As I mentioned before, this is not a day-by-day story. I will alternate POV between Theseus and my OC Helen from chapter to chapter. If you have requests for future scenes, song prompts, or critiques, feel free to leave them in a review or PM me. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy. Cheers!

Helen woke confused, pissed off, and in pain. She knew exactly why she was in pain—drinking nearly an entire bottle of gin by herself had been unwise. She also knew why she was pissed off—being unable to save the boy's life despite all her efforts, and with Holster's aid too, had been the straw that broke her camel's back. The confusion, however, came from the lack of recognition of her current location.

Helen was slow in turning her head from one side to another. She was in a cheap room wherever she was and could hear the sounds of the occupants on either side. The walls were so thin. Based on the color coordination of the décor, the stale smell of the air, and the general "feel" of the atmosphere, Helen deduced that it was one of the cheaper inns in town. She certainly didn't remember paying for a room from the night before, and neither did she need to considering her own accommodations at the hospital quarter of the town, but here she lay, in a cheap room, bordered on either side by the sounds of desperate lovemaking.

It was either early morning or early evening, according to the light quality filtering through the thin curtains covering the tiny window opposite her bed. Her head throbbing, Helen looked around until her eyes fell upon a pitcher of water and accompanying glass sitting on the rickety bedside stand close to her bed. She pressed the heel of her hand to her right temple, and she raised herself to lean against the headboard. Helen waited until the room stopped spinning from her first tentative movements before she reached for the pitcher and moved with more consideration that normal to pour herself a glass of water.

She didn't guzzle, knew better than to do that, but instead sipped at the refreshing liquid until she imagined she felt her cells rejuvenate. Only once she felt this reviving wave flow from her toes to her head, making the throbbing ease a bit, did Helen take the time to study the room more carefully. She was still clothed in the same dirty, smelly clothing she'd been wearing when she'd first bought the bottle of gin and decided it was her new best friend. The only things missing were her shoes, but she spied them sitting on the floor under a lonely chair in front of the vanity mirror adjacent to the door.

Helen poured another glass of water, and only as she moved to lean back once more did she see the slip of paper tucked up under the pitcher's ceramic basin. Taking one more long sip, Helen set aside the glass and picked up the paper. She had to blink a few times to move the sleepiness to the edges of her eyes before she could read the scrawling handwriting. She felt her cheeks warm as she read the enclosed details. How embarrassing! Helen chugged the remaining water in her glass before throwing off the thin covers and standing up. She let a moment pass before moving, as she didn't want to crash to the floor, and quickly set out fixing the mass of tangles that was her hair in as right order as possible without a brush or pins. Next, Helen tied up her boots and threw open the door. She was a woman on a mission.

Only Helen found later, after wandering through the various billeting quarters for the troops, that her mission was going to be harder to fulfill than expected. Her growling and grumbling stomach was what finally had her retreating to one of the mess halls. The food was always horrid, but at least the supply lines were strong again, and they had a bit more variety, also, from the local farmers who managed to grow some crops still and were more than eager to sell it to the military.

Helen was quick about getting her food and finding a table, not particularly paying attention to where she sat or who was already sitting at the table. And so it took her by fortuitous surprise when she came back to herself and found that the very object of her earlier mission was sitting at the far end of the very table she'd chosen. The young soldier Theseus Scamander was eating alone, which served her perfectly at the moment.

Squaring her shoulders against the embarrassment she felt creeping back into her body, Helen marched her way through the crowd of men, until she stood opposite the seated man. She waited until he looked up from his food before she gave a curt nod, indicating that she had every intention of sitting with him whether he liked it or not. She saw almost an equal amount of awkward awareness shiver through his body as she settled herself across from him. Helen found this only a little reassuring.

She was curious if he would be the first to break the silence, but he wasn't. Even after she'd taken a few bites of her food and choked down a few sips of tea, he hadn't said anything, and the awkwardness between them was building. Helen gave up on eating a few moments later, finding that a fast would probably ease her stomach's rolling better than this bulletproof food, and after pushing aside the tray of unwanted items, she placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"How did it end up being YOU who took care of me last night?"

She watched as Scamander found difficulty swallowing the bite of hard biscuit he'd just put into his mouth. His tea mug was empty, and so she pushed her across the table towards him. He hesitated a moment before nodding his thanks and guzzling it to clear his air passageway again.

