Lapse

Author's Note: I don't condone and am not comfortable with cheating while in a relationship, even a sucktastic one, but the idea of Helen cheating with James during a moment of comfort was suggested to me and, in such a situation, I honestly can see it happening. The Source, with all those unfamiliar impulses and drives that it must have given them at first, certainly didn't help. This is not anything that's in my headcanon as actually having happened between them while she was still involved with John, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have happened, either. So just a weird little one-shot, unrelated to my other Helen/James fics.

Lapse

When James's servant let her into the house, she could feel the other woman watching her with frank curiosity. Of course, Helen was a frequent visitor there, just not usually alone at such an hour, and she'd never arrived looking as visibly distraught as she knew she must right now. Her cheeks flamed as the maid showed her to the study, wondering if the mark on her face was still visible, or if it was simply her demeanour that was attracting so much attention. Or maybe it was only in her imagination that the woman was staring at her. She felt so unstrung right now that it was hard to tell what was real and what was just fancy.

She waited until the maid was gone to knock on his study door, biting her lip at the brusque, "Enter!" that James gave, as though he were in the middle of a task and not keen on interruptions.

But he jumped to his feet when he saw her, hurrying to her side and reaching out to usher her into the room. She flinched away from his touch before she could stop herself, and was aware of his eyes, analysing, penetrating. Colouring, she looked away, heading towards the couch.

"Tea, or brandy?" he offered.

"Brandy, please," she murmured, not looking at him.

She was, for the first time in their friendship, afraid of him looking at her and drawing the correct conclusions. Tugging down her sleeves a bit, she sat and stared at her hands in lap, until James was pressing an over-filled snifter at her and urging her to drink deeply, to help calm herself. She felt less like crying now than she had earlier, but she supposed the marks of the earlier hysterical outburst must still be upon her. Sighing, she took a long pull of the drink, eyes watering and throat burning.

"Liquid courage," he offered gently.

She smiled weakly at that, making a small noise of agreement, and helping herself to more. He'd brought the decanter as well, so she didn't have to ration her supply. Part of her wanted nothing more than to get drunk, the time-honoured method of forgetting. The rest of her was too troubled to know how to proceed right now. Surely, she should be doing something about what had happened, and something more productive than simply sitting with the best friend she didn't even intend to tell about the evening's unpleasantness. Further researching the effects of the Source, perhaps, or tracking down John and making him talk to her.

No, maybe not that last one. He'd been so angry when he vanished from her bedroom, an anger frightening in its intensity. It was like nothing she'd ever seen from him before, and she was unequipped to cope with it. It simply hadn't been anything like the man she'd fallen in love with. Trembling at the memory and drawing a shaky breath, she took a long sip of her brandy, jumping a little as James rested a hand against her back.

"That's the second time in just a few minutes," he pointed out gently. "I've never known you to shy away from my touch before, Helen. What's happened?"

"I just had a bit of a scare, that's all," she told him, honestly enough, trying to laugh it off. "I'm just being a silly woman tonight, overreacting to what's probably nothing."

"Perhaps you should tell me what it is and let me be the judge of whether it's nothing?" he pressed gently, watching her face with that searching gaze of his and slowly reaching for her hands.

He gave her plenty of time to pull away, or otherwise divert him, and she hastily clutched the snifter in both hands and raised it to her lips, drinking it down until her head started to spin a bit and then reaching for the decanter to top herself off. James didn't try to stop her, but he watched with a slightly alarmed expression, biting his lip.

"You're not yourself tonight," he observed finally, clearing his throat and not trying to take her hand again.

"No one is."

"I... don't understand, Helen," he admitted, probably the hardest words James Watson ever had to speak. The only thing he hated more than not having all the answers was admitting to not having all the answers. When she didn't immediately answer, he ventured, "Someone's upset you? One of us?"

She swallowed hard, looking down. "John," she whispered. "We had a fight."

"A fight? With John?" he asked, frowning and draining his drink. "That's not like the two of you."

"I'm well aware of that, James Watson!" she snapped, shaking her head and taking another long pull of her drink. The liquor had her feeling a bit dizzy, and probably more open than she normally would have been. "He... wasn't himself."

"None of us have been, lately," he noted quietly before continuing, "But you're right. John's been a bit short-tempered. We've all noticed. I'd assumed he was sparing you the worst of it."

"He's never said a cross word to me before tonight. I just... he frightened me, James," she admitted, although she certainly hadn't intended to.

"I'll talk to him," he declared, finishing his drink and reaching for the decanter again. "More?"

"A bit, please. I could use a sedative," she admitted with a weak chuckle. "He was... oh, James, it was terrible."

