Disclaimer: I own nothing and profit none.
A/N: I know - two months?! Blame our two protagonists, they about killed me with angst. And stubbornness.
As always, thank you amazing reviewers for bearing with me - and them! Totally their fault. - you make poking them into some form of compliance utterly worthwhile.
Now I'm gonna go hug something fluffy. Enjoy!
Helen waited until she heard the soft rasp of the key turning once more in the lock behind her to search for Will in the darkened room. The monitor she checked before leaving her office had shown him perched once more on the window ledge. He was still there, form highlighted by the glow from the streetlights that would still burn for the space of a few hours yet.
"Will," she advertised her presence in case he had somehow missed the sounds of her entrance even as she moved further into the room. Carefully, she made her way towards where she remembered a small, low table waiting and set the tray gently down. Still, Will made no acknowledgement that she had entered.
"Will," she said again, firmer this time, but still quiet. "I can wait as long as you like."
Helen settled on the edge of the bed comfortably. Uncertain of what would await her, she had taken the precaution of changing into exercise clothes. A fact she was grateful for as the silence lengthened.
"Please just go." The sentence almost make her startle, coming out of the shadows after such silence.
"I'm sorry, Will." Helen said evenly. She was sorry. Sorry that she couldn't simply do as he asked, sorry that he wouldn't magically heal so quickly, and most of all sorry that she hadn't been able to protect him from harm in the first place. "I can't do that."
"Fine," he spat, his figure moving from the window into darkness. "Then I will."
"No, Will," Helen told him gently, even as he paced across the room to yank on the door. The locked door, to which her Old Friend now held the key. One way or another, they were going to have this talk.
Helen closed her eyes, taking even breaths, as Will slammed his weight into the door, trying to force it open. She remained still as he stormed about the room, careful to avoid passing close to her corner of the bed, trying the windows that Henry had locked down remotely and the vents too narrow for his shoulders to pass through. She waited for him to realize that this conversation was going to happen.
When he had worn himself out with his futile efforts and slid into a huddle in the corner nearest the wardrobe, Helen knew it was time to begin.
"Will," she said, not moving from the bed, "I know." She waited a beat, but there was no noise from the corner. "I know about Paraguay. I know about Dr. Benetez. I know about the emails and the texts. I know about her abilities." Still no response, "Shall I start at the beginning?"
Part of the problem, Helen knew, was that damnably stubborn pride that made Will refuse to admit weakness. Telling him that she already knew, providing the details that he would balk at speaking aloud, would take at least part of the burden from him. Later on, he could talk through the events himself - if fact, she would insist upon it - but for now, Will needed to know that he would find comfort and understanding without needing to explain first.
Softly, but inexorably, she brought between them all the threats and secrets, all the pain, that he had fallen into unwitting. At the end of the recital, she fell silent, listening to the heavy quiet and hoping for a response.
Aside from loud, stressed breathing from the corner, though, none came.
As the first light of dawn began to filter through the glass, Helen slowly rose and began to move towards the corner.
"Stop," brought her to an immediate halt and she dropped to a crouch.
"Will," she almost whispered, glad that she was close enough to see him now, but haunted by the frail body hunched over itself and the fidgeting hands running through his hair and picking at the seams on his clothing.
"Will," his eyes darted over to glance at her, but quickly skidded away. "I know all of this, yes," she continued, "but what I don't know," she tried to speak evenly, but failed as her voice cracked on the last few words, "is why you didn't come to me."
It froze him in place for a moment, before the twitching started anew, more frantic than before. Helen waited it out.
"I couldn't," he finally rewarded her with a mumble. After a beat, he slammed his fists suddenly against the floor, "I couldn't!" Willing her expression to show no alarm and her heart to slow, she stayed quiet as Will stared at his hands, clenching and unclenching them slowly until the veins stood out as knots along the ligaments of his fingers.
"I couldn't," he whispered again, so bewildered that Helen longed to reach out to him, even as she held herself in check. He kept whispering to himself as he lowered his head into his hands and then she crept closer.
When he looked up at her and pressed himself closer to the wall, she stopped again. Settling into an easy crouch, with her hands clasped around her upturned knee, she angled her head down to try and catch his eyes.
"I know," Helen soothed as she sought his gaze. "You don't have to hide anymore. I know."
