It was almost an entire week later and Helen was still sulking. Not that she'd ever admit it. And really, she was entirely within her rights to sulk, wasn't she? After all, for all the hype and fear that had consumed them, very little had really happened, especially to her. Nikola and Nigel had reported, for the first day at least, a feeling of vertigo and general unease but it had passed and left them bereft of symptoms. Helen had, no matter how hard she tried, experienced nothing. Not even a bruise from where the damn serum had been injected.

But that wasn't the worst of it. What made Helen fume more than anything, was watching John and James revel in their new found abilities. Admittedly, the changes had not been overt or boisterous but it was hard for Helen to watch. It was not a side of her that she was particularly proud of but, as she watched James solving mathematical equations without any effort, it was hard to deny the pulse of jealousy. He had always been her intellectual sparring partner, the one she could sit with for hours to debate what the others always thought of as tedious details. It was what their entire relationship was founded on; the idea that they were intellectual equals and now, she felt so much like she was lagging behind.

John's change was far subtler though and, for the most part gave Helen little discomfort. The blood had manifested in a more physical way for him, allowing him to move with an almost unnatural speed and strength. More than once he'd given her a fright by appearing, seemingly out of nowhere and calling out to her casually. His grin as he'd sauntered away from her yelps had been a mite too smug for her liking and had done nothing to improve her mood.

Hiding in her apartments seemed like the best solution, to her mind. After all, no amount of studying them or herself would change where they were.

In a way, it made Helen long for her father. Although she knew all too well how he would disapprove of their project, he no doubt would have been able to provide insight and ideas that she had not thought of. He was always so good at approaching problems from another angle, even better at seeing the things Helen overlooked. Once he had remarked that they worked well together because he saw what she could not and she saw what he could not. And it was true, never in all her life had Helen found someone she worked with more harmoniously than her father. For all their fights and bluster, they both understood each other in a way very few others could.

Plus, to Helen's mind, anyway, there were elements of their style that they shared, allowing for near silent work in their laboratories.

But, while part of Helen was desperate to have her father home again, there was a certain level of independence that his absence afforded her that she found she quite enjoyed. It meant that she could wear men's clothes if she chose (not that she did on a terribly regular basis), that her morning meal could take place in the library and, most importantly, it meant that all of 'her boys' could stay in the house. James had been invited to stay many times by her father and had accept for the most part but Helen just knew how much her father would loathe the idea that the five of them had taken up residence in the house.

Something told her he wouldn't buy the excuse that it gave them all a better chance to care for the ever growing number of abnormals they were providing sanctuary to.

And, in truth, it was not the most intelligent thing they had ever done. The few people at the university who had caught wind of the fact that they were all residing in one house without a proper chaperone had not taken kindly to the news, leading to whispers about Helen's virtue that resulted in Nikola and Nigel getting in a fair amount of trouble for fighting. The whispers had, of course, never made it to Helen's ears but she did not need to hear them to know the content. Her reputation, which had always skated on thin ice, was so close to ruined that she wasn't sure her father would ever forgive her, despite the scientific nature of said ruination.

To Helen, nothing that could ever be said about her would take away the magnificence of what they had been working on so diligently for the past few weeks nor could they shake her determination that they had taken the right course of action. Even if she felt rather jibbed.

Sighing, she shifted restlessly in her seat. One of her legs was beginning to lose sensation from being curled under her for so long and the book she'd been diligently reading all afternoon had lost all interest for her almost an hour ago. In short, she was sick of moping about.

Carefully, she adjusted herself in her seat, smoothing out her crumpled skirt before lifting her head to capture some of the cool breeze floating through her open window. The weather had taken a turn after their injection, the heat rising to the point where Helen almost found it unbearable. Summer had always been her favourite season growing up but, back then, she had been allowed to spend the day swimming in the stream that ran along the rear of the property. That and summer had meant holidays which meant she could come home to see her father, rather than suffer through boarding school. Now, of course, it simply meant that all the layers she had to wear became more stifling than ever.

Perhaps she would change, Helen wondered rather sleepily. She still had a pair of men's trousers from when the boys had dressed her up as a man to sneak her into the local pub. They were strangely comfortable and, paired with her oldest, most comfortable white cotton top, she could perhaps achieve a state of true comfort despite the heat. In fact, she was just starting to rise to locate the top she had in mind when, out of the blue, the door to her room flew open, startling her.

