3: Helen

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.

-Shakespeare

Helen rubs her stomach absent-mindedly as the radio plays in the background. Piles of laundry are thrown onto the bed, the main focus of her attention as she goes to work sorting through the summer and winter clothes. It's not hard work, but she's far along enough in her pregnancy that even standing for extended periods of time was difficult enough to do.

She stretches, yawning, as the radio switches over from music to an announcement, all of it in French. It was good to get some practice in before John came back and they had to leave for France, so the majority of the things coming into the house were now in French. She'd taken it in secondary school and then once again, briefly in university, but basic conversational fluency wouldn't get her very far if they really were going to start over in France. John was fluent, of course, but he also wasn't here right now, so she'd had to rely on whatever she could find of her old notes and audiobooks from the library.

At least it kept her company. Being pregnant was a joy, certainly, feeling their unborn child growing inside of her, but it was also terribly boring, especially now when most of her work colleagues had also turned a blind eye on her. John's "dishonorable discharge" hadn't been the kind of front-page news the newspapers may have wanted, but it was what they'd gotten. Helen hadn't found out she was pregnant yet, though all the symptoms were there, so she'd taken the day off, thinking that the stress from the news (even fake, it had taken a hell of a lot of Tylenol for her headache to disappear that day) was making her feel unwell. When she'd come in the next day, no one had been able to look her in the eyes. The friends she had (not friends, really, come to think of it, they only occasionally talked at work, never outside) gave her their sympathies and from them on, the job she'd once loved started to feel like an obligation at normalcy, rather than a way for them to earn income.

John had felt guilty about it, of course. She'd visited him a few times in prison to keep up appearances, and each time, he'd shaken his head, their signal that no, his cover hadn't been established yet. The criminal organization known as SCORPIA had taken their time to get to him, but when they did, at least, he was paid well. He'd told her that she didn't need to work anymore (she did, though; staying in the house all day, especially during the winter, would only drive her crazy). She'd never seen the exact amount of money deposited into his accounts, but it must have been a lot for them to move from their dingy flat in Hackney to a house in Knightsbridge. Close enough to Chelsea and Ian if there was any kind of emergency, but far enough that John's employers wouldn't doubt his loyalty over it.

Ian, of course, was only if they were truly desperate. It had been a bit...disconcerting to Helen, the way the two brothers treated each other. She'd grown up an only child, in a family that was far from functional or normal, but even she can tell that there's something not quite...right about the dispassionate way the two treat each other. Working in a private military ward meant that she was used to seeing men hardened by battle, the kind of men that didn't express affection on much of a deeper level other than talk or charm, but to see it as close as home...for God's sake, one of them was the father to her child and the other would be the uncle.

The radio switches over to another song in French. She recognizes it as Les rois du monde.

And what was John's business with Rothman? She wasn't a jealous woman (not underneath normal circumstances, no, but she was stressed and pregnant and her husband was working for a group of ruthless terrorists) but she wasn't exactly entirely unfamiliar with the ways of men either. Her own father had cheated on her mother six times, each time with a different woman. Their marriage, yes, wasn't the prime example of the institution of marriage, but still. What if John had to do something to gather inside intel? Would he even try to refuse or would he go along with it?

She wants to believe that he won't but knowing John...he was always practical in a way she'd appreciated up until then. Now, it's just a reminder of how far in he'd gotten involved with this whole mess.

Helen wipes away the sudden tears springing up in her eyes. Pregnancy hormones, she tries to placate herself. It was easier to have an excuse like that than face the very real and grave reality of it all-that she'd gotten into something much larger and deeper than she was comfortable with.

The phone rings, and she sniffs, picking it up. "Hello?"

"This is Crawley from the bank. We've received an overseas foreign transaction pertaining to your account. If you would please press one, this call will be sent to one of our overseas office. Thank you."

John. He was calling from overseas. That likely meant that the mission had gone well, then. Heart pounding, she does as instructed. There's a brief burst of static, and then…

"Hello?"

"John."

"Helen, love." He sounds relieved to hear her, though there's a tone of hurry there as well. In the background, she can hear something else, distorting his voice slightly. "How are you doing? I hope everything's going well."

"Everything's fine," she responds, hoping her voice doesn't sound like she's been crying. She doesn't want him to worry or get distracted, not when he was so close to coming home again. "Did it-"

"Yes, they got me. Listen, I don't have much time to speak right now. Ash has been hurt. I just wanted to let you know that we're safe and that it seems like I'll probably not be home for a little while longer."

"Oh. Is he-"

"He'll be fine, Helen, I'm just telling you now because…" his voice lowers. "Truth be told, I'm not sure this went as completely successfully as it was supposed to go. And because of that…"

He trails off as her heart sinks. Even without spelling it out explicitly, she thinks she understands the message just fine. "So you won't be-"

"No. I'm sorry, Helen. I don't have much time. They're flying him out somewhere. I'll try to call again but if I don't…"

"It's fine, John. As long as Ash is okay." The words come out hollow even to her own ears. "I'll talk to you later than."

"Thanks, Helen, you're the best."

"Love you. Tell Ash I send my best."

"Will do. Love you."

The call disconnects. She sets the phone down a few moments later. At least the tears are gone. In the background, the radio continues to play but she's long since given up trying to make meaning of the words. She supposes she should be happy that he'd even bothered to call at all. Sometimes he didn't, and it made her grit her teeth when he'd off-handedly mention something that had occurred to him weeks ago and act surprised when she expressed concern over it. Reasonably, she knows that the kind of business he's in isn't the most forgiving and that the price of information was a high one, but still.

