"Father!"
"I'm sorry Helen but this is necessary. My work is funded on the grants I gain at parties like this. Your help in these matters is invaluable."
Helen watched her father walk away and turned back to the box on the bed, tears gathering in her eyes. She hated parties like this with a passion. But these balls were the way her father got money. Wine and money, they both flowed at events like this. Helen knew she was invaluable, she and whatever tools were in the box on her bed. She had made plans though to meet with the boys tonight, James had his latest invention that Nigel had claimed to contribute in some illegal way towards the completion of. And now she wouldn't get to see it, not yet. Because she was going to have to go and put on her best party face for this. Whatever her father's ideas did not get in payment, her smile would push over the edge.
Helen moved towards the bed and opened the box. Looking down at the contents, she felt the threatening of tears before shoving it away. The others would simply have to understand.
Especially John.
It had been two months, two of the most wonderful months Helen had ever had. She had to prove herself in their conversations, she had to prove herself in everything, but once she had they had accepted her. It was not because she was a woman either, it was because she was new to their group. But now she spent almost every afternoon with the rest of them, talking about the world around them or listening to James talk about the latest experiment he was planning. And even with the friendship blossoming, John still challenged her in class and teased her when she showed up with hair askew and dirt on her nose.
After two hours, Helen was ready to face the word. She had been laced into the dress, her hair pulled up and her face made alluring. It took so much to get ready for these functions but Helen would have been lying if she claimed a part of her did not enjoy looking pretty. Even if it was for such an event as this ball. Slowly she turned and left the room, not wanting her feet to hate her anymore than they would. At the top of the stairs she stopped and peered over, her eyes widening.
"John," Helen gasped.
John Druitt was a man rarely stricken speechless. But that was exactly how he found himself. Helen stood at the top of the stairs, only it was Helen as he had never seen her before. She wore a dress cut low and tight on her bodice, lace edging the top of the fabric and the edge of the bands on her arms. The skirt swept outwards, but not as dramatically as some of the dresses he knew were in fashion. The navy silk was gathered and bustled as was in style but what drew the eye were the iridescent beads on the skirt, each done to look like a firework illuminating the night sky. Her hair was pulled back, held in place with a handful of pins that looked like they were the stars.
"Helen," he breathed her name as he stared at her.
"Yes, I know I look foolish," she said picking up her skirts and hurrying down the stairs, "but it is for a good cause," she stopped, looking up at him, "you do not have to tease quite so much," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up.
"Forgive me," he said, "you have stolen any words my lips could form."
Helen stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. Either he was being terribly cruel or he was truly entranced by her. Her eyes moved over him, searching out signs for which of the two it could be when she realized he too was dressed incredibly formally.
"Are you--"
"A family obligation," he said, "one it seems we share," he looked at her, "I was going to send my apologies for not joining you all tonight."
"in person?" she asked.
"I thought it would be amusing for you to see me in my discomfort. Since I so often seem to catch you at the height of yours."
"How thoughtful," she said with a smile, "and yet, pointless," she motioned to her dress.
John stared, struck that she could possibly think she looked bad in the creation she was wearing. But his words once more failed him. It was an exceedingly rare and unpleasant experience, to be struck speechless. Even if it was by a woman as stunning as the one standing next to him.
"Well I will see you at the ball," John said with a bow.
"Yes, see you there," she said with a smile as he turned and walked away.
Hour later Helen found herself trapped.
As usual the party was nothing short of amazing. People, transformed into creatures out of the most beautiful of dreams, milled about the room. There was no anger or unhappiness, at least not anywhere that was present on the surface. It was an escape, really, though it was a necessary one. Sometimes people needed to forget about their every day life, about the problems they faced. Even if it was just for one night.
But it was not enjoyable for some.
Not even for John Druitt.