"Helen," James grunted as he staggered in, support John's lanky frame as best he could. Both men were abnormally pale, sweating and chests heaving with exhertion. James seemed slightly better off, his dark curls stuck to his forehead with sweat but his eyes were at least alert and open. John, on the other hand, was barely conscious, his lips moving silently as his head dropped ominously.

"James," she breathed in horror, dashing across the room, the book in her hands discarded in favour of speed. He took another staggering step forward before his knees began to give out, dropping both him and John to the floor. Helen tried her best to support them both but their combined weight overwhelmed her, almost resulting in her pinned beneath them both.

"I..." James began, his voice high and breathy. "We were making tea... To bring... And then... I didn't know what to do."

"Where are the others?" Helen asked, her heart in her throat as she gently rolled John into his side, hands flitting over his damp face cautiously. She paused for a minute at his throat, letting herself relax a mote when she found his pulse.

"Ni... Nigel is in the basement, I think," he huffed, sagging against the door frame. "Dunno... 'bout Nikola."

Swallowing heavily, Helen turned to her friend, prepared to ask more questions only to pull up short at the sight of him. His normally pristine dress shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to his body. His neck tie had been discarded somewhere and there were worrying streaks of red in their place, making it seem as if he had been clawing at the usually elegant knot around his throat.

"James," she began, hoping her voice would stay steady. "James, I need you to stay awake, all right?"

He nodded but his eyes were still closed. Crawling across the floor to him, she took his face in her hands.

"Listen to me, James," she begged. "Open your eyes, I need you to stay awake. All right?"

Blearily, his eyes fluttered open and he nodded once more.

"Watch John," Helen instructed. "Watch him closely, James. I'll be very upset if you're not awake when I return, understand?"

Again he nodded but Helen sensed that he understood her so she pushed away from him and stood up. Casting one last worried glance over the scene unfolding on the threshold of her bedroom, she turned, gathered her skirts, and run as best she could to the staircase.

Nikola was easy enough to locate in the library at the back of the house, one of his most favourite hiding places however, even working together, it took them 5 minutes to find Nigel out in the gardens. He was half asleep beneath a shady tree with his hat resting on his belly and, as they woke him with their frightened shouts, he started to sneeze rather violently. Even as they grabbed him, hauling him back to the house, he continued to sniffle and wipe at his nose.

Together, Nigel's cold aside, they managed to make it back to Helen's room just as James' strength gave out. He had moved since Helen left, now sitting beside John with a slack hand against the other man's chest.

"...'elen," he slurred, a small smile appearing on his face before his eyes fluttered closed. Nikola was the quickest, dashing forward to wrap an arm around James' middle to prevent him from falling backwards entirely.

"What the hell is going on?" he breathed, giving Helen a worried look.

"We have to get them down to the infirmary," she barked, ignoring his question. Even if she had the answer, she reasoned, it was not the time to get into details. What mattered most to her at that point were the men lying unconscious just inside the door of her apartments. Her mind was racing as she tried to find an explanation for what was going on whilst, at the same time, doing her best to lift John as Nigel and Nikola started to shift James. He was far heavier than she had anticipated and, no matter how hard she tugged, his body did not move.

For some reason, the fact she couldn't move him brought her to a new state of panic. Her cheeks burned as sweat dampened her temples, her hands shaking dangerously. The panic brought a bad taste to her mouth and she half wanted to retch as she took in John's limp body.

It was her fault. All her fault. Her mistake. Her experiment. Her failing. Their deaths, on her conscience. For even if they didn't pass in the short term, Helen knew enough to understand that the fever that was ravaging their bodies indicated nothing positive. They were ill, gravely so. And Helen knew it was entirely her fault.

"Do you want me to..." Nikola began, looking between Helen and John's limp body.

"No," she said, waving a dismissive hand at him. "Take James first. I'll stay with John for the moment."

Nikola nodded though he seemed unsure as he turned with Nigel, hauling James out the door. Helen watched as they left, willing the tears threatening to disappear before she gave in to the insanity; now, more than ever she knew needed a clear head.

Swallowing, she turned back to John, one hand smoothing across his brow as the other rested upon his broad chest. At some point he must of slipped his traditional jacket and waistcoat off, leaving him in only a thin cotton shirt. Helen could feel the heat of his chest through the fabric as well as the telltale dampness of sweat that had her more worried than before. He was warm, too warm even though it was an exceptionally warm day.

