Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.
A/N: Ah! I know this has taken forever. My only excuse is that I had a hard time getting them to fight without depressing myself. Still, here they are at last! And now I require fluff. Lots of fluff.
Helen waited until the next night to go Will-hunting. After his encounter with her Old Friend, she reasoned, he would hardly be persuadable. Even the space of only a day might not be enough, but she was reluctant to wait any longer. Perhaps she could make the event work in her favor.
Somewhat to her surprise, Will was in the first place Helen looked out of a desire to be thorough: his office. When she saw the light slipping out in the small space above the floor, she rapped on the door. No answer greeted her, but as it was too late for patients and the office was silent, she cracked the door open a smidge anyway to make certain that Will was out before she headed to the next place on her mental list. It would have been a fruitless search had she not – he was curled up on the couch, back pressed against the wall.
Deciding that their talk would have to be postponed if Will was actually managing to sleep on his own, Helen slipped into the room, looking around for a blanket to cover him up for the night. A quick search yielded a soft brown plaid throw in a cupboard and she settled it over him before turning to leave. At the door, however, he uttered a soft sound and she turned around to see if he had awakened.
Not awake, no, but Helen recognized the signs that he was beginning to fall into a nightmare quite well after the night of his return – almost two weeks ago now. He fell fast; before she could even return to his side he was beginning to claw at the blanket, pressing himself harder into the wall.
"Will, it's alright," had no effect, as she settled onto the couch beside him. Taking a sterner tone, she ordered, "Will. You need to wake up now. Wake up," and reached out to shake him gently.
With a start, he jerked back into the wall and blinked up at her, disoriented.
"Hey there," Helen tried, softer, "Are you back?"
He nodded absent-mindedly, eyes darting about to take in the details of his office.
"What," Will began hoarsely and stopped to clear his throat. "Why are…uh, did you need…" he trailed off, clearly uncertain how to ask what exactly she was doing in his office.
"We need to talk," she plunged in, determinedly.
"Did something happen?" he struggled to sit up fully, flinching when she put out a hand to help his efforts. This time, she didn't pull back, keeping her hand on his side and looking him in the eye.
"I don't know, Will. That's what we need to talk about. And this," she deliberately dropped her gaze to her hand before bringing it back to his wide-eyed stare.
"I, I don't know what you mean," he mumbled unconvincingly, pulling back into himself and the wall once he was upright.
Helen followed, settling beside him, "Be honest with me, Will. I know you don't want to talk about whatever happened in Paraguay, but do me the favor of at least not lying about it."
"It," she watched, disturbed, as the fight left him visibly. "It doesn't matter," he said in the smallest voice she'd ever heard from him.
"Clearly it matters to you, Will," Helen spoke softly, willing him to open up to her. "That means it matters."
"No," he said almost reflectively, to himself. "It doesn't," she resisted the urge to shake her Will back into the despondent form beside her. "I should go sleep in my actual bed," he tried to joke, weakly, moving as though to stand.
Not this time. "Not until we're done," she said, firmly.
He laughed, the horrible fake laugh he'd developed since his return. She hated that laugh. "What more do you want? I'm tired, I had a nightmare – not exactly an unusual occurrence – and I'll be fine in the morning."
"Oh, this in the magic night?" Why was she doing this? She was the worst person to be doing this – her temper always got the better of her. Already in the middle of what was brewing to be an ugly fight wasn't the best place to have this realization, though. "Somehow this night will accomplish what all the others haven't since your return?"
"Do you find my work unsatisfactory?" There was a hint of her Will, she found in relief: temper just as sharp as her own when pressed the right way, never backing down simply because she was his boss and Helen Magnus.
"I'm not complaining about your work ethic, Will," she started.
"Then why the interrogation?" he snapped out before she could finish her sentence.
"I'm worried about you," Helen stated simply. After a pause, she continued over the top of whatever platitude he was preparing to hand her. "You're not sleeping well. You're jittery, irritable, constantly flinching, avoiding social contact whenever possible, avoiding me at all costs, and refusing to discuss whatever happened in Paraguay to prompt such a drastic change in character."
"Nothing happened in Paraguay!" Anger spilling over, he stood suddenly and paced over to his desk before turning on her.
Helen took a deep breath. Calm, stay calm, if you fight back this will not end well. He wants something to push against. Don't let him.
"Then explain this to me," she said, slowly, once able to speak calmly. "Why are you acting like this if nothing happened?"
"I'm not acting any differently," he bit out, fingers tightening on the edge of his desk. "I'm working. You said my work was fine."
"I said I wasn't complaining about your work ethic," Helen corrected. "But that isn't the point here, Will."