John listened, partially, to the men he was speaking to. He knew the four men well enough to know whatever they were saying was not anything that require his full attention. His eyes scanned around the room for Helen. She was easy to spot and, from the looks of it in need of a rescue. A group of men was surrounding her, clearly all entranced with her. John did not like the look that was in their eyes, as if Helen was the latest accessory that they had to have. Despite the fact he did not particularly like the jealousy he felt in his stomach anymore than he liked the fact that she was in any kind of trouble, he found himself rather happy that he could have an excuse to leave the conversation and go to save Helen.
"Excuse me, Gentlemen," he said turning and walking towards Helen.
Off in the crowd of men, Helen took a deep breath and struggled to keep her smile on her face. She was getting close to her breaking point but forced herself to remain in control. John was off performing the duties he had to and she was trying to do hers, a job that would have been much easier if the men in the room hadn't cornered her. Helen was doing her best to smile and try to get a word in or two past 'good' and 'thank you' but it was very near impossible. Her patience wearing thing, Helen was sure if something did not change quickly, then she was going to loose it and snap angrily at someone.
A light throat clearing drew her eyes to the latest man who joined the fray. Helen felt her lips curve into a smile at the sight of him as John Druitt seamlessly navigated the gathering to her side.
"Gentlemen, I am afraid I must steal Miss Magnus," John said with dramatic regret, "for the dance, of course."
The men all traded looks as Helen gratefully placed her hand in John's. He led her towards the dance floor as she found it easier and easier to breath. Once they arrived, he stepped around, placing a hand on her waist and taking her other in his. Helen placed her hand on his shoulder as he began to move them to the music.
"Thank you," Helen said.
"It was my pleasure," John said with a smile as he moved them perfectly to the music.
Helen smiled as they danced. He was a very good dancer, his grace just as present in the movement. Helen smiled as they danced, content to be in the silence. Helen could feel eyes on them and tried to fight her mind's instinct to go over how they looked. She did tend to overanalyze things and this was one time she wished she was not so over-analytical. The two of them moved across the floor seamlessly, gracefully even.
"I believe that someone else is looking for the pleasure of your company," John said.
Helen looked over her shoulder to see her father approaching with a man who looked frighteningly familiar. Helen felt her stomach plummet as she recognized the greasy haired man who seemed to think that grants were given in return for kisses. Kisses that Helen had only had the supreme misfortune of receiving once--once was more than enough. She looked around the room, searching for a way out but she could find none. She looked up to see John looking down at her, obviously curious as to why she was so uncomfortable.
"Oh," Helen bit her lip, "I'm sorry John."
"Sorry for--"
Helen seized his lapels, yanked him down and pressed her mouth determinedly against his.
John felt his eyes widen in shock before he realized what was happening. If she was apologizing then--
Then--
It was impossible to think really. He could taste the wine on her lips and some other strange thing, probably some pigment on her lips. But she was intoxicating, even with her white knuckle grip on his lapel. Her mouth was pressed forcefully against his as she clearly struggled to compensate their height difference. Slowly John slid his arms around her waist, high enough for it to be as proper as it could. He moved his head to the side, her own following his lead as the height difference lessened and the kiss turned more gentle. Her fingers slackened on his lapels as they kissed on the outskirts of the dance floor.
John risked a glance to see that the man was gone. Helen too seemed to have judged that it would be time to draw back. She did so quickly, practically jumping back away from him. Only John's hands on her waist kept her from truly running away.
"I'm so sorry, John"
"Helen."
"It was completely uncalled for and I--"
"Helen."
This time he augmented his words with actions, drawing a hand from her waist and lifting under her chin with his fingers. Her eyes rose with the motion, meeting his. He realized he was smiling. John Druitt, who could have had any woman in London in his arms had the one he did want there and he could not stop smiling. He saw color stain Helen's cheeks as she fought her own smile, still clearly nervous, perhaps a bit unsure of what his feelings were concerning her kissing him.
And how nervous she was.
She had done what was necessary but at the moment all she felt was foolish. She had kissed John, kissed him to avoid most likely having to kiss someone else. But she had kissed him none the less. And yet it had been wonderful. Breathtaking even, the way he kissed her. Now he was smiling. Not in a way that showed amusement or dislike for what had transpired but in a happy way. In an infectious way and Helen felt her own lips curve, despite her fighting it down. Slowly John lowered his hand, sure her eyes wouldn't move away from his.