"Tell me?" he promoted, refilling their glasses.

"I... I've known him to be, uh... well, forceful, at times, but he was downright rough with me tonight."

"Rough?" James repeated, looking bemused. "John Druitt?"

"We were arguing, and... he grabbed me, shook me."

"Helen," he sighed, reaching for her hands.

She reached out to take them this time, needing the comfort, and he froze, staring down at her wrists with horror. Her sleeve had ridden up at some point, and the bruises were clearly visible, livid and finger-shaped.

"Helen..." he whispered, fingers hovering mere millimetres above the offending marks. "John did this to you?"

"He can't have meant to," she answered, shaking her head and tugging down her sleeves again. "The Source made us all so much stronger. He doesn't know his own strength yet."

"Of course," he agreed quickly, giving a shaky nod. "I... I certainly can't see John hurting you deliberately. Still," he added, frowning.

"Still," she echoed, gulping down her drink.

She meant to keep her silence after that, to hold her tongue about disturbing details that James didn't need to know. She certainly didn't mean for tears to start forming in her eyes or for her chest to start tightening up as her breathing turned ragged. Again. She'd been sobbing like a child immediately after the fight with John, but had assumed it was under control now. Clearly not, though.

"Sorry," she managed in response to his alarmed look. "Sorry, I just..." Trailing off with a little whimper, she lifted a hand to her face, shaking her head and blinking hard, trying to will away the threatening tears.

"Helen, dearest," he breathed, gathering her into his arms. "It's okay. Tell me. You can tell me."

"He was like an animal, James," she whispered into her shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut and letting herself take comfort in the strong arms around her. "The look he gave me when he grabbed me. I was afraid. I've never seen him like that. I... I've never been afraid of him before. I don't know what came over him, but it was terrifying, James!"

"Oh, Helen," James sighed, holding her close and rubbing her back. "It's over. It's over now. I'll talk to him in the morning, see what's going on in his mind..."

"Thank you," she breathed, leaning into him even further. "Thank you, James."

"Shhh, it's all right," he soothed, moving a hand from her back to her hair. "We've all had our moods since the Source. I'm sure that's all this was. But why don't you tell me what happened?"

"We were arguing. Fighting, I should say. You're right about our moods. I was in one myself. He's been out, late nights, and I suppose I was suspicious, jealous. So I confronted him."

"And you fought?"

"Just with words at first. But he laughed in my face. I got angry. I slapped him. I shouldn't have done, but I was so angry, James."

"Is that when he attacked you?" he prompted gently when she didn't continue right away.

"He slapped me, which I suppose I deserved, but... He grabbed my wrists. It hurt. I cried out. He... he laughed and just squeezed harder. He, I... you don't want to hear the rest, James."

He cleared his throat at that, hand absently rubbing against her back. "I think you'd better tell me the worst. I should know before I confront him."

She closed her eyes again, shaking her head hard. "I don't want to... please don't make me, James."

"No one is going to force you to do anything," he was quick to assure her. "If you tell me the worst of it, that's got to be your own decision."

"It was terrible," she whispered, clinging to his shirt and continuing despite herself. "He was holding me, then he called me a whore and started pushing me towards my bed. I... I was sure he was going to..."

"Lord," he breathed, his hold on her tightening. "Did he... did he try?"

"No. I thought he must be about to, then he just let go of my wrists, grabbed my arms instead... the way he looked at me. It was such an indecent feeling. I felt dirty, asked him to stop, and he laughed. That laugh, James, it was obscene." Shaking her head and sniffling a bit, she protested, "And the things he called me and accused me of! It wasn't him!"

"It doesn't sound like him," he agreed quietly, holding her close and stroking her hair. "Lord, though, you poor thing..."

He lifted her head, hand gentle against her chin, and pressed his lips to her forehead, then to each cheek. It was so warm, so comforting. Smiling weakly, she pressed her lips to one bearded cheek, murmuring a thank you. The tender exchange felt good, and she lost track a bit. He would kiss her face, then she would kiss his, again and again. Before long, they were nuzzling as well and, not much longer after that, lips found lips.

She couldn't have said who actually initiated the kiss, or if it had been intentional or accidental, but it was a good kiss, a warm and loving kiss, and she never wanted it to end. She felt safe as his lips moved against hers, cherished and protected. John had always made her feel good, but never safe. She'd never realized before that safety was something she might wish to feel in the arms of a lover. Now, though, it was all she craved, something she absolutely needed.

