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The soft click of the door catching as it closed roused Helen in the early evening. The arm under Will tensed in preparation to face the intruder if need be, but the gentle huff of breath she tracked a moment later caused her to relax back into the mattress as the room blinked into focus.
Blearily, she watched the figure of her Old Friend softly clinking items on trays for a few moments before she quietly cleared her throat. The low sound brought a cessation of movement until he turned to peer at the bed.
"Good afternoon," she whispered before frowning and squinting over at the window. "Or should that be good evening?"
"Should rest more," he demanded in lieu of a greeting.
"I didn't mean to rest at all," she answered, slowly moving to sit up and ease her arm out from under Will.
"Haven't been sleeping," he growled disapprovingly. "Won't do any good that way."
"I haven't had time," she admitted ruefully. "Every moment," Helen trailed off, glancing down at the wan face that twisted softly in disapproval at her movements. "I didn't dare," she said almost to herself.
Her Old Friend huffed and left his work at the table. Settling gingerly on the other side of Will, his presence caused her to look up, mildly startled.
"He is here now," his tone dropped to the soft note of comfort that so belied his outward appearance. "He is safe. Rest, to be strong for him."
"What if," she couldn't bring herself to utter an what-ifs. She couldn't afford the thought of losing him.
"He survived," her Old Friend's voice thankfully broke the cycle of thoughts she was desperately trying to stem. "He has us." His voice changed then, to something almost demanding, "He needs you. Rested. Or you'll be no good to him," he ended with an ominous rumble.
"I can take care of myself, thank you," she raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn't suppress a small smile, "but I consider myself duly chastised." Helen wasn't - quite - stubborn enough to disregard good advice simply because it ran counter to her own wishes.
All the same, when her Old Friend cleared the room with a subdued clank from the old tray, a pointed look, and the dull click of the door locking, she reached for her tablet, not a pillow. If nothing else, a check on Declan's position couldn't wait. He must be near to, or perhaps already done with, making a move on Benetez' location.
Indeed, she noted with satisfaction the mail resting in her inbox from Declan, marked with an urgent exclamation point and a subject line reading 'Mission: Head Hunt - Success.' She skimmed the report and performed a quick scan for any outstanding emergencies, before virtuously setting the tablet aside. Flicking off the bedside lamp, Helen slid further under the covers that she couldn't remember getting beneath earlier in the day and tried to relax into the mattress.
It became easier when she was distracted, all of thirty seconds later, by Will pressing close to her side. At least that explained how she wound up with him asleep on her shoulder before. Although he hadn't woken, she realized, which thought immediately led to her opening her arms so that he could settle close. He had been restless while she worked that morning, she could recall that, but then hours had passed with nothing that had woken her out of her own sleep. Helen had trained herself to sleep lightly, certainly one of Will's nightmares would have brought her around in a flash. This would bear further consideration.
Turning her head so that it rested against the top of Will's, she settled in for a few more hours of rest. Loathe though she was to admit it, if her nap through the afternoon had left her still tired, then her Old Friend was right and she had been stinting herself on sleep over the past few weeks beyond even her unique physiology's ability to bear. She hoped he wouldn't be terribly smug about it. Little was more grating than a smug Sasquatch.
As she slid off to sleep, Helen's last thought was that she ought to share Declan's mission title with Will. Head Hunt. He would get a good laugh out of that before declaring his hatred of puns yet again.
When she woke again it was late evening and the sky was empurpled with the last remnants of dusk. Helen tensed for a moment, unsure what had awakened her, until she realized that Will was shifting under her arm. His movements much have nudged her into consciousness. Remaining still, she waited to see if he was only restless or finally rousing.
After a few moments, he abruptly stilled, before pulling slightly away and up.
"Magnus?" she heard him mutter, mostly to himself it sounded. "What. It's night." Slipping out of her hold, he sat up fully and, she could see through slitted eyes, bent over his knees, holding his head in one hand while the other ran the blanket between his fingertips. "Real or her?" he whispered to himself again.
Helen decided that it was time that she joined the land of the waking officially.
Sitting up decisively, she said a quiet, "Good evening," to the side of Will's head before running a hand over his hunched back. "How are you feeling?"
Her only answer was a shrug. She debated momentarily about accepting it, but decided that it would most likely only set a bad precedent.
"That's not an answer," she pointed out calmly, moving her hand up to brush through his hair a few times before returning to his back. "Are you still tired? Hungry?"
There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the soft sounds of her hand brushing over the cloth of his pajamas.
"Magnus?" he finally asked hoarsely, waiting for her sound of assent before he continued, "What if," he paused and swallowed, uncertainly, before barreling on at reckless pace, "what if you're not really you?"