He raised his head just enough to look up at her uncertainly. She tried a small, quick smile and slowly extended her hand, reminding herself to breathe as she did so. Will's gaze dropped to stare at it for several long moments. A small space of eternity for Helen later, one arm peeled itself away from the tight knot of his body and moved through the small space still separating them.
His touch was tentative as he slid his fingers over hers, barely applying pressure where they wrapped around her palm. Taking her cue from that, she merely crooked her fingers over the back of his hand. Lightly, she brushed her fingertips back and forth over his skin.
Having gained that much, Helen sat quietly, simply stroking his hand on occasion. She watched as the sunlight spread further over the floorboards until Will muttered something into his knees.
"I couldn't hear you," she spoke softly, "What was that?"
His hand squeezed firmly around hers and she tightened her grip in return.
"I don't," he spoke more audibly before stopping, his grip tightening almost desperately.
After a few moments, he tried again. "I don't know," he swallowed loudly, "know what to do." His voice softened to a whisper.
"Alright," she acknowledged. "That's fine." His face turned away from hers. "That's fine, Will," she repeated, firmly. Now comes the tricky part. "We can figure that out together." She waited a beat before asking, "Will you let me help you?"
He tugged his hand away from hers and she let it go. Sometimes one concession comes at the cost of another, that much she knew. His retrieved hand smoothed over his hair repeatedly, tugging at the ends.
Although less able in this field than the man she was observing, Helen could trace the track of the argument in his head in the tug and pull of his facial muscles. Will, she knew well enough to read stubborn pride in the corner of his mouth turning down, stress in the flair of his nostrils and the cant of his eyebrows, and uncertainty in the lip catching between his teeth. Then, a small sideways nod.
His hand reached back out for her and she grasped it quickly as his nod grew more certain.
"Good," she affirmed, a bit uncertain where to go next. Helen wondered if Will was in a place yet where he could appreciate the irony of her trying to follow his normal actions on himself. Still, acknowledgement of need, check. She was a little shaky on the next step, but getting them off of the floor would probably not be a bad place to start.
"Come on," she tugged his hand towards herself. "Let's get you sorted, alright?"
Instead of rising, Will simply slid closer, closing the gap between them. Which was likely a positive sign, although not getting them any closer to a vertical position. Never one to let go of an advantage, however, she carefully slid first her hand to his shoulder and then her arm around his back.
The tension along his spine was unbelievable, but when she settled he gingerly turned his head into her shoulder and leaned in, resting his forehead against her neck.
After over two weeks of hiding from her, it was unexpectedly comforting to have him close. Letting her eyes fall shut, Helen gently freed her other hand to wrap around his waist and tilted her own head to rest her cheek on his wild curls. That seemed to be all the invitation Will needed and his restless hands wrapped around her waist, tightening frantically, as though he expected her to escape. Or at least to try.
"I'm here, Will," she soothed. "I'm not going anywhere." Unless I pass out from lack of air, she considered, shifting slightly in his grasp.
"You shouldn't," came a muffled reply from her shoulder.
"What?"
"Be here. Stay here," he muttered disjointedly. "You don't know," he trailed off shifting uneasily further into her neck. "She's, she'll hurt everything."
"She's not going to hurt anything," Helen corrected firmly, hoping to settle that idea in his head at least, "or anyone ever again. Understand? We'll take care of her."
"Where is she?" Will demanded immediately, his hands fisting in her shirt.
"Declan has her." Hopefully. "She's not going to hurt you anymore, Will. I promise."
"Where's she going?" he asked uncertainly, not relaxing.
"Not here," she cut to what was undoubtedly his biggest concern. "For now she'll remain in Paraguay."
"Not safe," Will shook his head into her shoulder.
"Yes, you are. You're safe now, Will," Helen sensed that she would be saying that a lot in the near future. "She will be contained and she won't hurt you or anyone else again."
"No, she had people. There," she frowned as she translated the muffled noises.
"She won't be getting to them. We know all about her, Will," she reiterated. "Henry's been digging."
A muted almost-huff of a laugh that burst forth like a choked sob followed her words.
"Yes, leave it to Henry," she smiled into his hair. "She's taken care of, m'lad," Helen straightened again without letting go of him. "Why don't we focus on you?"
