Work Text:
Helen Magnus sat in her home office, looking through the window that overlooked the garden, shrouded in darkness as it was. Night was falling as she took a phone call, the voice on the other side slowly growing calmer as the words flowed between them.
“Josie? Hello.”
“Hi Helen. You ok?”
“I'm fine, as are the children. Henry's missing Declan but that's to be expected.”
There was a pause. “We... I've got a case that might be a good fit.”
“Oh?”
Helen listened intently as Josie explained the details. “Seriously Helen, you’re my last hope. Our dream reapers are good, but Will, he…” Josie sighed. “He’s burnt through them – too old, too young, too cloying, too distant, not even going into the same room as one – and some private reapers too. He just… sees everything.” Helen was a dream reaper too (otherwise Josie wouldn’t be calling her like this), but just a foster carer in the kids’ eyes. She gave them space, but they had to pitch in with chores. Usually they decided Helen was ok – “You don’t treat me like I’m broken,” one foster had told her – and would find her at odd hours to take the first step.
From what Josie had told her about Will's reticence around new people, Helen had a feeling he was hyper aware of things, noticing all the little details. That was fine by her – her best friend in England was like that, and had been her first “patient” at the tender age of ten. (She caught hell for that stunt – she wasn’t to use her skill until she was at least fourteen, if not older.) He couldn’t believe a person, let alone a girl like Helen, could get beneath his skin like that. He soon ate his words when they stood in his memory dollhouse.
“So... Do you think you could take him on?” Josie asked quietly.
“I'd be happy to Josie, but please don't expect results overnight.”
Josie laughed. “No, I never do."
There was something in her tone of voice that Helen noticed. "What?"
Another pause. "Uhm... You do so well we... We kinda have a betting pool when you take on a kid."
"We?" Helen asked, laughing gently.
"Me, some of the others in the office, some of the IT department..." Josie sounded almost contrite.
Helen laughed outright now. "Cut me in."
Josie laughed heartily, before sobering slightly. "Thank you Helen. I knew I could count on you."
--
William was, in a word, serious. He was also quiet, and listened intently, his whole concentration on the speaker.
Just like James, Helen thought when Josie first introduced them. She asked him questions but kept them light – cartoons, books, comics (she was learning through Henry about Spiderman, Superman, The Adjuster) – whilst also answering his questions, completely at ease with his hyper awareness. Soon, he nodded to Josie that yes, he’d be ok here, not missing the sigh of relief the young woman released.
“Shall I show you to your room?” Helen asked after they waved Josie off.
He nodded, grabbing his rucksack from by the door where he left it. He looked at the walls as they walked up the stairs, noticing the hand prints on the banister, the pictures hanging parallel to the steps. Every little detail he could glean was being recorded in his mind.
“Here we are,” she said, standing next to a white door, slightly ajar. Will pushed it open, and walked in. Looking around, he nodded, relaxing slightly. This was a room all for him, no-one else. “Have you any questions?” Helen asked from the door, smiling.
“How many kids live here?” he asked.
“At the moment, including you, three. There’s Henry who’s six and Ashley who’s three.”
“Your daughter.” A statement, not a question.
She tilted her head slightly, trying her best not to be affected by the waves of suspicion and curiosity radiating from him, through her mental barriers. “Yes.”
Looking away from Helen, he added, “Her dad’s dead.”
Very much like James. Helen nodded. “Yes. He was shot whilst on duty.”
Will echoed her movements. “Does Henry play soldiers?”
--
Helen needn’t have worried; the kids got on together like a house on fire. She had a feeling Ashley would become the leader of their fearless band – Will was a bit hesitant at first but Henry brought him out of his shell.
Ashley’s bedtime was seven pm, with a short story in the glow of lamplight to settle her for the night. The boys had theirs at seven thirty – they were currently reading Treasure Island – snuggled up on Helen in the playroom for the duration of a chapter. By eight o’clock, Helen was at her desk, quickly checking her emails. There was nothing important there – Josie would be emailing the next day, once the kids were in school, and either Declan or James would send her something by the end of the week (just to confirm that yes, they were still alive).
By ten pm, she was in bed herself. Whilst she didn’t dread sleep, per se, it was a real down side to dream reaping. Helen dreamt in super high def, highly saturated, vivid images. It wasn’t so bad if she hadn’t reaped recently, but Henry had had a recurrence and Josie asked for help recently. Helen’s head was uncomfortably full of borrowed images, and would be until she slept. The prospect of a werewolf chasing her down a corridor to a locked door wasn’t all that appealing.
Sighing, putting down her book (something about a vampire, a woman with a gun and some torrid love affair), she turned off her light, listening to the noises in her home.