It rose in her blood, then, as it had so often with John since taking the Source: need, hunger, starvation, for sensation. She was in his lap before she'd given the impulse any conscious thought and, blessedly, rather than questioning it, his hands were suddenly everywhere at once, clutching at her through her heavy layers of fabric, and then tugging at them as if he was feeling as much desire as she was. It was shocking, and obscenely gratifying given his usual diffidence and restraint.

"James, yes," she groaned against his lips, nodding and drawing his hands from her back around to the front of her bodice, bringing them to cup her breasts.

"Oh, Helen," he moaned, shaking his head. "What are we doing?"

"Don't know. Don't care," she answered, shaking her head and not bothering to gauge if her light-headedness was from the arousal or the brandy. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but the desperate urge for him, pounding through her veins with every contraction of her heart. "I need you, James. I need this..."

"Lord, if you knew how many impure impulses I've been fighting towards you since we took the Source..."

"Then don't fight, not tonight, my love," she encouraged him, climbing to her feet.

He rose as well, drawing her close for another hungry kiss, one that felt almost possessive as he clutched her to his chest and devoured her mouth with his own. Whimpering and nodding, she fumbled with his belt until the buckle came undone, sliding it off and fumbling open his trousers. Growling with agreement, he grabbed her skirts, pulling them up and pawing at her where the split bloomers exposed her warmth to his eager hands.

She'd imagined James a few times, especially recently, and it had never been like this. Never so heated and intense. She'd pictured him as gentle, solicitous, exploring and memorizing her body and lavishing her with tenderness.. This, she realized, was not going to be like that. He was going to have her, exactly as John had so many times since taking the Source. His need running high, he was going to take her, lay claim to her, satisfy a primitive, wild itch that neither would usually admit to having.

She gasped when he shoved her back onto the sofa, holding her skirts up around her torso as he pushed his trousers and underwear halfway off and came down on top of her. He took her cheeks in his hands, pressing greedily against her, but kissing her and cupping her face with real, soft affection. Sighing with pleasure, and relief that it wasn't going to be as rough as it sometimes was when John's blood got up, she nodded, mumbling encouragements against his lips.

And then he was pushing into her, hard and hot, and so gorgeously alive and powerful. Moaning with pleasure as she stretched to accommodate the welcome intrusion, she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders and nodding eagerly.

"Helen, my darling..."

She cried out quietly against his lips as he started rocking, whimpering and nodding. He felt so perfect inside her, and the searing pleasure was just what she needed to take her mind off the night's earlier, frightening unpleasantness. It was hard to remember, impossible to worry, when he was making her feel such delightful things. Gasping and clinging with her legs as well as her hands, she rocked eagerly to meet him, amazed at how quickly he was driving her to utterly delirious heights.

"James, God! Harder!"

"Mmm, so soon?" he panted, staring at her with conflict in his eyes.

Part of him, that tender, solicitous creature she loved so much, clearly wanted to make it last for her. Something deeper and more primal just as clearly wanted to finish things between them without delay. Panting and nodding, she slid her hands down his back, cupping his surprisingly-toned glutes and squeezing, urging him on with her eyes and her hands and the slightly urgent pace of her rocking hips. Gasping and nodding, he closed his eyes, bracing his hands against the back of the sofa on either side of her head and thrusting, hard and fast.

She cried out in shocked pleasure, stunned by how abruptly her whole body was suddenly alive with pleasure, humming with a building energy: pure, physical bliss. Head falling back and soft sobs escaping her despite her attempts to keep quiet, she clung harder, rocking desperately against his thrusting hips.

"Whore," John had called her, and whore she was being, rutting with her best friend like this when engaged to another man. But she didn't care. It felt so good, so natural, so bloody right to be taking her comfort in this fashion after the earlier fears and anxieties. There was something downright liberating in it. Hormones surging and blood singing, she couldn't feel anything but comforted and protected and loved in this moment, and that was exactly what she needed.

"Yes, James! Oh, God in Heaven, yes!" she half-shouted as her muscles abruptly tightened and pleasure built into a tiny, concentrated pinprick, just waiting for a final push.

And then that push came, a particularly well-angled thrust from him, and she bit down on his shoulder to keep from shrieking as it took her. That little knot of pleasure exploded outwards, encompassing every millimetre of her being, blurring her vision and taking her breath away. Sobbing against his shoulder, she clung fiercely, hips jerking against his as he just continued to thrust into her clenching depths. Time blurred, and it could have been seconds or hours, but pleasure just kept crashing over her in waves and James continued slamming into her. Finally, with a little sob, he buried his face in her hair and spilled his hot seed inside her, gasping and whimpering.

"Darling. Darling..." he managed brokenly, collapsing against her and continuing to tremble even as it passed.