"You are like no-one I have ever met, Helen Magnus," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "and you must forgive my foolish words, it seems in moments like these, my mind deserts me."
"Then I believe it would be best if we did not talk," Helen said taking a step back, moving as smoothly as she could before she turned on her heel and ran.
Helen ran as fast as she could from the party, hiking up the silk of her skirts to aid her pace. One moment she felt like smiling, like never leaving the sanctity of his arms and the next she felt as though the world was ending around her. She just knew she could not be there. Hot tears threatened her eyes as she ran, hating herself for it and yet knowing that she had to do it. She had to get away. From the party, from the men, from her duties.
But mostly, from John Druitt.
Helen was a woman who prized control. It was because her life that had very little of it that she craved it, as much as she could. Whatever shreds, whatever pieces she could grasp at she did. And that was the problem with John Druitt. Unfortunately for all her brilliance, Helen forgot to account for one crucial factor and that was their height difference. Her heavy dress did little make up for the long strides of the unusually tall man and before Helen had made it close to her intended goal, his hand was on her upper arm, warm and comforting and Helen was sure she was going to go mad if she let his touch stay on her for one more moment.
"Helen what is going on?" John demanded, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.
For all Helen prized control, John prized unpredictability. His life was a mass of predictability, a scripted piece that flowed along some predetermined, pre-approved course. He fought it, he raged against it but at the end of the day the fact of the matter was that what occurred usually did along the lines that the rest of his life unfolded. John enjoyed James and Nikola and Nigel not simply because they were brilliant but also because of the chaos that inevitably followed. But he had never met anyone as unpredictable or chaos-prone as Helen Magnus and John found he craved her more than anyone else.
Unfortunately he had no idea what to do at the moment.
He thought that everything was fine. The kiss had been shocking but not unpleasant. One moment she had been smiling up at him, as though she enjoyed it and the next she was running away. John did not understand and, with sinking certainty, he was sure that Helen did not either. When she turned around and met his gaze, her eyes unusually bright under the glow of the lamps, he was certain that she was just as confused as he.
"Why do you do this to me?! I have always been in control of myself. Even when the world is out of it, I have my own control. Except--" she gasped, "except when I am with you!" her fingers tightened in her skirts, "i cannot do this. Not now. Not with everything as it is."
"Why not?" the question fell simply from his lips. She stared at him, "I can help you--"
"I do not want help!" she cried, "I fight for my beliefs. I fight for what I want. Even when--no, no especially when it is not what the world wishes for."
"I am not asking you to give up your beliefs," John said, "I would never ask such a thing of you--"
"Then what are you asking of me?" she demanded.
"What I have always wanted," he said. Her eyes narrowed, "simply to be with you."
Helen stared at him, her eyes wide.
Both were frustrated by his statement, John because he seemed to think it was no longer the right thing to say. Helen because the idea that someone like John Druitt, someone so used to getting what he wanted--especially when it came to women--would want nothing more than to be with her was almost impossible to believe. It was almost laughable. If she did not see the simple honesty in his eyes, she would not have believed it possible herself. But she did see the honesty in his eyes, the kind that was so very rare in the world.
"Helen," he looked down, clearly frustrated, "if all you wish for is beliefs, that is all you are going to have. There is more to life than constantly fighting."
"Perhaps for you," she said, scraping whatever dignity she had left together to face him, "but for me it is different."
"No," he cut her off, "it is this way for everyone. Life is more than just the next fight Helen. You have to have something worth fighting for, something that will happen after you fight or all you are doing is running."
"Do not patronize me," she said jerking her head up even as her hands balled in her skirts.
"I only seek to inform you of the truth," he said, "something I know you seek quite passionately."
Helen gritted her teeth before spinning on her heel and walking down the hallway. John followed her. She stalked past the carriages, her gown in her hands as she headed for her home. John followed her. Helen heard him following her, his pace almost leisurely. Helen felt anger streak through her before she turned on her escort.