Helen blinked, caught off guard for moment. He must, of course, be referring to Benetez, but she wasn't certain exactly how to respond. "What do you mean?" Start with the simplest solution first.
"I," Will stopped again, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. Taking the odds, Helen moved closer to him, tugging him into her side. He seemed to relax minutely, and she repressed a sigh of relief. "I," he started again determinedly, "well. She, she made me see things that weren't, they weren't true. But not see. Not see, exactly, I guess, but in, in my head. And things that were, too, but not then, but in the past. I." Frustration, she guessed, had stopped him this time.
"What things, Will?" she prompted gently.
He didn't answer for long moments, before letting go of his knees to turn into her slightly. She responded to the subtle plea, slipping her other arm around him to gather him close to her. He tucked his nose into the crook of her neck and breathed in silence for so long that she half-believed he had fallen back to sleep, until she heard the harsh whisper, "Terrible things."
Helen hummed an assent, fiercely not letting it catch on the frog that welled in her throat every time she let herself consider even briefly what That Woman might have done to Will over the course of those long two months, then let him hug her in peace for a while before she pressed again, "Can you tell me?"
As she'd almost predicted, he pulled out of her hold immediately and squirmed off of the bed. "It doesn't matter."
"Yes," she stated calmly, but definitely, "it does." Purposely, she remained in the bed, letting Will pace by himself across the room.
"It's over," he murmured, before repeating himself louder. "It's over. I'm back here. It's done. Why can't you just let it be?" Will turned towards her again to give his plea directly at her. The ache in her chest intensified.
"It is over," she agreed, noting that he seemed relieved at the concession. "But you know that you can't just sweep this under the rug, Will," she appealed to the doctor she knew to still be within him, "Would you let a patient get away with any such thing?"
He frowned at the question, truth warring with stubbornness. "I've dealt with it," he muttered at last.
"Which doesn't explain that drugs," Helen continued ruthlessly, when it appeared that he would say no more on the subject. "Not to mention your behavior since your return."
"Would you quit harping about the damn drugs," he snapped, scowl ruining his features. "I told you, I had to try and stop her. I needed to stop her first. That was the reason for everything. I thought you'd understand that," he finished petulantly, crossing his arms and frowning at the floor.
"Then you should have come to me," she said it quietly in the hopes that volume would disguise the pain she still felt that he hadn't trusted her with this of all things.
Helen watched as the anger drained out of him, leaving behind an expression that was so terribly lost. So, volume hadn't helped then, apparently.
"I couldn't," he whispered, uncomfortably echoing his chant from the night before. If she'd driven him back a step, she would curse herself a blue streak that would have done Nigel proud. "I, I wanted to," he stuttered, moving to the foot of the bed and gripping one of the bed posts as though it alone could keep him anchored to the ground, "but she. I."
Once more, she found herself stuck at the crossroads between 'wait it out' and 'prompt' until she could bear it no longer, "She what?"
"She," he echoed frowning. "You wouldn't have believed me," he stated emphatically.
Leaving aside the fact that of course she would have, for the moment, Helen pursued the more important thought, "Why not?"
"Because," he looked stuck for a moment, before he began what she could only call a recitation. As though the litany had been burned into his mind. "Because she's a Head of House and respected, because I have no proof and others will back her up, because I've lied to you before and you have no reason to trust me, because who would believe such a story." He stopped for a breath, "Besides, I was taking care of it."
"Did she tell you all of those reasons?" she refused to be distracted from the main goal. The other issues inherent in his statement could bide a while, no matter how they chafed.
"Well," Will blinked at her for a moment, "I don't. I guess. But they're pretty obvious." His tone held a note of uncertainty, however.
"Really?" Helen made sure that her skepticism was clear before holding out a hand. Now was the time to contradict some of those assertions and to solidify his doubt. "Come here."
Will eyed her dubiously, but let go of the bed post and rounded the bed. After a questioning look that she answered with a twitch of her fingertips, he took her hand. She pulled until he gave in and sat on the bed beside her.
"She was a Head," she stressed the 'was,' "but they, we, are not perfect, Will. Wexford springs alarmingly to mind," she quipped and breathed at the ghost of a smile that slid over his features. "She wanted you to fear her authority so that she could get away with her actions."
He bit his lip and she paused to give him time to consider the thought.
"She lied to you, Will." Helen kept her voice gentle, but tightened her grip on his hand. "All accusations are always investigated in full. She knew that. Just as she knew that, whatever difficulties we may have, I will always believe you. Even if she'd managed somehow to bury all of the evidence, which would have been nearly impossible given your condition, I would have never allowed her to remain. She knew that she would be," she hesitated over the wording, finally settling on a bland, "neutralized."