"I'm just tired," he broke in with a growl. She blinked, trying to recall if Will had ever taken that tone with her before. "It creates unpleasant side effects. I'll get some sleep, I'll be fine. So, if you'll just excuse me."
Before he'd taken two steps to the door, Helen made sure she was between him and escape. She did have the advantage of a few more hours of sleep, at the least. Will stopped short and glared at her. Fairly confident that he wouldn't try to force his way past, as they both knew who would win in a physical confrontation, she set herself in a solid stance nonetheless. It isn't as though he's at his most rational at the moment. Better to be safe.
Apparently, however, he was not far gone enough to risk taking her on. Will contented himself with another glare before turning back to sink into the couch once more, running his hands over his face. She took the moment to look him over without his usual interception of her assessment. What she saw did not please her. The thin hollows of his cheeks were dusted with a few days growth that, added to the hair which looked as though it had either been through a windstorm or a long interval of hands running through it fiercely, meant that his standard of hygiene had lapsed considerably. His clothes, though no more casual than they ever were, showed creases that indicated a few days wear and hung loosely on his frame. She was interrupted mid-mental exam by a heavy sigh from Will.
"What do you want?" he asked wearily.
"The truth, Will," she responded, cautiously relaxing her stance and coming to sit next to him again. Her presence had brought him comfort before; even if he was trying to push her away, his unconscious might respond to her proximity. "I want to help you," she continued quickly before he could try and placate her, "something I cannot do if you refuse to tell me what is wrong."
"Nothing," he whispered, staring intently down at his hands, which he'd tightly interlaced. "There's nothing you can do."
Slowly, she reached over and clasped her own hands around his white-knuckled pair. "How will you know unless you let me try?"
In response, he merely shook his head, gaze hooded and far away. Whatever he was seeing was clearly not pleasant and Helen shook the hands between her own to bring him back to her.
"Talk to me, Will," she urged, leaning down to catch his eyes.
"There's nothing to say," he bit off, pulling his hands away to pace over to his desk and surveyed the top with evident disgust at the piles of paper erratically stacked at the edges.
Helen could hardly keep up with him tonight. It was as though she were trying to follow a single point on a centrifuge and Will was whirling too quickly through depression and anger and back again for her to keep her eyes focused.
"I can think of plenty I would like to hear you say," she said, watching his tight motions carefully, "starting with why you're not sleeping."
"Insomnia," he snapped, trying to straighten a stack of papers that responded poorly to his erratic shuffling motions.
"Not good enough," she said firmly. "Why aren't you sleeping, Will?" Repetition sometimes pushed him to answers he was trying to avoid. Of course, it worked better when he was close to her, but in his current mood it wouldn't take much to needle him.
"Let it go," he demanded loudly, slamming the paperwork back down and putting his back to her, settling into his chair and opening a file cabinet.
"Not this time," she responded, far more calmly than she felt. He was on the knife-edge of his temper; that she could tell. Come now, out with it, lad. "Answer me. Why aren't you sleeping, Will?"
Her only answer was the sliding sound of the file drawer shutting.
"Pretending I'm not here isn't going to get rid of me, Will," Helen cautioned, rising from the sofa to stand beside him, leaning back against the desk in a show of nonchalance. "I think you know how stubborn I can be. Give me an answer."
"No," he said in a quiet tone, firmly, not looking up from the label on the file drawer. "I'm fine. It'll be fine, Magnus."
She knew that tone – it meant that he had gotten it into his stubborn head that he was doing something damnably noble and there would be no budging him. At least not head-on. But when was the last time you simply gave up, hm? If he wasn't going to do this the easy way, he didn't leave her much of a choice.
"No," Helen said, just as quietly and every bit as firmly, "You are not. And," she continued over the sentence spilling out of his mouth, "until such a time that you can convince me that you are getting proper sleep and nutrition, you're off the active list."
That certainly got his attention. Before she could move, Will rose to confront her, face a study caught between anger and fear.
"You can't," he spluttered, "I am fine."
"I can and I will," she said, unmoving, "until and unless you tell me what is wrong and begin to improve."
"Nothing," he all but yelled, "Is. Wrong."
"Then you can use the time to catch up on sleep and meals and won't have any problems convincing me of your health," Helen put in without missing a beat. "On the other hand, if you cannot do that…"
"This is ridiculous," Will paced away from her, flinging his arms to the sides. "Paraguay went fine. You told me Paraguay went well. Why are you doing this?" He turned to face her accusingly.
"I'm not doing this to hurt you, Will," Helen tried, slowly. Perhaps he might be willing to listen.
"No, you want to 'help' me. Except I don't need help," he smacked one hand down open-palmed on the desk, "I need for you to let me do my job."