"Why are you following me! I thought I made my wish for solitude clear!"
"That you did. However it is late and you are--" her glare stopped him from saying woman, "dressed so exquisitely. I would never allow harm to come to you while I could prevent it."
"If you think I cannot fight--"
"I do not think there is a person in the world who could fight in that," he said motioning to her dress.
Helen gasped in indignation, hating the truth that he was right. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing as he stood there, looking so calm, almost smug, and clearly confident in his abilities to protect her. Helen knew she could not fight but that did not mean she would not try to fight. Before she could even think about what she could possibly do in her dress, John was towering over her, preventing any sort of movement. The moment the smell of him invaded her senses, Helen found her raging anger ebb away. She still met his gaze, even when it hurt her neck to do so.
"I'll scream," Helen threatened.
"Your pride will not let you," he replied.
"And what would you know of my pride?"
"Most likely that it will make you slap me after I kiss you again."
"You wouldn't dare," Helen said, her blood racing to the challenge.
But, as it turned out, John Druitt would dare.
It was quite different from their first kiss on the dance floor. The breeze blew across the bare skin of her arms and her neck but her front was impossibly hot against his chest. Her heart pounded as he ducked his head and captured her lips with his. He kissed her, his lips full and pressed against hers. His mouth was firm against hers, insistent and Helen found herself responding on instinct and pride. Her own lips moved determinedly against his as all she became aware of was the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood to her head. Her eyes fluttered shut when his tongue swept the curve of her bottom lip before entering her mouth. Though she tried to focus, Helen found it impossible to do as she reciprocated the movement. All she could do was kiss him as though her life depended on it, as though he was the air she breathed.
Finally John drew back. Helen's eyes flew open as she looked at him, knowing her cheeks were stained and her lips were swollen. His eyes scanned her face, searching for her reaction. So Helen gave him one.
She drew back her hand and slapped him.
John had to admit the woman was more than capable of slapping someone properly. His cheek stung furiously. Even so she did not move away, clearly knowing that he would follow her. She was torn between anger and something else--something she was not ready to put a name to. But it was something that was not entirely unpleasant. He stood there with his hands by his sides, despite the fact she had slapped him. Though he had deserved to be slapped for what he did. Kissing a woman like that--Helen cut herself off. Kissing a woman like that should have had something other than a slap for a reaction.
"There is no need to look so smug," she said turning and walking back up the street.
"I look nothing of the sort. Where, may I ask, are we going?"
"Back to the party. I promised my father I would be there," she said as they headed back, "I do not want to worry him."
John nodded as they headed back to the party. At the entrance she turned and looked at him. John met her gaze steadily and Helen could not help but do the same.
"There are people I need to speak to," she said.
"Is this your way of trying to get rid of me?" John asked, feigning hurt.
"Unfortunately, I believe there is nothing that could get rid of you," she said with a shake of her head.
"Oh Helen, how you wound me," he said pressing a hand to his chest.
"If you do not cease with the dramatics, I will loose you in that crowd," she threatened, glancing at the doors, "or perhaps in my crowd of admirers?"
"You have made your point," John said as Helen smiled triumphantly. John sighed and extended his arm to her, "shall we?"
Helen looked at his arm before slowly placing hers on his.
"We shall," she said.
And they entered the party once more, this time together.
Okay whose pysched for this week? I am just about DYING to see what's gonna happen!
So I wanted John and Helen to have a romantic interaction fairly early on. They're both serious go-getters and clearly not that keen on social propriety. After all, Helen was pregnant before they were married. But I also wanted there to be a bit of chaos around it.
Next chapter, the Five are back. Now with a couple. Lets see what the three others think of 'young love'.
Also, in terms of jumping to the present time, I'm probably going to write a few more chapters (like 3 or so) in the past and then we're gonna go back to the present. I feel like Helen and John in terms of the time of his madness has been dealt with in the show and I'm not really keen on writing it. I want to get to present John and Helen struggling with Ashley.
Once again, Please PLEASE review! This is the first story of this kind I've done and I love feedback. So review! Thanks!