--
Will held out for two weeks before he asked why she was his fosterer. This surprised Helen as his curious nature had him asking all sorts of questions, but she took it in her stride. His questions gave her a reason to read more books (not that she needed a reason) – whenever he asked a question she didn't know the answer to, they would read up on the subject together.
He was slowly devouring the tiny selection of books she called the library. Between playing with Henry and Ashley, homework (this weekend they were memorising words for a spelling test) and chores, he'd obliterated the encyclopaedia, dashed through Henry's comics and tried valiantly to grab Helen's copy of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. It was as if his brain was thirsty for any knowledge it could get its hands on.
“Before I became a foster parent with John, I used to be a dream reaper for Old City,” she explained, sitting next at the kitchen table, hearing the film in the playroom that Ashley insisted on watching, and the various noises she and Henry made as they played. “I helped some children and adults when other reapers couldn't. I gave it up professionally when John and I decided to be fosterers.”
“Does the lady want you to go into my head?”
Helen sighed. “I won't lie Will, she did hope that I would, but every choice to do with your mind is yours. You choose when, or even if, I enter it.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the grain of the table, before turning his head. “How?”
“I hold your hands--” Will made a face, but Helen ignored it “-- steady my breathing, then we enter a state something between deep sleep and a coma. You'd be a bit aware of what I do, but it's more like watching a movie when you're sleepy.”
She watched as he set his mind to the puzzle that was dream reaping. “What do you do when I'm watching the film?”
Her eyebrows rose slowly as she smiled, “I find the things that make you scared. I get the bits of nightmares and throw them in the bin... in a way.”
“Bits of nightmares? Like Lego bricks?”
Helen nodded.
“And you throw them in a bin?” The word 'bin' was thoroughly drenched in confusion.
She shrugged. “A trash can in my mind. Everyone can do it naturally, when you make yourself forget things.”
“I press delete on the keyboard in my head,” he said quietly, still digesting what she was telling him.
Her eyes brightened. “That's right. A dream reaper has a massive bin for those deleted bits.”
“Where do the deleted things go?”
“Ah.” Helen's face scrunched up in a manner Will had quickly learnt was her, 'I don't know, but let's find out!' face. “That one's a bit more difficult... Really, it's esoteric even for me.”
Will shook his head. “Eso--?”
“It means that the answer is very complicated and only a handful of people really understand it.”
“You don't know everything about dream reaping?” he asked, mouth agape.
Helen rolled her eyes good naturedly. “I don't know everything, young Will,” she told him, a whisper of a laugh in her tone.
His smile was small when he nodded, then he went quiet again. Helen knew he'd be a few minutes so she started on dinner, safe in the knowledge that he'd speak again with his next question.
“Can boys be reapers?”
By now, Helen was wrist deep in peeling potatoes. She shook her head. “Only women, and even then not every woman. It's something to do with our DNA.” She looked at him and smiled. “But there have been cases, here and in Britain, of men who can stop dreams.”
Will's eyes brightened at the thought. “Stop dreams?”
She nodded, “Uh-huh. They're called dream catchers. Very few though. Something like one in a million.”
“Do they learn how to do it?” he asked excitedly.
Shrugging, Helen peeled another potato. “I don't know. Shall we find out after dinner?”
He nodded, smiling. Henry yelled, “Banzai!” in the playroom, drawing Will's attention. “I'm gonna go play.”
“Ok. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Tell the others?” Will nodded, and off his went, leaving Helen in the kitchen. She hadn't thought about dream catchers in years. A reaper couldn't read them, but... No, she wasn't going there. The last person she wanted to think about was him.
It just hurt too much.
--
Nikola had the mother of all headaches, residing just behind his eyes. He'd been trying for the last hour to teach an imbecile, who'd recently vacated his office, how to do a system wide update. Imbecile had the brainpower of a newborn gnat. Rubbing his nose, he thought of all the crap he put up with as the main IT guy for Old City's CPS department. It wasn't the easy prospect he thought it would be, and idiots like the imbecile made him hate humanity.
He at least went home on time though, not that there was anyone there. He had no qualms at leaving the office on the dot, nose in his phone as he avoided eye contact with anyone who hoped he had a spare minute, “Just for this one little thing.” Leaving meant having more time to research all the things that caught his fancy (and read all the printouts he printed at work – he was head of the IT department for a reason). He'd seen the work the actual child protection officers did, how much work went home with them (sometimes a kid too, if a suitable foster hadn't been found). No, he might not like his job, but he'd hate theirs.
“Hey Nik!”
He groaned as he spun his chair to face the voice. “Hey yourself, Joséfina. Don’t you have you some rugrat to save?”
She shook her head. “I dropped off my newest case with her foster parents and emailed another foster about their kid's case.” She shrugged. “Thought I'd come save you.”