"And as soon as you're in any condition to do so, I will be delighted to have you back," Helen met his eyes squarely, making certain not to flinch, "In the meantime, however, what you do need…"
"Of course," Will broke in, "the Great Helen Magnus knows exactly what everyone else should be doing. Let's hear it, Magnus, what have I been doing wrong this time?"
"Will," she knew her tone was nothing approaching even vaguely sympathetic, but was rather alright with that at the moment. They weren't going to make any headway tonight, not with Will's exhaustion, and there was only so much disrespect she was willing to accept, even from him, even given his current state. "To begin, you need to reign in that temper. No. Enough," she silenced his next outburst with a well-practiced glare and an iron tone. "I believe you mentioned getting some sleep? It is sorely needed. I think you should go now. And," she continued as he turned stiffly towards the doorway, "I don't expect to see you in the hallways until breakfast."
"Magnus," he half-turned as though to argue.
"You heard me," she nodded towards the doorway. "Go. Now." Deliberately, she turned to examine his file cabinets, as though expecting him to follow the order immediately.
As the door shut – loudly – behind his retreating figure, Helen closed her eyes and let out a controlled breath. She and Will clashed, often, in the professional sphere, with different methods of approaching the same problem bourn from their separate specialties and experiences. It was what made them a strong team, two perspectives backed by two strong personalities, made workable by the bone-deep respect and affection they had for one another.
Conflict in the personal realm, however, rarely proceeded as smoothly. Particularly when one of them forgot that the other did have the best of intentions. Helen tended to forget that less often than Will, but it did occur.
All of which was irrelevant, she reminded herself, opening her eyes, against the larger problem facing them.
Guiltily, she moved to the door and locked it from the inside. Turning to survey the office, Helen braced herself to begin with his desk. Any relevant information would likely be stored there. Not my proudest moment, she reflected grimly, beginning the long task of pulling open drawers and shuffling through files and paperwork.
She was on the second drawer before she turned over an anomaly: a large file shoved haphazardly to the bottom of the drawer. What have we here?
Settling back in the chair, Helen opened the file out atop Will's unnervingly unorganized desk. Pushing aside the strangeness of sitting behind his desk for a change, she turned her attention to the contents before her, leaning forward to examine each page.
As such, it seems only reasonable to conclude that while the two species share a common ancestry, the mutation dividing the two abilities has made them largely incompatible within the same specimen. Hitherto, no example of one specimen with both abilities has been discovered to general knowledge. Furthermore, it has been cautiously proven that the two abilities are genetically incompatible as well.
Note: Subj. experiences similar traits common to ability class (Ref. Figure 3.5), namely inability to dampen perception, no natural occurring resistance in other native species, and continued acuity with artificially generated attempts at shielding (Ref. Table 3.1).
Damndest thing I ever did see, Jake. I swear the girl recited the list of foods we had for breakfast at Mother's table the day Aunt Caroline was reported dead better than I ever thought I remembered them. Strange too, as she was looking – if that's the term – and reciting, I felt as though I could see it again too. And didn't THAT give me a turn.
…naturally occurring defensives in species along the Paraguay River, including expanded mental abilities, heightened visual perceptions, armored back plating…
My dear Will,
At that heading, Helen blinked away from the paper at hand, the last in the file, glancing over to find that an hour had passed. Frowning, she leaned back once more, trying to place this new data in the framework she had already formed. The file was an extensive compilation about abnormals with abilities tied to memory and thought-sensing. On its own, that fact was alarming in itself. Following Will's line of research, however, from the broad data capture beginning the process, it narrowed down to one area of locale in particular: Paraguay.
It opened up as many questions as it answered, really.
Steepling her hands, Helen rubbed the bridge of her nose before making a decision and reaching for the phone.
"Henry," she asked when his voice absently answered the line, "I need some information."
Striving for a calm tone, she authorized Henry to pull all of Will's computer and phone records since his departure until the present.
"Send them to me when you're done, Henry," Helen finished, "unless you see something that requires immediate attention."
After his assurances that he would do so, Henry hung up to get started. Replacing the receiver, Helen looked back at the file spread across the desk and began to tidy it back into one sheaf. Although I daresay he'll know what I've been about the moment he steps into the room. Damned perceptives. With that thought, instead of replacing it, she reconsidered and laid it on the desk to take with her in case she needed further details after Henry's investigation.
Hesitating then, Helen glanced down at the drawers she had yet to look through. Hardly worthwhile to scruple now, she told herself firmly, moving down to the third drawer.
Patient files, office supplies, case research, by the time she reached the last drawer, the normalcy of the remainder of the desk had relieved her enough that she easily slid it out with a brief glance at the contents.
Given that, it was understandable that she almost missed the vial.