"But why?" he looked so bewildered that she had a hard time restraining herself from reaching for him. Her reading had made it pretty clear that it was better to wait for his overtures, for the most part. She intended to take a broad view of that 'most part,' though. "I've kept things from you. Lied."
"The only person you're ever tried to hurt is yourself, Will," she explained patiently. "Even then, it was more through omission than anything else. You would never make false accusations or try to ruin someone. I know that. I know you."
Helen ran her thumb over Will's knuckles as he digested that statement.
"She said she'd hurt people," he blurted as though the sentences could no longer be contained, shivering and wrapping his other arm around himself. "She knew things. From my head. She said she'd use them. And," his voice stopped.
Not loosening her hold of his hand, Helen stretched down for the throw at the foot of the bed. When she had it in her lap, she did let go, only to wrap the throw around him and, not incidentally, pull him to her side once more. 'Most part' wasn't 'always.' "And?" she repeated when he was securely ensconced.
"And," he said, relaxing minutely into her shoulder, "she'd hurt people and say it was my fault. It would be my fault."
"Your fault that she decided to misuse her abilities?" she posed. "Did you tell her to invade your thoughts?"
"No," he admitted quietly, "but I should have. I shouldn't have. Well."
"Have what?"
"I don't know!" he burst, pulling away and waving his hands. "Stopped her. Something."
"How?" Slowly, she herded him in the right direction.
"How?" he echoed, his voice growing quieter as he thought aloud. "By. I could have. Should have been stronger."
"You're not a telepath, Will," she pointed out gently. "Humans have no native defenses against mental abilities."
"They were my thoughts, Magnus," he said gravely. "I have a responsibility."
Helen considered that statement. He had a point, although not as strenuous as the one he was attempting to make.
"Yes, your thoughts were compromised," she decided on at last, "and I can understand the need to make amends for the occurrence. But you were attacked, Will. What would you normally counsel a victim? One who was attacked and then forcibly held for a period of several weeks?"
"I wasn't," he protested. "It's not like she locked me in a dungeon or something?"
"Were you able to leave?" she quickly posed.
"Not exactly," he admitted slowly. "We travelled between the Haven and her Sanctuary. Mostly together. She, she told me not to run," the last statement was scarcely audible.
"Mental and emotional constraints are just as real as physical ones," Helen reminded him of the fact of which she knew he was aware. "Often worse in their very absence of physicality."
"When you're the only thing keeping you there," he whispered, curling back into her side.
"She attacked your mind and then threatened you into staying," she reiterated. "It wasn't your fault. And, whatever she might have done, she didn't do it. No one else has been harmed and now she won't hurt anyone again. You have nothing to blame yourself for," she stressed. "You were very brave. It's over now."
"Is it?" he asked bleakly.
"Yes," she tightened her grip. "Declan has Benetez in custody. We're looking at permanent housing in Sydney as we already have a proper facility for her there. As of now, there's a Triad permanently assigned to her for monitoring purposes," Helen decided not to mention that this wouldn't be necessary until she actually woke up. Apparently Declan had exorcised a bit of his desire for vengeance in that regard. She couldn't quite find it in her to chastise him. Not when her mind kept turning over plans to arrange a 'chat' with the woman herself. "You're safe now."
"How do you know? All that. That Declan has her."
"He's been sending me updates," Helen paused for a moment in thought. Who knew, it might help. "Would you like to see them?"
For a long moment there was no response. Then she felt his head tip fractionally against her neck in a nod.
Half of her wanted to say good enough, but… verbal, Helen. He needs to learn to speak more about what he does and does not want. Too bad it's going to be like pulling teeth.
"Was that a yes?" she asked gently. "Or a no?"
After a moment of silence – she could almost hear Will weighing how he wanted to see the emails against having to ask for them – he whispered, "Yes. Please."
"Okay. Hand me that tablet, then," she motioned towards the nightstand, letting go of Will so that he could stretch to reach it. She wondered whether relief or concern was the more appropriate reaction when he tucked himself back into her side after handing the tablet over.
Pushing the thought away for later, she brought up the correct message and tilted the screen towards Will. Who reached out as though to take it, but instead only wrapped his hand around the corner, watching his thumb trace the black plastic frame.
When his gaze didn't waver, Helen dared to gently prompt, "Did you want to read it?" and got a shrug in return, followed by a beat of silence and a very soft 'I don't know.'
"Okay." She had no idea what to do with that. "Would you like me to read it to you?" she tried desperately.
The quiet 'yes' had her stifling a sigh of relief. Covering for it, she tilted the screen until the email showed clearly and read Declan's brief tale of capture and containment aloud.
There was a long moment of silence when she finished, before Will asked uncertainly, "Declan was there too?"
"Yes."
"So, he's sure they have her?" he still wasn't looking at her, as though the brush of his thumb over the rounded corner was the most interesting feature of the room.