“Well, you're too late.” His latest visitor tilted her head in confusion. He sighed. “How did Richardson get through high school?”
She laughed, making Nikola smile. Josie wasn't that bad. A bit naïve but a good CPS officer. The fact that she was easy on the eye helped too. Long dark hair, tanned skin, legs that went on for days? Yeah, it all helped.
“Quit staring,” she told him, collapsing into the chair across from him. “And pay up.”
“What?” he asked incredulously.
“You owe me five bucks. Will took the first step with Helen this morning.” Josie grinned, flapping her fingers in the universal, 'Pay up!' motion. “It's been over a month.”
Grumbling, Nikola opened his desk drawer, found his wallet and paid up. “I'm never betting on Helen Magnus ever again. Bad luck charm.”
Josie rolled her eyes at his histrionics. “Yeah yeah. I'll believe you when I see you betting against her.”
Nikola smirked, falling into their easy routine. “And lose the privilege of complaining about her?” He sobered. “Did she get far?”
“Oh Nik, you know I can't tell you that.”
He shrugged. “Doesn't hurt to ask, as we are betting on them.”
Leaning on the desk, she began asking gently, “Have you--”
His glare was enough to stop her asking whatever Helen related question she had in her mind. Her tone was enough to set his teeth on edge, because it meant awkwardness on his part. It meant having to think on a subject he really didn't want to think on, because thinking made him hurt. Thinking of Helen? It meant remembering what it felt like to dream.
“She'd probably like--”
The growled, “Josephine, drop it,” made her sit back.
“You suck, Tesla,” she told him, picking invisible lint from her blouse.
“This is news to you?”
“God, just talk to the woman!” she exploded, hands slamming on his desk.
He sneered, “Yeah, perfect idea. 'Hey Helen, I know you've been the one ignoring me for the past decade, but I love you. Marry me. Have my babies.' She'd just walk away, like she always does when things get hard.”
“Then why are you still here?” Josie asked softly, realising she should've been asking this over whiskey (for her) and wine (for him). “If being anywhere near her hurts you, why stay?”
His shrug collapsed in defeat, head on his desk. “Maybe I have a masochistic streak?” He laughed derisively.
“What happened?” she finally asked, never having courage now to vocalise her curiosity. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think it was my fault?” he asked quietly.
“She's ignoring you.”
He sighed, bringing his head off the desk to look at her. “She asked me something and didn't like the answer... Now go away. Go be some kid's hero.”
She shook her head. “No kids to save...” She got out of the chair and walked to the door. “But you should talk to her.”
“Go away,” he muttered darkly, turning away from the door. She was no reaper, but she didn't need to be to see the despondency in his frame.
--
“John's asked me to marry him,” she told him, holding her cold cup of tea before her like a shield.
Nikola swallowed. “... Oh.”
Helen shook her head. “I've... I've not given him an answer yet.”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. A faint blush seeped across her cheeks, small waves of embarrassment emanating from her. Nikola couldn't drag his eyes away from her, even though his heart was threatening to burst from his chest and leap into her arms. “What do you want?” he asked softly, gripping his own cup in a death grip.
“I don't know.”
He snorted quietly, eyes firmly glued to the coffee he had. “Helen, if you don't know, what hope do us mortals have?” Chancing a glance at her, he wanted desperately to tell her to say no, but the words stuck in his throat like hard, dry bread. Instead, he shook his head. “Do what makes you happy.”
She played with her teaspoon, running the stem of it around the edge of her cup. “What if... What if I'm not sure it'll make me happy?”
It was his turn to shrug. “What if it will?”
“My God, Niko, have you always been this frustrating or is it a new thing you're trying?” she huffed, shaking her head.
“Just because I'm not an easy read,” he bit back, the, 'Like John,' deafening in the silence. He saw her spine straighten, her decision made.
“Thanks, Nikola.” She chucked back the dregs of her tea like tequila, before pushing back from the table and high tailing it out the door.
Nikola's face was awash with confusion as he watched her walk by the window, tears in her eyes. He had to follow her, so he did. “What the hell, Helen?” he asked angrily, catching up to her in an alley. He grabbed her wrist to stop her walking.
She spun to face him. “You know damn well!” she all but yelled. “You fancy the pants off of me but you've done nothing about it. You flirt and flirt and make me think something could happen, make me hope...” She pushed her balled hands against her eyes, trying to stop the tears. Groaning, they fell away as she stared at him. “Tell me not to marry him. Tell me not to stay with him. Tell me--”
He kissed her, both hands in her hair as she melted against him. Moaning, her lips surrendered to his, his tongue teasing hers, sending shocks of pleasure through her whole body. He felt her arms around his waist, her hands splayed on his shoulder blades, and he tried desperately to keep her close. Each moan, each nip, each dragged fingernail down his back just confirmed what he knew already. This was perfect.