The shift and pull of the drawer, though, caused glass to gently clink against the side of the drawer and she gave it a second look, pushing aside an awkwardly placed file. Damnit Will. What the hell are you playing at? Will had taken pains to conceal it from the casual observer, but had clearly not expected for his desk to be actively searched. Helen slid aside the dummy file and drew from the drawer several wrapped syringes, a half-filled vial, a tourniquet, cotton balls, and bandages. Slowly, she placed them on her purloined file before she turned the vial with shaking fingers to read the label.
Amphetamines. Speed. The last thing he needed with his heart. Now the nervous tension, his pacing, his temper, it all made more sense. Drugs to stay awake, research to solve some underlying problem, all stemming back to one ill-timed visit to Paraguay.
"Oh Will," Helen whispered to the echoingly empty room, "Why won't you let me help you?"
That question she still couldn't answer. Gathering her ill-gotten gains in preparation for leaving the office, she decided to visit Henry to ensure that Will's records were pushed to the front of his queue. They were doubtless already there, but action would make her feel better. Speaking of action… Helen looked down at the file in her hand once more. It was the one thin barrier she had left intact, one small corner of privacy that she had left to him.
Drugs had a way of leveling barriers, though. Firmly, she shook away the echoes of another brilliant man dosing himself into oblivion, and laid her collection down once more. Flipping through to the back of the file, she withdrew the last sheet, the letter, and noted the date of a month ago. From before his return, then; he must have written to someone from Paraguay.
My dear Will,
Never you mind about apologizing about time between letters. I know you've not forgotten me; you simply have a life to live. If you had nothing better to do than write an old woman every week, such dull letters I should receive!
Instead, I get an exotically stamped missive from Paraguay of all places. My neighbors are all exceedingly jealous. I'm considering lying about its origin to enhance the mystery. You won't mind being personified as a cartel leader who lost his heart to my white curls, would you now? With a mustache, I think. It adds a certain air to a man.
But I don't believe that you were hoping to hear of my aged fantasies. You asked about Cousin Sylvia's wedding, I believe? Why you would want to remember that vain shrew is beyond me, but yes, you did have the details exactly right. Better than I remember it, in fact, you clever boy. I didn't ask her about it – as you were so hesitant to suggest. (How many times must I tell you that a little bluntness is a pleasure in this world? There are so few who will be honest to someone in their dotage, a sad fact.) In any case, she doesn't deserve to hear of you and shan't, from me at least. I am surprised that you remember it so clearly. You couldn't have been more than, what? Three? Three and following my blessed great-niece around like you were tied to her sash. Except for that short incident involving you, the ring-bearer, and the pudding, which I imagine you remember quite vividly, correct? Your poor mother, trying to scold you properly and conceal a grin at the same time – she never did get along with Sylvia all that well. Two peas in the pod you were, you and your mother, and none of those idiots with the good sense given to the oyster to realize that to be a gift.
I must close now, my hands don't write as they once did, but I am glad to hear that you are doing well in this new so-mysterious job. I told you now, didn't I, that time would come when you would find a place of your own? Don't hold it against me, dearie. I-told-you-so's are one of life's few pleasures at my age. Write me when you can, but none of this apologizing nonsense. It's a waste of good paper you could use to tell me how the ocean is looking down there and if mustaches are still a going style.
All my love.
Helen found that she was smiling by the end of the letter. There was one relation of Will's, at least, that she wouldn't mind meeting. One who had known her right hand even before he had come to Helen's attention. For a moment, her smile turned wicked. Oh, the tales she could tell on him – starting with this pudding incident. Images of a three-year-old Will and all the trouble he was undoubtedly causing at that age presented themselves to her mind's eye, before she shook off the light feelings. That three-year-old was now the same drugged and traumatized protégé she needed to heal. Standing here grinning at the wallpaper was hardly going to achieve that end. Gently, she tucked the letter at the end of the file before she gathered it and the paraphernalia once more.
Shutting and locking the door behind her, Helen entered her own code into the security panel, locking out all personnel, Will included. She would contact his patients to reschedule at a later date. And there will be a later date, she told herself fiercely.
Unloading her armful in her office and touching base with Henry did give her the sense that events were progressing in a positive manner. A feeling that lasted until she slowed to a stop in front of Will's closed bedroom door. Per Henry's surveillance, set up at her insistence after discovering the drug stash, she knew that Will wasn't sleeping, preferring instead to sit at the window and watch the city below.
Stepping close to the door, she stopped with one hand on the knob and the other set of knuckles resting on the wood. Leaning forward to rest her forehead against the door, she let her hand unclench to press flat against the oak as she listened to the utter silence within.
After a moment, Helen withdrew, smoothing the front of her blouse as she stepped silently down the hall.