Shoving her annoyance aside, she processes the rest of what he's said. He'd be home later than expected. That likely meant that their trip to France was also pushed further back. Closer to her due date than she'd like. She was about twenty-five weeks along, so it wasn't like she was going to go into labor any time soon, and yet, as a nurse, she understands the risks that come with pregnancy, especially one like hers. Already under a good deal of stress, working at the kind of physical job that requires a good deal of heavy lifting and focus with coworkers that hated her, wasn't doing her any favors. The last thing she needs is for something to happen now.

Move it after the due date, then. Maybe after the baby was born. That might work out better, and it might also give them a chance to settle a bit after John had returned. She'd take maternity leave in about another month or so anyway, and once John was home, they'd likely have to establish fake identities anyway. MI6 had hinted at a private hospital with a maternity ward, but that might change too.

As for Ash...she winces in sympathy. John had mentioned that this was one of Ash's only chances of taking charge of a mission. He was a nice enough man, a little awkward, and things had only become even more awkward after he'd asked her out and she'd turned him down, but she knows how close he and John are. John hadn't been able to tell her the exact details of the mission, but it was a major one, and for Ash to have been injured like this...she hopes he's alright. Gunshots were lethal, but with the kind of healthcare MI6 provided, she doesn't doubt that Ash will recover and be back on his feet quickly.

She wonders if it also has something to do with John's student. John had mentioned something a few weeks back, some kind of worry over...what was his name? Yassen. Yes, that was right. He never brought him up, not generally, and Helen didn't press. She had the impression that John genuinely liked the kid, though it was the kind of liking that he didn't like to admit to. Maybe it had to do with the fact that John himself wasn't a man of much sentimentality. Maybe it had to do with the fact that in his profession, they didn't make such attachments. Maybe it was because he saw himself in Yassen, though Helen doubts that bit, at least. John was a rich boy who'd gone to Oxford, and then served in the army out of a sense of patriotism. From what little she's been told, Yassen didn't exactly do anything out of a sense of duty or moral obligation. She can respect that, even understand it to a degree. As a nurse, she did enjoy her work, did enjoy helping her patients, but it wasn't exactly her first career choice. She'd been more inclined to work as a doctor. The pay was better, treatment, too, and it would give her a sense of financial security, but being a doctor also took the kind of time, commitment, and patience she didn't have. The residency alone would have stretched into her early thirties, and with the kind of loans she would take out...it would put a strain on their finances even without John getting conscripted into working for a terrorist organization. Besides, it gave her a reason to leave her parent's home and move closer to London. Her parents' moods depended heavily on who'd had too much to drink that night, or who'd blown the most money at the casinos for weeknight poker. To say that she didn't miss them was an understatement.

She gets a vicious satisfaction thinking about it even now. She'd managed to leave their small, dark house and it's cold drafts and colder people behind. They, meanwhile, would stay trapped there until they died. Not once would they get to have contact with her or her family ever again.

Of course, now there's that niggling doubt in her mind. Had she simply traded one prison for another? But no. She pushes the thought away. John wasn't like that. He was bright and filled with life. He was the opposite of her parents and the life she'd left behind. Yes, his profession might require him to deal with...death but it was out of a sense of patriotism, not because he'd gotten drunk at some bar and taken a swing at someone. Or at least, not really. That was all just a part of his cover.

She wonders what kind of ultimatum Yassen had been given. He seemed so...young. She'd seen him once, in a picture. It was strange to see her own husband on camera, looking like such a...for lack of better words, criminal, but if John looked like a criminal, Yassen looked almost the opposite. He reminded her of a baby colt (she used to see those on her grandfather's farm when she'd visit as a child, every spring) sticking close to its mother. He was kind of coltish. A little unsure, if she had to guess because even in that one photo, she could see him angling his body towards John, turned towards him as if to ask a question.

It was quite possible that he saw John has a parental figure of some sort. She's sure that no parent in their right state of mind would allow their kid to choose a career path like this so young. John's own parents had passed away when he was in college, though from what she'd heard, they'd been supportive of their son's military path. If they would have continued that same support for John when he'd gone undercover, she's not sure, but she's willing to bet a strong "no" on it. Yassen's parents were out of the picture, at least or maybe not someone he kept in contact with, which she can sympathize with. It makes sense, then, that he'd turn to John.

Does John know? Likely. He was an intelligent man. He'd have picked up on it. Hopefully, he'd act on it, too. Take Yassen underneath his wing. What difference was it really from the child that Helen carried right now?

She crosses the room, switching off the radio. The silence doesn't help matters much but she's not in the mood to do much else tonight. Outside, the sky is already darkening, despite it only being around 4 PM. The heat was on the highest it could go, and she was dressed in a large wool sweater with socks to match, but the cold seems to seep in through the fabric anyway. The house feels so empty without anyone in it. It reminds her of home, for a moment, but she shoves the thought away. It wouldn't be like this for much longer.

Hopefully, John would be home soon.

Written: November 9th, 2020

Edited: November 9th, 2020

A/N: Once again, we kind of get more of a character view here, but I'm actually pretty pleased with the way Helen's perspective turned out. Obviously, it wouldn't make sense for her to know all the politics and everything going on behind the scenes, but John's bound to have mentioned something or another to her. Likely, she'd worry about it, but then again, her pregnancy is also at the forefront of her mind.

Thanks to everyone who left reviews and kudos last chapter! This makes school and these dreary winter days much more exciting lol. As I've already hinted to lifeandliterature on , one of the next (not immediate) perspectives is certainly going to be...one filled with jealousy.