But she was pulling away. Why was she still crying? “Helen?”
Swallowing hard, she stepped out of his reach, wrapping her arms around herself. He could feel the waves of crashing despair roll off her as the tears fell, each pained, “I'm sorry,” stabbing him in the chest. Paralysed, he watched her run.
He found out, two months later, that Helen and John married in a church a street over from where he'd had his perfect kiss.
--
Saturday in the mall was not how Nikola imagined spending his afternoon, but he needed new shoes. If he went earlier in the day, he wouldn't have to deal with too many people, and he wouldn't get another headache. That was the plan.
He didn't get there until after lunch. Some kids were running around, yelling and squeaking. Parents were standing around chatting, ignoring their children behaving like the monsters they were, and Nikola's foot was cold. He had known for a while his shoes needed replacing but there it was, a tiny hole.
Sighing, his defences up, he strode in.
Helen's morning had been busy. Between chores, playing and Ashley singing Old McDonald, the house had been cleaned, clothes in the machine, homework done and lunch eaten. Now it was time for the most important part of the day.
Shoe shopping.
The shop was busy, and children were running around like headless chickens. “Alright, we need some sneakers for you, Henry, and some boots for you, Will. No running around, please.”
“Ok!” the boys chorused, before dashing to the kids’ section. Ashley was pulling on Helen's hand, wanting to follow them. Smiling indulgently, glad her mental barriers were firmly in place, they walked briskly after them, Ashley stomping ahead.
“Ooooff!” Someone had walked into her and caught her elbow before she fell over.
“I'm sorry, I-- Helen?”
The world slowed down. Flashes of memories filled his mind – his laugh, her smile, that kiss – as her bright blue eyes drank him in.
“Nikola?” she breathed, her lips already forming a grin. Her heart was clattering against her ribcage. “Wh-- what are you doing here?” Who was that squeaking in her voice?
He held up his other hand, face and mind wondrously blank to her. “Shoes.”
“Mommy!”
Helen blinked and dragged her eyes from his face. Ashley gazed up at her, her own blue eyes guileless. “Henry's running.” Looking up sharply, she saw Henry tearing around.
Eyes flicking between Nikola and her sprinting foster son, she made her decision. “Wait there!” she ordered. Turning, she walked over to the makeshift racecourse, Ashley following in her wake. Unimpressed at his antics, or Will's obvious encouragement, Helen's voice was like ice. “Henry! This is not a park! Now stop running and come with me.” She glanced at Will. “Both of you.”
Cowed by her tone, he nodded. Will shrugged. “Told you she'd notice,” he muttered as they followed her dutifully through the shop. “Who's he?”
Henry shrugged.
Helen smiled gratefully at Nikola – he still listened even after a decade of silence from her. “I'm buying shoes for these two, so...” He smirked as her eyes sparkled, her cheeks flushing slightly. She still reacted to him, he was glad to see, his heart rate almost back to normal.
“Coffee?” he suggested, leaning slightly towards the door.
Wordlessly, she nodded, before glancing at her three musketeers. “Monday?”
“Lunchtime?” He smiled. Ten years?
“The usual place?” She grinned back. What ten years?
“Sure.”
“Sure,” she echoed, nodding. Herding her brood away with a grin, she delighted in that feeling she'd missed, like no bad emotions existed.
Looking at his new shoes in wonder, Nikola grinned, before walking to the counter to pay. Maybe shopping on a Saturday afternoon wasn't so bad after all.
In the queue to pay, after finding suitable footwear for all three children – Ashley found some purple patent leather shoes that she would not put down for love nor money – Will tugged her cardigan. “Are you ok, Will?” she asked quietly, feeling Henry hang on her other hand as Ashley stood before them, bouncing.
“Is he a dream catcher?”
Helen didn't need to ask who he meant. She nodded.
“You're friends?”
“In a manner of speaking,” she replied awkwardly. Will looked at her, judging her with his six year old eyes. Sighing, she added, “We had an argument and I didn't talk to him again.”
The queue moved forward. “You don't like coffee.”
The smile that lit her face made even Henry stop and stare. “No, I don't.”
“You like him.”
She flushed. “He's my friend.”
“He likes you,” Will said, when they finally got to the counter.
“What makes you say that?” she asked distractedly, before asking the shop assistant for a bag.
“He looked at you like dad looked at mom, before...” He shrugged, then smiled when Ashley hugged him. Helen ruffled his hair, then Henry's (who gave a little, “Hey!” for attention).