"John," she murmured softly, her voice breaking though she felt no need to try and hide it. After all, who was around to hear her?

Her fingers traced his brow carefully but he didn't stir and it made her heart throb painfully. It wasn't fair that he should be so sick when he had been so against the experiment from the beginning. She had seen the naked fear and apprehension in his eye every time they discussed the possibility of using the blood on themselves and had, for the most part, written it off. But now, just looking at his still form, she understood more of why he had been so afraid.

Why had she been so foolhardy? Why had she insisted upon making them drink the blood? It was James' foolish idea but why had she agreed with it? They all knew that ingesting the blood was occasionally dangerous, more than one mouse had died after their initial tests.

Then a traitorous little thought ran through her mind.

If only her father were there...

He was a doctor, her mind reasoned. He was a capable doctor with great experience when it came to abnormal illness while she... Well, deep down, Helen often felt like something of a fraud. Her education was large enough to rival that of most doctors but, in terms of experience, little she had done could ever be considered 'above board'. She was not, despite her best efforts, a doctor to anyone but herself and, now, looking at what she had done to John, she was quite certain she should never be.

Closing her eyes, Helen wrapped her free hand around one of John's, squeezing lightly as she hoped beyond hope that James would wake and be able to help her. He was not entirely qualified according to the medical community but between the two of them, their medical and scientific knowledge would maybe have been enough to save them both.

The tear that slipped down her cheek, startled Helen somewhat and her eyes flew open with a gasp, one hand flying to her cheek to hide the evidence. She would not cry. It had been months since she'd let herself cry properly though her father's absence had given her much reason to.

Steeling herself, Helen took a deep breath and looked down at John, pursing her lips. She could save him. She would save him. And James too. Not only because she had to but as a test to herself. What kind of doctor-in-training would give in so easily? She had the knowledge to treat them and, in some respects, who better to do so? She had more understanding of their experiment and the blood than any other doctor in the world. More than her father for sure. In fact, only James would probably come close to her breadth and depth of knowledge. And even then, he wasn't nearly as daring as she was.

This was her job, she decided, and she would do it well.

"So?" Nigel asked, his voice distorted by his stuffed nose. Apparently his head cold was only being exacerbated by his headache from all the alcohol he had consumed the evening previous.

"Best I can tell, they have your cold," Helen replied, wiping her hands on the cotton apron she'd pinned to her dress. "Only... it is far more severe. I can't tell too much without doing rather invasive tests, though."

"What do we do?" Nikola asked, frowning. "I mean, if it is just a cold..."

"Oh no, this is no common cold," Helen corrected sombrely. "John and James... They aren't fighting it. Their bodies are just... giving in."

"But what do we do?" Nikola continued, apparently undeterred by the rather sinister prognosis. "How do we treat them?"

Helen bit her lip. So far, the only solution she had come up with was... daring, to say the least. She wanted to save her friends more than anything and she knew it would be a sentiment echoed by both Nikola and Nigel but... it was daring.

Looking between the two of her boys left standing, Helen felt a strong sense of duty. They were, despite everything, her responsibility. They were 'her' boys for a reason and she could not let them come to any more harm than she had already subjected them to. More than that, she needed be prepared should something happen to Nikola or Nigel. Even her own body was probably susceptible to whatever it was that had so damaged James and John's bodies that they could not resist what seemed to be no more dangerous than a common cold.

There was something in Nikola's eye that, as she met his gaze, had Helen wanting to reach out to him for some foolish attempt at comfort. Logically, she knew that his hand in hers would make no difference when it came to her ability to perform as a doctor to the two men in the other room but, Nikola's presence had always brought her comfort and now was no exception. Even though he seemed a little dubious and, to her mind anyway, sceptical of what she might be about to suggest, part of her wanted to feel his palm against hers as if it would guard her against the ridiculousness of what she was about to suggest.

Looking him straight in the eye, Helen pushed the rather foolish notion from her mind, instead reminding herself of what was really important at that moment.

"I think we need to give them more of the blood," she said before she lost her nerve.

Nikola's eyes widened imperceptibly and inclined his head but said nothing. Nigel simply sneezed.

"Well, what's stopping you?" Nigel asked with a frown. "Shouldn't we, I dunno, get to it, or something?"