"I, er, that is to say, um," his eyes darted everywhere but on her face, and she found this to be more annoying than endearing, "well, I found you. Or, actually," his face turned crimson then, "you found me."

Helen raised both eyebrows and reared back ever so slightly in surprise, "You are going to have to go into greater detail than that, soldier. Not only am I embarrassed by the current predicament, but I am confused as well. If I don't remember you from last night, then there is the possibility that other things might have happened that I have to mentally prepare myself for bearing the repercussions of." She reached out and lightly touched the back of his hand to lend reassurance. She withdrew it almost immediately when she saw a muscle in his jaw twitch in response. "So please, do me a favor here, and let me know in as much detail as possible, exactly what led to my lying in the inn."

Scamander took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He waited until a group of soldiers moved on past them before he scooted forward on his bench and also leaned forward so he could speak more privately; this was no small feat considering the mayhem of noise carrying on around them.

"I was on my way back to my quarters when you," he hesitated a moment, but a glare from Helen had him starting again, "fell out of the tavern. I wasn't fast enough to catch you this time so-"

"This time?" Helen frowned. "You mean, you've had to take care of me before?"

Scamander had a semi-panicked look on his face before he sighed and spoke almost too softly for her to hear, "No, not exactly. It was many months ago, almost when I was first stationed here, and it was one of my first times in town. I was just about to enter the tavern when you and some of your orderlies came out, and you tripped. I helped to right you, and then you were on your way."

The way he re-told the memory gave Helen greater insight into the current situation. She'd always found the marginally younger man attractive and also the way he carried himself almost alluring but Helen had never allowed herself to think beyond that. She'd lost far too many of these soldiers to let her heart soften towards any of them. The boy from yesterday, he'd been a civilian, and barely aged eight, and that had hit her in such a way that he'd become the representation of the waste of life she dealt with every day. To have Scamander tell her of this vague memory but in such details had her pausing. He'd been as aware of her as she'd been of him, and unlike her, it didn't seem like he'd been doing as apt a job of keeping this at arm's length in his mind and heart as she was. Helen rubbed at her temples. This was not helping her headache.

"Are you ill?" Scamander was asking her, brining Helen back to the mess hall and out of her thoughts.

Helen shook her head and dropped her hands, "Not really, just a headache. Please continue with last night's sordid tale." She wasn't sure if he picked up on the subtle sarcasm of her words. "You said I fell out of the tavern, and you weren't fast enough to catch me."

"Unlike last time, no one was with you. I helped you sit up and left you leaning against the wall outside just long enough to go inside to see if any of your orderlies were with you. The tavern keeper stopped me and told me how much you'd drunk, and," Scamander's eyes darted around again letting Helen know he was about to say something he found uncomfortable, "he told me you'd been talking about losing a child, and he thought that why you were drinking."

"Yes," Helen sighed, "some villagers brought in a young boy yesterday. Civilian obviously, and should've been in school if they still had any standing around here. Our side hit him," Helen swallowed the bitter gall that rose in her throat, "if I'd been closer by at the initial wounding I might have been able to do more but as it was," Helen sighed and shook her head to clear away the darkness, "we did lose him."

Scamander nodded, "Yes, I am sorry for that." She saw one of his hands clench out of her peripherals, and she was curious if he was fighting the urge to reach out to her. She shifted in her seat and saw it had the desired effect: Scamander also shifted in his, and he carried on. "When I came back outside, you were, well, on the ground, crying." Helen folded her hands together atop the table in front of her and squeezed. This was far more embarrassing than she'd initially feared. "I helped you up and tried to ask you where your quarters were, but you wouldn't stop crying and then," Scamander's cheeks were crimson again, and he ducked his head so low it was near impossible to hear him finish his sentence, "you wouldn't let go of me."

"What do you mean?"

"You embraced me and wouldn't let go when I tried to pull you away so I could get information from you about where to take you. I thought about taking you to the hospital and leaving you with your colleagues but," Scamander sighed and finally gave her full-on eye contact, "if I'd been in your position and in that state, I wouldn't have wanted to be thrown back to my comrades. You seemed too," he tipped his head for a moment, "raw to be returned. So I did what I thought was appropriate, and I arranged a room for you in the inn."

Although Helen found the story distasteful, she wasn't surprised by the details. He was painting an accurate picture of how she felt last night. And for as embarrassing as it was to be found like that, she was thankful it had been Scamander of all people to have done so. This morning could've been a lot worse had it been someone else.

Helen nodded, "Is there anything else I should know?"