Receiving no response, she blithely began laying out plans. To protest, he would have to acknowledge her words, at least.
"I'd say a shower is certainly in order," she decided, finger-combing through his matted locks. "Something to eat and then sleep. Quite a bit of that." The image of his staring out of the window night after night burned through her memory and she felt her lips curl downward in a frown.
"Not tired," a determined voice contributed.
She awarded him with a skeptical look that he didn't glance up to intercept.
"Really?" she questioned. "Is that due to all of the rest you've gotten lately? Or the drugs?"
The body in her arms froze. Busted. Did you really think that I would let you get away with that? The time wasn't right, but they were going to have a long conversation about prescription drugs soon.
"I needed them," and now he was squirming to break out of her hold. She let him go and followed him up as he rose. Or maybe they were going to do this now.
"If you really believe that," Helen said soberly, "then this talk is about to get much longer."
"I needed to figure out what to do," he defended, pacing the length between the foot of the bed and the wardrobe.
"And you thought speed would help the decision making process?" Even attempting to hide the scorn in that sentence would probably have failed. Helen didn't try.
"I just needed to stay awake long enough to figure it out!" he shouted, before turning for another lap. "It was fine, I was careful."
"Careful and amphetamines don't work well in the same sentence, Will," she laid out, "but it doesn't matter right now," she forestalled his next argument. "You don't need them anymore, correct? Benetez is taken care of and you can go off of them now, right?" It wasn't really a question.
"Yeah," Will answered anyway. Definitely not quite up to speed. So to speak.
"Good," she paused briefly to let it sink it, then demanded. "I want all of it now, then."
"What?" he stopped mid-pace.
"All of it," she repeated, before clarifying, "Drugs, needles, swabs. Even the bloody cotton balls. Now," she motioned as he stared at her, unmoving. Come now, Will. Don't make this harder. Pairing it with her best Don't-Make-Me-Repeat-Myself look got her some motion, as Will drifted towards the chest of drawers.
"Should I find anything when I go over your room," Helen aimed for a light tone as she again took a seat on the bed, "and I will be going over your room, I will not be happy."
His only response was the vicious slam of a drawer being opened violently, followed by a series of petulant bangings as he deposited items on the top of the bureau. A final crash of the drawer and Will stalking over to stare out the window told her that he was finished.
"Good," she didn't move. Time enough for securing the drugs later. "Now I believe a shower was next on the list."
He shrugged.
"Will," she began.
"What does it matter?" he cut in, a harsh whisper aching to become a yell. "It doesn't, it," he stopped, shifting his weight from side to side for a moment as though longing to bolt.
"It matters," Helen said, standing to move beside him. She glanced out of the window herself for a moment before turning to face him. "I know you're hurting right now, Will. And likely on edge, vaguely nauseous, and emotional." The last prompted him to turn towards her with a startled look. "Withdrawals, Will," she explained, holding out her hand again. He took it, looking somewhat bewildered with his eyebrows drawing downwards. "Come now," she tugged gently, "a shower will do you a world of good. I'll be right here when you're done."
Miraculously, Will let her lead him to the bathroom and nudge him inside. Glancing at the interior, Helen silently retrieved a towel from the tray and pushed it into his hands. "Clean behind your ears," she teased, which secured her a half-hearted smile, at least. I almost hate to spoil that, but needs must. "Don't lock the door." As predicted, the smile vanished, but Will only nodded as he softly shut the door behind himself.
Keeping one ear on the sound of the shower, Helen busied herself making the room habitable again. The drugs safely packed away in a soft-sided locking valise, fresh sheets tucked firmly on the bed, side table cleared of crumpled research and the odd cup of horrors! coffee, and it almost approached its normal state.
When the water cut off, she surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction, settling on the edge of the bed once more. She still needed to get some food into him, somehow, and then the even harder task of persuading him to sleep. If she could only get him to agree to trying, the withdrawal symptoms should help her out at this point. But when does he make things easy.
Speaking of which, Helen frowned as the interval of silence from the bathroom lengthened. Inwardly compromising, she gave him a few more minutes before crossing over to knock on the door.
"Will?" When no answer came, she knocked again with her hand on the knob. "Will, I'm coming in."
