoken language skills. It could explain why Henry, a slight, somewhat underfed child of about five years, seemed to have no grasp of English or any of the other languages they tried to use to communicate with him. Of course, it was also possible that the death of his parents had traumatized him to the point of muteness.

Even without words, it was clear that he was quite bright, his big eyes always busy taking in the sights around him. He was also exceedingly good at slipping away from whomever was minding him at any given moment. Usually he would be found staring at the mermaid, in the gardens or playing in Brian's lab. Technology seemed to both fascinate and startle the boy.

Tonight he had found his way to Ashley's nursery. Clean and pink from a recent scrubbing, he was dressed in loose, soft flannel pajamas (keeping clothes on Henry was an ongoing battle, but he was very fond of the pajamas), with his newly trimmed hair sticking up in a way that defied gravity and all attempts to tame it. His big, green eyes peered at her and Ashley as he crept quietly into the room.

"Good evening, Henry," she said gently, as he tended to bolt when startled. "This is Ashley. I haven't had the chance to introduce you yet. How are you doing tonight?"

Al the child rearing books she had read indicated that children learned speech from listening to those around them, so Helen and the others tried to speak to the boy as much as possible. So far, she had no idea if it was having any beneficial impact or not.

Henry continued to move closer, so Helen continued, "Ashley was born just over two months ago, not long before I found you. I think the two of you will be able to keep each other company as you grow up. How does that sound, dear?"

Since, despite rumors of the violent nature of werewolves (even when in human form), Henry hadn't displayed any signs of aggression, Helen didn't have many worries about the boy's presence around her baby. Clearly, the boy favored the flight aspect of the fight or flight response.

One of his hands, small with neatly trimmed nails (and, oh, did he not like the nail clippers), reached up and brushed against Ashley's bootie clad foot. In response to the contact, the baby gurgled and kicked her little legs, causing Henry to smile, even as he withdrew his hand.

"That's all right, Henry," Helen replied, shifting Ashley in her arms so that the baby could see the boy's face and vice versa. "Henry, this is Ashley. Ashley, meet Henry."

Ashley continued to smile and burble happily, waving her little arms in excitement over a new face. The little girl liked people and, on the rare occasion Helen took her out of the Sanctuary, she always cooed contentedly when strangers fussed over her.

New people tended to make Henry skittish. The airport had terrified him and Helen was reluctant to push the matter, simply allowing him to become acclimated to the more sparsely populated Sanctuary first.

Again, Henry reached out, smiling as Ashley wrapped one of her tiny hands around his finger.

"Do you have Henry's finger, Ashley?" Helen asked the baby, who gurgled away and squeezed the finger in her grip, pudgy, baby arms flailing.

"Ash."

You could have knocked Helen over with a feather when Henry uttered the first syllable of her daughter's name. It was clear he had made the connection between the word and the girl, a concept they were unsure he was grasping. Over and over, she, Bigfoot, Michael and Brian would hold up objects, name them, trying to prompt Henry to repeat a word, but never found success.

Until today.

"Yes, Henry, this is Ashley! Very good!" His smile broadened and she knew he was responding more to her tone than the actual words, but it made her smile as well. Henry had said his first word.

A half an hour later, Helen laid Ashley down in her crib for the night, kissing her brow gently. Henry peered at her through the bars for a moment, then, before Helen could lead him back to his own room (He really seemed to enjoy his bed), he dropped to all fours and scooted under the crib.

Helen leaned down and peered at him as he turned in three tight circles before curling up in a little ball on the hardwood floor. "Henry, dear," she said, extending a hand to him. "Come out. You'll catch your death on that cold floor."

He made no move to comply, so she simply lifted him up and out as he let out a whine of protest. "Ash," he murmured plaintively and Helen felt rather cruel as she carried him to his own room, but she couldn't just leave him on the floor.

She tucked Henry into his own bed and wished him good night before heading down to her office. Having two young children around certainly made for a rather full schedule and Helen was glad she was used to functioning on little sleep.

Several hours later, when she went to check on Ashley (still sleeping like a log), she found Henry under the crib again. He'd brought a pillow and blanket from his room and was curled up atop the pillow and snuggled under the blanket, sleeping peacefully and soundly.

Since he seemed so determined, Helen decided it wouldn't do him any harm to allow him to stay there for the night.

End Flashback:

Pushing herself up from her seat, Helen said, "I think I'll go have a word with Henry."

Bigfoot gave a huff of approval and handed her several rolls wrapped in a linen napkin to take with her. Will looked pleased to see her reaching out past her own grief. Kate…well, Kate was still eating, but she was a lot less invested in the interpersonal relationships and well being of the Sanctuary staff. In time, perhaps that would change.

But that a matter for another time. Right now, the object of her concern was in the Magnus crypt, grieving alone.

Time to deal with this.

TBC…..

Comments, pretty please? This is my first Sanctuary fic and I want to know what everyone thinks!