"Oh, James," she groaned, lifting a hand to clumsily pet his hair. "That was amazing."

He was silent for a long moment before, sounding stricken, he whispered, "What have we done?"

She swallowed hard at that, suddenly feeling every bit the whore John had accused her of being. And, this time, it wasn't a good feeling, not at all. Guilt vied with something she never could have expected to feel before tonight: fear of how John would react.

"He'll kill me." It seemed silly and melodramatic to say it out loud, but the fear still felt real for a few uncomfortable moments.

"Of course he won't," James protested, shaking his head. "He loves you. But... still..."

"Still," she agreed quietly, nodding weakly. "He can't know."

"It was a lapse. It won't happen again."

"No, no, of course not," she answered, ignoring the pang she felt at that idea of never having him in her arms again. "I... that's not how I imagined..."

"Nor I. A lost chance, all around. I'm sorry, Helen," he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek. "If it was going to happen, I would have wished more for you. You deserved better."

"No, don't. It felt good. I know it was wrong, but it felt like what I needed. It helped, James," she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Well, I suppose that's a blessing," he sighed, gently stroking her hair. "I suppose I should get off of you now?"

"Stay," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his back again, not wanting to sacrifice his soothing warmth or comforting weight against her chest. "Just for a few moments longer, James."

"If John were to walk in," he began, clearing his throat.

"He likes long walks alone when he's in one of his moods. You know that. He won't come to see you, not yet. Not for hours."

"No, not yet, I suppose," he agreed, pressing his lips to her throat. "But what will we do Helen?"

"Nothing. We do nothing. This was a mere lapse," she told him, hating herself as she repeated his words. "It won't happen again. There's no reason to let it trouble us after this."

It hadn't felt like a lapse, and she didn't want it being the lone occurrence they both knew it must be. James was her best friend, sex with him had been wonderful. If they'd had time to stop and think before acting, she knew it would have been even better. She was missing out on a lifetime of wonderful nights with James. But she loved John, was betrothed to him, and couldn't let a mistake made in the heat of the moment threaten their future together. He could be terribly jealous. Admitting the truth would only send him into a rage that she didn't care to witness after his anger earlier tonight, and hurt his feelings beside. She loved him, didn't want to hurt him, only wanted them to go on as they had before tonight's argument. And that would never happen if she confessed to her indiscretion. So, for John's good as much as her own and James's, what had just happened must remain a secret.

James must see that, too. She was honestly surprised that it took him so long to answer after she spoke, especially when he'd already made the same assertion himself. When he finally did speak, his voice was slow and heavy.

"A mere lapse," he repeated, clearing his throat and easing off of her. "It was wonderful, but we must do our best to banish it entirely from our minds," he declared, extracting a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping her clean. He was less gentle with himself, and threw the soiled handkerchief into the fire before pulling up his pants and trousers again and quickly restoring his clothing to order. "For everyone's peace of mind, that will be for the best."

"Yes," she agreed, swallowing hard and climbing to her feet, smoothing her skirts and walking over to the looking glass to check her hair and make-up.

It had been quick, and she'd been still enough that no one would have known to look at her. She was a bit flush, to be sure, but that could as easily have been from standing too close to the fire, or getting too much sun earlier today. More than a bit relieved that she wouldn't have to go home with any blatant marks of recent indecency on her, she moved to refill their brandy.

James accepted one of the snifters, half-draining it before asking tentatively, "I hope this won't drive you to distance yourself from me?"

"No," she assured him, smiling reassuringly and shaking her head. "James, you're my dearest friend. Nothing will ever change that, I promise you."

Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she squeezed it firmly, relaxing a bit when he smiled warmly at her. Expression outright loving, he lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it gently before releasing it.

"Thank you, Helen. I was worried you might blame me, or be angry."

"There's nothing to be angry over, and the blame apportions equally. We'll both have to bear this, James, but it needn't come between us. We'll simply have to be more careful in the future."

"Well, if there's one thing I'm capable of, it's caution. Shall I see you home?" he offered.

"I suppose you'd better. Father will wonder what I'm doing out so late. Seeing you bring me home will reassure him. He trusts you so much more than the others."

"Best not tell him about the night's activities, then," he answered with a weak smile, offering her his arm. "Shall we, then?"

"It's going to be all right, isn't it, James?" she asked quietly, taking his arm.

"Of course it is," he assured her, kissing her cheek and walking her out. "You and I will go on just as we always have, and I'll talk to John in the morning about keeping his temper. Everything will be fine, Helen. Everything will be just fine."

Smiling at that reassurance, she leaned against him and let him walk her home.

The End