He thinks he's seen this before. Helen Magnus without her battle armor is like something of a myth. Impossible until one sets their eyes upon it, sublime in delicate existence. He wouldn't go so far to say that she looks ethereal (actually right now she looks more like a chimney sweep than just about anything else) and disoriented, with an almost happy smile she can't shake warms his insides in a way that he'd forgotten. "Where are we?" she mumbles, reaching out for his hand. Her palms are warm and clammy, an idea that repulses him on a good day; considering they're both covered in enough grime to set his teeth on edge he ignore it because Helen is alive and smiling, the least he could do is be a little courteous (even if she did just try and bring her house down on his head).
"That's a question better left to young Henry."
"And where is he?" She looks past his shoulder, around the crates, wrinkling her brow, and giving up with a huff to stare upwards at the ceiling. She does not let go however, and Nikola swipes his thumb across the back of her hand, tracing along fine scratches. He can feel her pulse, the slow thrum as she sets through a motion of meditative breathing: inhale, exhale, heal, repeat. "He's outside. Someone made a huge mess. Nosy neighbors, all of that." It sounded less rude in his head. Helen only sighs. "I am not one from backing down from a challenge." As soon as that smile is gone, he wants for it, anything than the neutral line her lips have become. "Necessary sacrifices had to be made."
She blew up her life's work, her home, and lord knows what else in that last act and Nikola wants to ask her why, why she of all people could be so destructive but he's got no ledge to stand on. No moral high ground. Equals once more. There is no more of The Great Helen Magnus, only Helen whose concussed and laying on a makeshift pallet while the world around them burns deep into the night. And for a moment Nikola thinks he feels fear for the unknown for a minute. Shaken. He doesn't like it.
"Nikola," He snaps attention back to her, a pair of questioning eyes look at him. "would you fetch Henry, please? I have things to discuss."
Young Heinrich has things of his own he'd like to discuss with her. Nikola finds him pacing back and forth, muttering (no, growling. All joking aside, growling is definitely the best word in this situation) and looks half murderous when Nikola clears his throat. "The patron saint of things that go Boom would like to see you, now." Henry is a storm of emotional confusion and brushes by Nikola. He shuts the door behind him. Shelter is a back door abandoned warehouse, hidden from plain view, with a little metal sheet propped up on wooden stilts in the name of makeshift cover. The night was buzzing, a dull hum from the flickering streetlight at the end of the alleyway. There are people standing under it, undesirables, and Nikola wonders...He stares at the light and can feel himself humming lowly, too.
The streetlight surges and shatters, scattering people like bugs. He is left with moonlight and the wilderness of their leviathan jungle.
"Tesla." Henry's voice is quiet and he doesn't step out of the shadow of the doorway. "We need to go." Far off, Nikola can hear the wail of sirens, the night is full of them tonight. The Fifth Ward is burning.
"Go where?" He is out of moves to play, now. This tin can is just as good as anywhere else now. "The underground." Helen is having to hunch so Henry can hold her up properly and it shows on her face how uncomfortable it is. She does not say a word as he pulls her away from Wolfboy, throwing one arm around his neck and resting his palm warmly against her hip. "The sewers."
"Helen, I am in no mood to-"
"I've hidden something down there." He thinks he catches her eyes spark in the moonlight. "We still have work to do, gentlemen."
Henry's smile is genuine, honest, and hopeful. Nikola turns one corner of his lip up in disgust. "Which manhole did you have in mind?"