"Yes, she's definitely contained," she assured him.
He nodded, but his thumb stopped moving and he seemed to tense in place.
"Will?"
"Could you," he whispered, before clearing his throat and shifting slightly, "maybe. Maybe read it again?"
"Of course," she closed her eyes to gather herself for a moment and rested her forehead against the side of his head before repeating, "Of course. Come here," clearing her throat, she tugged him back until they were resting against the headboard. Pausing to pull the blankets back around them both, she took the tablet back up and read Declan's message again. This time, she stopped between sentences to explain which teams had met Declan in Paraguay and how the mission plan had been designed. If details would make Will feel that Benetez was truly taken care of, then Helen would give him as many details as she could muster.
When she finally reached the end of her second recitation, she let the silence stretch as she drew comforting circles against Will's side.
"We should eat something," she finally said. "Before our friend comes back and discovers us with a full tray still."
Will nodded, but only sighed and made no effort to move. After a beat, he shifted and his head tilted back against her shoulder. When she looked down, he was staring at her with a furrow between his brows.
"Why are you here?" he asked bluntly.
"Trying to get rid of me?" she deflected almost before thinking about the sentence.
"I'm serious, Magnus," he frowned, struggling out of her embrace so that he could turn and stare back at her. "Why are you still here? Why all of," he motioned haphazardly around the room, "all of this?"
"Would you be here if it was me?" she asked, a bit confusedly, but the point came across. She hoped.
"Of course," his voice rose, "but that's different."
"How?" Helen found herself honestly wondering. She knew they should have been talking more than they had after the events of last autumn. Neither of them was terribly good at discussing emotions, though. Actions instead of words, which worked until they started using other actions to cover up words that they didn't want to address.
"What about the Sanctuary?" he demanded. "You're kinda indispensible. Aren't they wondering where you are?"
"I'm not as necessary as all that," she paused, hoping that he wouldn't remember to bring up that statement the next time he wanted her to take a break, "if anything vital needs my attention, I can be found. Besides, haven't you heard Henry's spiel about the miracles of modern technology?" she flipped a hand towards the tablet, discarded on the bed beside her, "I've been keeping an eye on things."
"You're going to be drowning in paperwork," he muttered.
"Well, I know who to commandeer for my filing," she was pleased when that actually garnered a mock-glare and almost a twitch of a smile.
"It's just," he stopped moving for the first time since he'd sat up and began picking at a seam on the comforter. "I'm keeping you from important things. You don't have to stay here. It's not like, you know. I'll be fine."
And that was really the crux of the matter. Helen refrained from closing her eyes, but did rub a hand across her forehead. Her tried and true method of ignoring emotional problems until they went away was truly letting her down about now. "I am dealing with something important right now, Will," she said as gently as possible. The real problem had never changed, no matter how hard she pretended to herself that it had. Except now, the consequences went far past a broken ankle and a viral infection. Perhaps she needed some outside counsel for this - or more importantly, perhaps she should find it for Will. "Someone important," she emphasized.
He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable with this turn to the conversation.
Undecided about whether to press the point, she let the silence stretch and then nudged his knee with her own. "Come on, I think we can call this meal dinner. I don't believe that oatmeal even made an appearance," she bribed, sliding out from under the covers.
"I am hungry," he admitted, sounding bemused.
"The withdrawals," she thought that was probably the source of his confusion, "you'll be quite hungry for awhile. Which is just as well," she pointed out bluntly, "considering the weight you've lost." This time she was simply going to have to be forthright about his recovery, not just try to subtly remind him when to eat and sneak extra calories into him when she found the opportunity.
Will blinked at her in surprise for a moment before looking down at himself uncertainly. "I look the same?" he half-asked, half-said.
It was her turn to blink in surprise. "You look gaunt, Will," she reached out to run her fingers down the hollow of his cheek. "You were underweight when I checked you over a few weeks ago and it looks as though it's only gotten worse."
"I wasn't really hungry," he shuffled his way off of the bed, "but I'm sure I ate enough."
"Amphetamines suppress appetite," she informed him, wrapping an arm around his waist to lead them to the table, "and you have a tendency to forget about meals anyway."
"You really have no room to talk," he said, letting her escort him to a chair, "Dr. 'I'm fine, I had breakfast yesterday'."
Her grin was probably wholly disproportionate to the joke, but it was such a relief to see his innate cheekiness slipping out again that Helen simply let herself beam. Then surprised them both by leaning over his chair to kiss his temple.
"Cheeky," it came out more as an endearment that a chastisement as she took her own seat, "Careful or I'll put you on an oatmeal-only diet."
"I thought you wanted me not to avoid meals?" The little grin on his face was far more satisfying than any meal her Old Friend could have dreamed up.