Gingerly, she cracked the door open far enough to see Will sitting on the floor by the tub, wearing a robe. Pushing the door open fully, she took a seat on top of the toilet lid and rested a hand on his arm, taking heart when it wasn't shrugged off.
"Will? What's wrong?" Leaning forward, Helen tried to catch his eyes, fixed firmly on his hands running over the towel clenched in his fists. Sliding her arm around his shoulder, she placed her other hand over his, "Will?"
"She," Will said unevenly. "There was water. Once. I," he took a deep breath. "Magnus?"
"I'm here," she managed over the tightness in her chest. "You're safe, Will. I'm right here."
"I can't do this," he muttered to his hands. "I can't."
"Yes, you can." Quite enough of that. "Come on, off the floor." Standing, she half-lifted Will with her until he realized - as Henry would have phrased it - that resistance was futile and staggered to his feet as well. "A change of clothes and some dinner," she said, steering him out to the bedroom. "Just one thing at a time, Will," she advised quietly as she patted his arm, leaving him in front of the bureau.
Once she heard the sound of a drawer sliding out, Helen silently let out an uneven breath and began lifting dishes from the tray. By the time Will ghosted up to her side, utensils were laid and juice poured.
"I hate oatmeal," he stated flatly, wrinkling his nose at the table.
"It's mild enough to not upset your stomach after deprivation and nutrient-rich," was her only response, nudging him towards a chair. "If you'll eat it without complaint, I'll even add sweetener," she bribed remorselessly.
"Oh well, sweet sludge is so much better," he griped, flopping into the seat.
Preserving a dignified silence, she drizzled maple syrup and a small amount of brown sugar over the bowl before sliding it over. Picking up the spoon she held out the handle to Will. When he looked at her, but made no move to take it, she felt her eyebrow inching upwards. Being stubborn are we? Well, we'll see about that. Along with the eyebrow, she added the best I-Mean-It look that she possessed.
He scowled. A beat later, he took the spoon and shoved it into the bowl.
Some advantages did come with age and experience.
Helen settled back with her cup of warmed tea. A few sips in, she noted that Will's efforts involved more relocation of oatmeal than actual consumption. I've survived two picky eaters, her inner voice sounded equally exasperated and amused. Do you really think it's going to work?
"Something the matter?" she asked simply
"No," short statement, no eye contact, and a frown beginning to force the corners of his mouth downwards. Oh dear.
"Then why don't you stop rearranging your food and start eating it," she suggested. "Unless you require some assistance," spoken over his opening mouth, "I had better start seeing less oatmeal in that bowl."
"I'm not hungry," he dismissed, pushing the bowl away.
"Not the issue," Helen pushed it back and tilted the spoon towards him.
"I'll eat when I'm hungry, Magnus," he shouted, pushing the bowl away again. He then began a rant about heaven-knew-what, but she tuned it out. Retrieving the spoon, she scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal, waited until he was mid-shout, and stuffed it into his mouth.
While he spluttered, she recovered the spoon, took another spoonful, waited for his coughs to die down, and repeated the maneuver.
"Stop!" he demanded, hiding his mouth behind a serviette. "I don't," swiftly tugging the cloth down, she fed him a third spoonful before resting the spoon back on the side of the bowl.
"I know you may not feel hungry," she spoke seriously over his remaining coughs, "but your body needs sustenance. I will not let you neglect your health, Will, if I have to spoonfeed you every meal. Would you prefer to get to the point where I'm putting a tube down your throat or an IV in your arm?" she demanded as his frown deepened. "I won't lose you to carelessness. Mine or yours."
Rubbing his watering eyes, Will nodded, reaching out for the spoon with a last cough.
With an approving nod, she returned to her own cup of tea and forced herself to eat a croissant as well, in the light of a good example, while Will slowly plowed through half of his bowl. At that point, he settled the spoon in the bowl - gently, she was amused to note - and turned his best set of pleading eyes on her.
"Really, Magnus, I can't eat anymore."
"Alright," she agreed. He does look a bit green around the edges. "You can try a bit more in a few hours. For now," she spoke over the protest already forming around behind his lips, "just get this down." The thermos towards the edge of the table was still cold, Helen noticed in relief as she poured the thick liquid supplement into a clean juice glass.
"Milk?" Will queried dubiously, one eyebrow slanting upwards.