“Excuse me? The gentleman left this for you,” the assistant said, handing Helen a card after bagging up their boxes. A business card, stark black ink on white, his name and numbers crisp in a professional manner. Underneath he'd scrawled, in blue, “You still look hot.”
--
“John?” Helen yelled as she walked into their house.
“Kitchen,” he called back, his booming voice quieted by the wood doors.
Grimacing, Helen walked forward, taking off her scarf. She didn’t know what she was going to do, or what to say. Coat next, she hung it next to his, under the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she opened the kitchen door.
A tsunami of love, desire and happiness flooded her entire being as she crossed the threshold. ‘Damn reaper senses,’ she mused, feeling her lips stretch to smile at John. Her heart started dancing with the emotions she felt, though whose they were she didn’t fully want to know. Revelling in the swirl, her grin widened at the scene before her.
John, in his police uniform, had set the table, candles lit in the centre. The room smelt of roast chicken and Saint-Saens played quietly in the background.
“What’s all this?” she asked in awe, her hand on her heart.
“I just wanted to show you how much I love you.” Tears welled in her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her. Kissing her hair, he smiled. “I’m so very lucky I can come home to you.”
Looking up into his light blue eyes (not quite blue enough?), the wave receded and she felt her own emotions – comfort, happiness, safety – braiding with his. “Yes,” she murmured, reaching up to brush her lips with his.
“And modest too,” he chuckled.
She rolled her eyes, smiling. “No, John. I meant yes.” She stood back, leaning on his arms to watch the realisation blossom.
“Yes?” His smile grew as he understood the importance of the tiny word. “Yes?”
She nodded, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes John, let’s get married.”
--
That evening was a nightmare, even by Helen’s standards. Henry and Will were intent on destroying the whole house, Ashley was sulking on the sofa because the boys wouldn’t watch Spongebob with her and Helen’s nerves were shot. The last time she and Nikola had spoken, she’d kissed him, run off and accepted another man’s proposal. Their lack of communication was on her.
He had tried, but she didn’t listen.
She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t settle on any task – dinner of mac and cheese was almost just macaroni and tuna salad, except she didn’t have tuna – or concentrate on a single subject. Each thought circled her back to him.
Nikola bloody Tesla.
She had to smile – he hadn’t changed at all. His hair was just as spiky, his manner just as arrogant, but his eyes? They were just as mischievous, but a glimmer of something else was there.
“Mommy, stop touching my head,” Ashley grumbled, having attached herself to her mother as the macaroni cooked and Helen stirred the cheese sauce.
She rolled her eyes affectionately. “I’m sorry darling, mummy was thinking.”
“S’ok. Just be more gentle!” she admonished in the way only three year olds could.
Helen nodded, smiling down at her. “Ok sweetie. Mummy loves you.”
“Aww, I love you too,” Ashley replied before wandering off to find the boys.
What was she doing? Why was she so nervous? This was Nikola, for heaven’s sake. They’d known each other since she moved to Old City at the tender age of sixteen. They had attended the same university – she had done the dream reaper finishing course, he the Physics course – and he had introduced her to Nigel, who, in turn, had introduced her to John. Even though she’d known how he felt, she had done nothing about it back then, forcing him to make a move (then running when he did). Making up her mind, she dragged out her phone and the card he’d left.
You leave your card for every woman you bump into?
Depends. Is this the hot chick from the shoe shop?
Very funny, Nikola.
Just thought I’d send you my number.
Thanks. :)
Neither mentioned that the other hadn’t actually changed their number in the last ten years. For the next half an hour, as she served up dinner and mindlessly ate, she debated whether to send the next text. The choice was taken from her when she accidentally pressed send.
You looked good.
Ah! I meant well, you looked well.
Look, even. Horrible thumbs.
Who are you and what have you done to Helen? ;)
Haha.
Seriously, when have you ever sent three text messages in three seconds?
Ugh.
It’s cute.
About as cute as smallpox.
Ashley was in bed and the boys having another chapter of a story when her phone beeped again. “Are you talking with shoe shop guy?” Henry asked.
Helen tilted her head. “Would it be a bad thing?”
Henry looked at Will, then smiled and shook his head. “Nah. Carry on!”
Helen rolled her eyes when she finally read it.
I like it.
You always were a weird one.
Best ones always are.
If you say so.
I know so. ;) What you doing?
Helen looked around from her spot on the sofa, glass of wine on the arm, kids in bed.
Nothing really. Watching tv. Trying to sort my head out.
Oh? Anything I can help with?
I’m not sure.
How good are you at surprise meetings with people you weren’t expecting?
Depends on the person.
Oh?
I bumped into someone today. We used to talk. Way back when.
Did everything go well?
I think so. She smiled when she saw me. :) I saw inside her head.
You psychic now Nikola?