Scamander opened his mouth, then closed it, and she saw the blush come back to his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably, and she knew at once that yes, there was something else, and no, he did not want to tell her.

"Theseus," the use of his name had him stilling and fixing his gaze directly on her again, "I do thank you for your kindness last night and for being discreet about things. You did do the right thing, and you were accurate in your assessment of the situation." Helen pressed, "But, if there is anything else, I do have a right to know about it, and I would appreciate your thoroughness in the retelling."

"You didn't want me to leave you."

Helen again reared back, "What do you mean?"

"After I got you to the inn, I made sure you had water and that the door could lock from the inside, but when I tried to leave, you stopped me."

Helen saw again that he was hiding something, and she questioned, "HOW did I stop you?"

"You," Theseus rubbed the back of his neck, "are you certain you want to know? I do not hold any of this against you nor do I judge you by it. You were incapacitated by drink; I understand that, and I do not want to be a part of your further discomfort by telling you of events that you might find disquieting."

"Did my actions towards you last night influence the way you see me now?"

Theseus looked ready to shake his head, but then after another glance at her eyes, he nodded slowly but spoke softly, "But I assure you not in a pitying way, nor in a lustful way."

"Lustful?" Helen knew she said the word too loudly when a couple of soldiers from the next table over glanced at them briefly. She ducked her head lower and whispered, "Just what the hell did I do to stop you, Theseus?"

"You did not exactly solicit me for sexual intimacy, I can assure you of that; however, you did embrace me and made it difficult to leave by that, and when I did finally extricate myself from your arms, you did," he lowered his voice and leaned forward, and Helen mimicked his movements until their heads were close enough for him to whisper and her to hear, "you did kiss me."

His words were the trigger, and Helen gasped at the rush of memories. She remembered being in his arms and feeling safe, comforted, and maybe even a glimmer of hope that this present reality would not be the norm for much longer. Helen remembered the scent Fougère Royale mixed with sweat and the smell that warm skin often emitted. She also remembered the feel of his trembling against her, or had she been the one trembling, as their lips pressed together. The kiss hadn't lasted long, but it'd been long enough for both of them to part, wide-eyed, and more aware than ever of the want and need of one another.

Helen cleared her throat and noticing just how close their faces were now, and having the memory as fodder for the imagination; she leaned back to a much safer distance.

"But you didn't stay?" She said it as a statement though it was just as much of a question.

Theseus nodded, "I did eventually leave, yes. But after I made it clear we were not going to, well, you know, you asked me to at least wait until you fell asleep."

Helen couldn't remember this part as readily, but there were vague images that began to piece themselves together. He'd been the one to kneel while she sat in the chair and take off her muddy boots. He'd also been the one to tuck her into the bed, and after she'd grasped at his hand, she thought she remembered him sitting on the bed beside her.

"Did I," Helen leaned forward to whisper, "did I lay my head in your lap?"

Theseus nodded, "You told me your mother used to stroke your hair after you had bad dreams until you fell asleep."

"I suppose you did just that?" Helen smiled despite the ludicrous nature of their interlude. Theseus seemed surprised by the note of sarcasm in her voice, so she quickly added, "I am not at all bothered if you did. If anything, I am most impressed Mr. Scamander."

"By what?"

Helen laughed, "You quite literally helped a damsel in distress and were a gentleman about it through and through." She leaned back and noticed that the mess hall had emptied quite a bit she pulled out her pocket watched and internally swore. She was due on shift in only a half-hour. Helen looked back to Theseus and gave him another reassuring smile, "I am sorry for causing you inconvenience or discomfort as well, though I am grateful to you."

"It was not inconvenient," Helen raised a single eyebrow and wouldn't have been surprised if Theseus awkwardly said it'd been his pleasure, but instead, he said, "I am glad was there so I could be of assistance to you."

Helen nodded and stood, "I'm afraid I must dash off now. I owe you a drink," she saw Theseus draw his own eyebrows up at her words, and she chuckled, "or a cuppa if you don't trust me around taverns now."

"I'll remember that. Good day, Doctor O'Reilly"

"Especially after what I put you through last night," she picked up her tray and began to turn away, speaking over her shoulder, "you can most assuredly call me Helen. Good day to you too, Scamander."

She thought she heard him call after her something along the lines of calling him by his given name as well, but she was in too much of a rush to be certain. She would have to wait until they had that cup of tea together to confirm if her hang-over influenced hearing had been accurate or not.