"I didn't mean they ought to ingest more," she said softly, staring at the timbers beneath their feet for a moment.

"But we can't," Nikola said bluntly. "They'll die."

"We don't know that," Helen began slowly.

"Like hell we don't," Nigel said, his voice rising in volume just a fraction. "You saw what happened to those mice, Helen. Even if they don't die... God, I'd rather be dead than go through what those poor creatures suffered."

"Let us go upstairs and sit down to talk about this," Helen tried faintly.

"We have to find a cure," Nigel argued. "A way to... to undo whatever has happened. Maybe there is something in your father's journals, or in whatever that Blackwood fellow found. Something we missed..."

"Nigel..."

"No, Helen," he cut in. "No... You know there has to be another way. Something else. Something... someway to save them."

"I... I'm trying."

A tense silence fell over them for a moment and Helen barely kept the sob threatening inside. Apparently all the resolve in the world was not enough to keep her from tears.

"Just... We have to keep looking," Nigel finally said, his tone softer and less demanding. "We'll find something, Helen. I believe in you."

And with that, he turned away, walking slowly back towards the main staircase. While part of Helen wanted to follow him, to demand he come with her to help, she let her shoulders slump instead. What good was his belief in her when, already, she seemed ready to give in?

She watched as he walked away, his shadow flickering strangely in the dim light from the lantern by the wall. For a moment, Helen would have sworn she could have half seen through him but, she rubbed at her tired eyes, unsurprised when her vision swam with near exhaustion. She needed rest.

She jumped slightly when a hand landed on her shoulder, turning with wide eyes to face Nikola. She'd almost forgotten he was there during the argument with Nigel.

"He is right, Helen," Nikola said softly, his face creasing into a genuine smile Helen fancied only she had ever been graced with. "You will find something, a way to help them. You are a better doctor than you give yourself credit for."

Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a small kiss to her temple before squeezing her shoulder tightly.

"You go rest up," he continued. "I'll watch them until you get back, all right?"

Helen opened her mouth to argue, ready to stay and treat them but, with another squeeze to her shoulder, she nodded.

"I'll be back in an hour," she said tiredly. "I'll get some food and see what more I can find in the library to help."

"Make it two," Nikola insisted. "And throw a nap in there somewhere too."

She chuckled, shaking her head before turning and slowly trudging towards the same stairs Nigel had used.

"Thank you," she called over her shoulder, giving Nikola a small wave which he returned before slipping into the infirmary.

Nikola rolled his shoulders, trying his best to straighten out the kink developing between his shoulder blades. While he would wait for Helen to return, no matter how long she took (the two hour mark had passed twice over), he desperately wanted something to eat. A nice steak, perhaps, his mind suggested.

Smiling to himself, Nikola stood, giving the two unconscious yet apparently stable men a quick glance before letting his gaze dart to the small room off to the side. More than food, he needed to use the bathroom.

How much trouble could they get into, really? After all, they were barely able to lift an arm, he reasoned. Swiftly, and without giving it another thought, Nikola crossed the room and slipped through the door, shutting it gently behind himself.

After all, how much trouble could they get into?

Afterwards, he took a moment to scrub a hand over his face, opening his jaw wide in the hopes that it would awaken himself blinked a few times at the mirror, eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light in the washroom, before he gasped softly in shock.

His eyes were black.

He stumbled back, knocking the pitcher of water by his elbow to the ground with a clatter. Tripping over his own feet, he raised a hand to his face once more as he fell, the other flying wide to try and stop the fall but only succeeding to knock yet more things to the floor. The tray carrying the towels dented the floor, bouncing around for a moment and sounding three times as loud in the confined space.

Not that Nikola heard it.

He was hurrying to his feet again, rushing to the mirror and gripping the small table before it with both hands until his knuckles turned white. His breathing was laboured as he watched his appearance, trying to reconcile the blue eyes he now saw with the strange black orbs that had before graced his appearance. When, after a moment, it became apparent that nothing was changing again, Nikola slowly walked backwards, nearly tripping on the debris he had scattered around the room.

When his back was against the door, his eyes still glued to his reflection, horror the only strange thing upon his face, he fumbled for the knob, opening it slowly and slipping out once more into the cool of the infirmary. His chest was heaving still and, as he looked around the still silent and mostly empty room, he tried to rationalise what something in him knew had no rational explanation.