It is never enough for you when it comes to H.G. Wells.
It hasn't been enough that she has been bronzed in the first place, that she killed someone, that she fled, that you always met at gunpoint - you simply had to throw your cards into play with her anyway. Even when Artie, someone you look up to, explicitly stated his suspiciousness in the clearest way, you had to trust her.
And what you got in return wasn't enough, either, it was not enough that she took you and Pete out in the middle of nowhere and left you for dead in the freaking Sahara, it was not enough that she almost killed Pete's girlfriend and drove her away from him - the one person he wanted to tell about the Warehouse. When you rushed to Yellow Stone, it wasn't enough, or when you felt cold metal pressed against your forehead and heard the coil spring creak inside the gun as H.G. curled her finger around the trigger.
You still somehow had a tiny bit understanding and forgiveness stored away under angst and anger, even when the world was one trident strike away from destruction.
It had almost been enough then (almost too much) but you knew it wasn't when you ran your hand through the projection that was Helena now. For a moment there, you knew you couldn't get away from this twisted, messed up human being - but only for a moment, because it wasn't enough yet. It wouldn't do that she had convinced you to go back, it wasn't sufficient that she helped solving cases and regretted her betrayal. Not enough to just give it a rest.
You really should have given it a rest.
You knew that when you'd rather risked the Warehouse and everything else than to erase Helena, because you hadn't had enough yet, and this really should have been out of question (everything about this discussion should have been).
How was it still not enough to see how ridiculously brilliant she was, how was it not enough to save her life and let your life be saved? Why wasn't it enough that you had solved the puzzle, and why didn't you stop and think (which you were usually really good at) instead of just grabbing the rope and suddenly being pressed up against her? (Still not enough).
You all had succeeded and once again conquered it all, or at least that was what you thought, but it wasn't sufficient, and when H.G. left, it wasn't enough to finally stop waiting. Whatever it was that you were waiting for, you didn't exactly know yourself, but it didn't feel like the waiting of someone left behind. It was like the waiting of someone being early, and on some days, when that wasn't enough, it felt like the waiting of a hunter.
Nothing was enough, and it isn't enough now, when you have once again survived another disaster, it isn't enough that you live because Leena is dead, and it isn't enough that you are safe, because the next thing is just waiting around the corner. You won't quit though, because somehow, it is not ever enough when it comes to the Warehouse and its endless wonder, either.
For Helena, however, there is no such thing as ,sufficient', anyway. It was not enough to grief, she had to end the world. It was not enough that she had regained the trust of the Warehouse agents, no, she had to give her damn life to protect you, because that is her noble side now (and of course, still not noble enough) - and you're so glad Artie reversed it all because you haven't had enough of that noble side (and every other side, really) yet.
It isn't enough that there is no more English Sweating Disease, no more evil Artie, no more Astrolabe, because everything triggers something else, and this is just a respite, Helena will be gone in a moment, like she always is, and it won't stop you from lurking, like it never does.
It is not enough of what you haven't had.
And even now, when you are kind of having what you haven't had, you can't get enough, which, as you think in the spur of a moment, is probably a good thing because ,more' doesn't stop coming your way.
So no, it isn't sufficient that you are entwined so closely no one could ever tell you apart, it isn't enough when Helena tugs on a handful of curls a little too hard to be gentle, and it is not enough when you shove her against the wall too harsh to be tender.
Your teeth click when they unpleasantly knock together for a second, but it doesn't do, for neither of you.
Your embrace has grown almost rabid and desperate, you drink each other in like air, consume recklessly and crash into walls and shelves, leaving a path of destruction that isn't long enough.
It is not enough that you have left deep sickles on Helena's back when your nails have dug into her, it is not enough that you taste iron and salt because Helena has bitten just a bit too hard.
Your skin is glowing with fever and friction as you grind each other, your lungs don't scream loud enough for oxygen for you to stop, there is no end to anything. You begin to wonder if there even is final satisfaction waiting for you at the end of the road.
Between pulling and growling, there is fear and gratefulness, and maybe you rather should have talked about it for the sake of your mental health, but talking isn't enough, too abstract and too far away - at least that's what you think before you submerge back to the mindless state of exploring H.G. Wells.
You tear apart eventually, with such force required that you almost expect the screeching sound of something ripping in half. Lips swollen and hands clenched to fists, disheveled and shaking you stand before each other, unsatisfied and hungry.
You wish to say something but fail, and at last, Helena roughly pecks the skin next to your eye and slips past you.
As unsettling and displeasing and twisted as the whole thing is, you find reassurance in it never being enough. Because you know one thing with absolute certainty by now, you are completely sure of it because you have seen and embraced it.
Helena will never, ever stop coming back for more.