Only with her… How about you? Your person?
Lol, he left his number with the shop assistant like the weirdo he is.
Maybe he was being cautious, not weird.
Oh!
Maybe?
We didn’t really part on good terms.
How come?
I stopped talking to him when I got engaged.
Oh. :(
It was silly. I missed him. Especially
She had pressed Send before finishing her message. Sighing, she realised she’d have to explain all now.
Especially?
Helen?
Especially when I realised I married the wrong man.
Did you love him?
I thought… I loved him.
Helen looked at the screen, the words blurring slightly. Was that because of the wine or the brightness of the screen or the words on it?
But I wasn’t in love with him.
Then why get married?
Bit too personal there Nikola.
Suffice it to say, things changed, but not soon enough.
John died.
We were getting a divorce.
I heard. Work colleagues.
She had sent that text before his had come through, the way text messages liked doing to make things awkward.
Wait, what? But I thought…
We couldn’t really live like that anymore. Especially when Ashley came along.
She deserved two happy parents.
Not two people who shared a space.
She grimaced. She hadn’t meant to spill her guts like that.
Sounds difficult.
It was.
Don’t mind me. I didn’t mean to get so deep there.
It’s ok. :) Let me drag us back to shallower waters.
How?
What is the great Helen Magnus wearing?
Lol, really Nikola?
Lol, really, Helen. ;)
She looked down at herself. How many times had he sent that before? How many times had she wanted to reply with something racy, something inflammatory, something real, instead of her usual, ‘Lol, what?!’
Pyjamas.
It’s only half past nine?
I have three children under the age of ten living in my house.
They wake up at seven am even on a Sunday.
Sounds exhausting... So you’re in bed?
Yes.
Comfortable?
Very.
Care for company? ;)
And be kept up half the night?
Oooh, sounds scandalous! What would we be doing?
That came just as Helen’s thumb hovered over the send button. Deleting her unsent text, she pondered, before sending:
If you can’t figure that out...
Goodnight Nikola. ;)
Putting her phone on mute, Helen then turned off her lamp, grinning into the darkness.
--
Sunday passed by in a blur of flirty texts, a trip to the play park, ice cream and movies. Henry and Will weren't sure if they were freaked out by Helen's constant smiling, annoyed at the near constant, 'Ping ping!' from her phone or grateful for the wondrous mood she was in. They got to stay in the park for hours, and Ashley climbed the big jungle gym that both boys were too scared of doing.
Dinner had been hot dogs then chocolate ice cream. “It's not even anyone's birthday,” Henry muttered happily to Will, digging into his treat.
Kids finally in bed, Helen settled back on the sofa, cup of tea in one hand, phone ringing in the other, a book opened and forgotten on her lap.
“Your thumbs starting to hurt?” she asked down the phone, a goofy smile on her face at his laughter in reply.
“If you must know--”
“I must, I must.”
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
Helen paused, blushed, and chewed her lip. “Oh.” A tiny laugh bubbled from her. “And now I can't think of anything to say.”
“You could answer a question for me,” he murmured. “But only if you want to.”
She nodded, before answering him in the positive.
“Why... why did you ask me to tell you not to marry him?”
Gasping softly, Helen licked her lips, almost glad he couldn't see her. “Going for the jugular there, I see,” she muttered, before sipping her tea. “Isn't it obvious?”
“If I have to ask...”
“Can I plead the fifth?”
She wasn't positive, but was that a sigh she heard? “Sure.”
Groaning, she let the words rush out of her, “I wanted you.”
“But you married Druitt...”
“Yes Nikola, I know, I was there.” Calming herself, she continued. “Remember those emotion waves I would experience?”
“Uh-huh. Your mother and grandmother were reapers so you got the ‘super concentration’.”
Helen smiled for a moment - he would remember that sugar rush ramble. “I've never felt a wave from you, ever. And it scared me... I got home after walking for an hour or so and John was there, in his uniform, dinner on the table, and I just got... overtaken by his emotions. It felt good, knowing without having to second guess.” She sniffed quietly, then whispered, “So I said yes.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Helen held the phone away from her ear, the screen lighting up. Yes, he was still connected. “Ni--”
“I'm here, Helen.” Things were quiet for a while. In her sock feet, Helen moved around the house, locking doors, making sure everything was off. He sighed. “What’re you doing?”
Safe territory. Retreat. Helen understood that very well. “I'm getting ready for bed.”
“Still with the early bedtime,” he murmured, warmth pooling in Helen's abdomen.
“Still got three kids under ten.”
“I know a few things we could do to pass the time.”
“We?” Laughter in her voice.
“I know a few things you could do to pass the time.”
“... I like we.” She paused again. “You know what--”
“Yeah, I know,” he breathed.
Staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Helen was almost shocked by her expression. “I need to brush my teeth...” She looked happy.
“Just put the phone down.”
“I must be using up all your minutes.”
“Don't worry about it. Brush your teeth. Hygiene is important.”
Minty fresh, she grabbed the phone again. “So...”
“So...” he echoed.
“I need to go to bed.”
“I'm not stopping you,” he remarked, laughing.
“Difficult getting changed with a phone pressed to my ear,” she replied, laughter back in her tone.
“Never stopped you before.”
“And you'd know that how?”
“Whose dorm room did you invade on a daily basis?”
Helen blushed. He had seen her multitask on more than one occasion, including taking sweaters off in his habitually warm room. “... You can't see this, but I'm glaring at you.”
“And you look so attractive doing it.”
“And you're missing out...” A sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Window seat, half twelve, Ground in Reality... You could kiss me when you get in.”
Helen swallowed gently, their last kiss on her mind. “We'll see,” she told him quietly, smiling. “I need to go.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow,” she confirmed. “Good night.”
“Good night. Sweet dreams.”
“Still so funny, sixteen years later.”
“Still makes you laugh.”
“Night!”
Ten minutes later, a text arrived. Unsure, Nikola opened it, not expecting the picture that popped out. A small smile, her dark hair around her on the pillow, soft golden light pooling on one side, her eyes wide and warm, he wished he could dive into the image and wrap himself around her. “Sweet dreams to you too. xx”
--
Ground in Reality hadn’t changed much in the last ten years. An atmosphere of contentment and peace surrounded the cushy sofas and overstuffed armchairs. Little flower centrepieces alongside the requisite salt, pepper and menu dotted each dark, wooden table. Golden lights, warm and low, made the place feel more like a library than a café. In one corner, close to the counter, lay a half worked blanket and some yarn, for anyone who wanted to knit. In the bench seat of the bay window, fiddling with a packet of sugar, sat Helen.
She’d arrived early. It did nothing for her nerves to sit there by herself, but better to be sat there than rattling around at home. She looked at her watch. 12:28. She wouldn’t worry – Nikola had a propensity for being late.
Or not. Flushing, her heart sped up at the sight of him, striding into the café with a smile on his face. “H- hi!” she said, smiling.
“Hi,” he replied brightly, sliding onto the bench seat next to her. “Been waiting long?”
Helen made a face, and held up the rumpled sugar packet. Then she smiled. “Claude said she’d be over with our drinks in a few minutes.”
They sat there for a few moments, looking everywhere but at each other. Anytime their eyes met, they’d skitter away amid blushes and smiles. That feeling of quiet came again, and all Helen could sense was her own emotions.
“I—”
“He—”
They laughed, their thoughts unconsciously in sync as they both tried talking at the same time. Eyes bright, Helen reached for Nikola’s hand, grasping it with her fingers. “I’m really glad this window seat was free.”
He nodded, “Me too.” Smiling his thanks at the waitress, he grabbed both their cups from her tray. “No biscuit?” he asked, dumping two sachets of sugar into his coffee.
She shook her head, before sipping her tea. Waves of nervous energy lapped against him gently, only confusing him slightly, because she looked so calm.
“You look good,” he whispered, pushing her shoulder with his, before sipping his drink.
She looked at him through her lashes, smiling behind the rim of her cup. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, her own shoulder knocking his gently. “And I see you’ve invested in a watch.”
He rolled his eyes, laughing. “All smoke and mirrors.” The laughter died in his throat when he caught Helen gazing at his lips. Licking them, her eyes widened as she swallowed dryly. “I—”
Without warning, Helen had closed the space between them, kissing him soundly. He froze for a moment. Eyes closing, his hand came to her arm, squeezing just a little, his other holding her hand as he kissed back. She pulled away smiling, just for him to follow with soft kisses, fingertips now brushing her ear. Lips, warm from kissing and coffee, smiled against hers. “We—” He swallowed, trying to clear his throat as he pulled back a fraction from her. “Well…”
“Well?” she asked mischievously, eyes glittering.
“That was almost as good as I remembered,” he told her huskily, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Only almost?” she replied, eyebrow arched.
“You’re next to me, not against me,” he whispered into her ear, dropping a kiss behind it. Delighting in her gasp, he did it again, watching as she grinned up to the ceiling.
“Nikola,” she warned softly, suddenly very aware they were in the window of a café and necking like teenagers. Looking into his eyes, she arched an eyebrow, smirking when he realised that they weren’t alone in the room, the tiniest flush brought to his cheeks.
Unrepentant, he drank more of his coffee, glad that happier waves replaced those nervous ones, sparkling with hope and desire.