"Vanilla nutritional supplement," she corrected. "Not negotiable," she added hurriedly as storm clouds gathered over his head yet again. What is that saying about heading things off at the pass?
With an aggrieved sigh, he grabbed the glass and obnoxiously slurped it down as she sat on her better instincts to chide him about slowing down. The ordeal ended with the slam of the empty glass onto the table.
"What now?" he inquired snidely. "Any more fascinating activities?"
She felt her mouth thinning on its own and let it, raising her brows and jutting out her chin to give him what she privately termed her Dealing-With-A-Petulant-Child Look. It had seen much service over the years. As a result, it worked the customary magic on Will, who dropped his gaze to the table and began tracing the whorls of the wood with one finger.
"I do, in fact," when she felt that he had been sufficiently quelled for the moment. "Bed."
"What?" That got his attention away from the woodwork. "I'm not tired."
Helen tried to restrain a skeptical eyebrow. She met with moderate success.
"Then you can simply lay there and rest," she sidestepped the ensuing argument. "Come now." Rising, she busied herself at the bedside, turning down the blankets and fluffing pillows. It was disappointing, if not particularly surprising, to turn and see that he hadn't budged an inch.
"I don't need to rest." She could tell that he had been trying to say so firmly, but the result was more plaintive than he probably wished.
"You can't function without rest," she gently reminded him. Bit ironic for me to be delivering this lecture, she admitted ruefully, pushing the scant few hours of sleep she'd gotten since Will's return to the back of her mind.
"You never sleep." Yes, that was definitely a pout. Once more, she wondered where the line between perception and telepathy lay.
"Even with my unique physiology, I still require sleep, Will." Which you know. "Just less of it."
"I," his next argument stopped abruptly and Helen watched in concern as his focus returned to his fingertips and he seemed to shrink as he drew into himself. She moved from the bedside at last to lean down and take his hands in her own.
"I'll be right here, Will," she tried to smile reassuringly. "You'll be quite safe, I assure you."
He looked up then and she tried not to let her smile slip - or melt into a worried frown. His eyes looked so very bleak.
"Trust me," she murmured instead, tightening her grip on the hands between her own.
Will didn't look convinced, but he did rise and follow her when she tugged him towards the bed, so Helen decided to take what she could get at the moment. A cooperative Will was nothing to sneeze at - and an uncooperative Will made running the entire Sanctuary network seem like a pleasure cruise.
Once she'd seen him successfully tucked under the covers, she puttered around the room, hiding indecision for a few moments. The tray straightened, the bathroom set to rights, and the lights turned off, she was still undecided. Moving to the window and idly watching the sun approach the zenith of midday, she tried to put her thoughts in order.
Prior to this point, she'd never simply gotten into bed with Will uninvited. Granted, the 'invitation' was usually illness or a nightmare, but the distinction remained. He would uncomfortable with the implied need for her presence. He would also be soothed by it. Which really answered the question in itself.
Decided, she acted with deliberate nonchalance, gathering her ever-present tablet and a friendly novel from the tray before making her way to the opposite side of the bed. Despite the eyes that she knew had been following her motions throughout the room, Will visibly startled when she set her items on the nightstand and settled herself next to him on the bed. Ignoring the movement, she cradled the tablet on her lap and forced herself to begin reviewing the latest set of inventory reports that still needed signing off.
Most of her mind, aside from the corner forced to flicker over the lines of data, noted as the unnatural stillness of her bed partner segued into awkward, slight shifting before finally relaxing into the blankets once more. When the light breathing next to her evened out and a hand emerged from his tight cocoon to rest against her leg, she lowered the tablet to her knees.
Scrubbing her face with her hands, Helen took what seemed like her first deep breath since entering the room and let it out slowly. Gently, she reached over and smoothed Will's damp, wild hair off of his forehead, almost smiling as the gesture merely encouraged him to shuffle closer in her direction.
She knew that this moment wouldn't last. His nightmares would hardly have been averted by the little progress made that night. When he did awake - this day and, Helen suspected, for many to come - she would have to renew once again a steady force to prompt him from retreating. To counteract his desire to give in to the impulse to hide from her, from the others, from all the aspects of life that would seem insurmountable to him for some time.
But not forever. She would make certain of that.