“You’re just as bad as you were at school,” she muttered, sipping her tea, grinning as they sat side by side.
He held his hand to his chest in mock outrage, turning to her. “Me? Whose idea was it to break into Mr Young’s office and swap his copy of Hamlet for The Lion King? And the tank in the history room?”
“Yours!” she replied, her knees knocking his as she faced him, eyes wide. “Both times, you.” She canted her head from side to side. “Was fun though.”
“So glad you get those waves from people, mine comes and goes…”
Helen’s confusion was written on her furrowed eyebrows. “What did you say?”
Nikola looked just as confused. “So glad you get those waves from people?”
“You… you sense emotion?” she asked quietly, the blood pounding in her ears.
He rubbed his ear. “Uh… not fully? Just some…”
“Some?”
Nikola shrugged. “Remember Mrs Fraiser?”
“The biology teacher?”
He nodded. “Her, and a couple of girls in college…” He chanced a glance before looking away guiltily. “You.”
The air in the cafe left her as the whispered admission reached her ears. Wordlessly, her mouth opened and shut for a few seconds before she shook her head. “I… I have to go.” Almost as if the hounds of hell were on her heels, she dashed out the café, leaving her scarf behind.
Nikola watched in confusion. Cursing silently, he grabbed the scarf and dashed out the door, hoping Helen hadn’t gone too far.
“I’m not doing this again,” he told her, catching up to her in a side alley, the side alley. She stopped, but didn’t turn. He sighed. “You left your scarf.” She still wouldn’t turn to face him. Stepping up to her, he unwound the knitted material, rubbing the softened wool between his fingers, before draping it over the back of her neck. “I…” He sighed.
“Wait.” Her voice was soft.
“Why, Helen?”
She straightened her shoulders. “You tell me,” she said, whirling round so fast her hair fanned out.
He shook his head, his brow furrowing. “You tell me. They’re your emotions.”
She bristled. “You’re the one reading them! Why…” She took a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? Ever?”
“I did!” he answered vehemently.
“When?”
Nikola opened his mouth but no sound came out. Huffing, Helen threw her hands up in exasperation. That seemed to help Nikola find his vocal chords. “Saturday!”
Helen's brow furrowed. “No, you didn't.”
He held up his hand. “I did. You asked if I was psychic now.”
Her eyes widened. “You said only with her, me…” A growl of frustration escaped before she added, “I thought you were just being you!”
“Yeah, well, now you know,” he replied, sarcasm tinting his words. He rubbed his ear. “I'm sorry if it's made you uncomfortable.”
Helen wrapped her arms around her waist, shaking her head. “It... It surprised me.”
He chuckled darkly. “Surprised me too, first time. Never had it before… Before you moved here.”
She stepped next to him, trying to read his face. “What was I doing?”
“Sitting in the library, reading some book. Must have been good,” he murmured, inching a bit closer to her.
“Why?” she asked, smiling slightly.
He licked his lips, his eyes flicking to hers before looking at her eyes again. His cheeks flushed. Helen realised what day he meant. She'd been reading a retelling of Red Riding Hood that definitely wasn't a child's fairy tale. She had snuck it to school so she’d have something decent to read. She flushed too, looking away and biting her lip. “Oh!” Looking back at him, her head tilted slightly, she added, “No wonder you didn't say anything.”
His shark like grin graced his face. “How would you have reacted if I asked what was turning you on?”
Groaning, she covered her face. “Oh heavens, how embarrassing.”
Wrapping his arms around her, he said, “Not really. I didn't know that I had fully felt your emotions until after I left the library...”
Her face contorted as she remembered, “You left with me, to go to... English?”
He rolled his eyes. “Left the library three weeks later, without you.” He shrugged before brushing some hair behind her ear. “I just liked how easy you were to talk to.”
“And now?” she whispered.
“Now?”
She smiled. “I have no idea what you're feeling.”
Nikola quirked one of his eyebrows as he licked his lips again. His voice low, his gaze holding hers, he replied, “If you can't figure that out...” before he kissed her again. He held her close, resting his hands on her waist, his tongue brushing against her lips, her arms around his neck. With every moan he elicited he nipped her lips, flexed his fingers against her coat (wishing he was touching flesh, though whose wish it was, he wasn’t sure), stroked her tongue with his, melting with her in the alley. It was only when they heard teenagers catcalling they pulled apart, panting slightly, their eyes glazed.
“Wow.”
He nodded in agreement, before kissing her again, softer, a press of lips on lips. Resting his forehead on hers, he breathed deeply. “Yeah. Wow.” Another kiss. And another. And a third, a fourth, a fifth, until she started laughing. Smiling, he kept kissing her, anywhere his lips could lay claim.
Anything to keep that wave of joy crashing against him.