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Her paperwork is multiplying. That’s the only possible explanation. Helen is more than reasonably sure she has filled out this exact report multiple times, right down to her signature at the end. (A little voice in her head that sounds quite a bit like Will points out that she hasn’t slept in days, and that’s a more logical explanation for her bafflement than her paperwork cloning itself. She firmly tells that voice to take a stroll; Will is out on a mission, and her subconscious absolutely does not get to fill in.)
She blinks once, then twice, scanning the first line of the page. Deep down, she knows it must be logical, but it feels like a string of unconnected words scattered on the paper. Perhaps she really should sleep.
Then again, that would be surrender. Besides, in her line of work, she hardly knows when she’ll have the next bout of free time; she should take advantage and get caught up. At the very least, she should finish this file.
No sooner has she made the decision than she hears a knock on the door. So, her reprieve is over, then. Wonderful. Hopefully this isn’t anything too terribly urgent. (On the other hand, if Nikola is here to complain about her wine selection again, she might just throttle him on principle.)
“Yes?”
Her office door creaks open, and Henry steps through. “Hey, Doc.”
She cannot help but smile. “Henry. Is everything alright?”
He shifts on his feet uncertainly, and concern flickers in her chest, but she tamps it down. She may not be Will, but she does have some basic deductive powers, and he doesn’t seem panicked; simply uncomfortable.
“Yeah, I just… You got a minute?”
“Of course. Take a seat.”
He settles in across from her, and she looks him over. She hasn’t seen him this nervous since the last time Ashley got them both into trouble, and he keeps stealing glances at her door, as if he’s half-contemplating making a break for it.
She arches a brow expectantly, and he clears his throat.
“Right. Sorry, I was just-I wanted to ask you something.”
Taking a deep breath, signaling for him to do the same, she replies. “You can ask me anything, Henry. You know that.”
“Right. Right. Here’s the thing: I know we don’t really talk about it much. Or, you know, at all. But I haven’t just known you forever; you took care of me. You and the Big Guy, you raised me. The only parents I really remember. Closest thing, anyway.”
Her heart swells, and she opens her mouth to reply-though what she’s going to say, she isn’t certain; words of the heart have never come easily for her, but she knows this moment calls for them-but he plows on, apparently determined to get the words out now that he’s started.
“And I’m not trying to replace-I mean, I don’t want to overstep, you know? Because I know it’s different, and-”
Enough. “Henry, I’ve always thought of you as my own,” she says frankly, surprised by how easily the words come. “And my old friend feels the same.”
His smile, small and startled, breaks her heart a little. He does know, doesn’t he? Surely this cannot come as a shock to him, after everything. She may not always be the most gifted at expressing her feelings, but surely she has at least made that much clear, hasn’t she? He knows how incredibly dear to her he is. He must.
When he doesn’t immediately respond, she frowns. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?”
It seems to shake him from his disbelief. He straightens, shaking his head. “Really, I wanted to talk to you about Alice.”
“Ah.” Asking her to be Alice’s godmother, most likely. She’s been named godmother to dozens of children over the years; parents quite like entrusting their children to a woman who will inevitably outlive them. Most often, she declines, but she already knows she won’t refuse Henry.
“See, Erika doesn’t really have… Family. Not good family, anyway. And we were just thinking, we’d really like our kid to have some grandparents.”
Oh. The breath leaves her in a rush, chest tightening. She never would have even dreamed of asking for this, but Henry’s not only offering her this gift, he’s framing it as if she’d be doing him the favor.
“So we were wondering if Alice could call you grandma,” he says, all in a rush, words nearly running together. When she doesn’t respond immediately (she still cannot find the air to speak), he hurriedly adds, “Or, you know, grandmother. Gram. Granny. Gigi. Whatever. Or if you don’t want that, she could just-”
Silly, silly boy. (Not a boy, she knows. A man, for many years now. Soon, he’ll look older than her, and doesn’t that just ache to think about? When he was a child, people assumed he was her blood, but one day soon they’ll assume he’s her father. And yet, in her mind, she will always remember the frightened young boy she once saved.)
“I’d be honored.” It’s absolutely true, and she wills him to believe it. “I’d like to think about what specific name she’ll use, but yes, certainly.”
“Really?” His smile lights up the room now, and she can’t help but smile in return, the reality of the situation settling in. She’s going to have a grandchild. (Oh dear; that makes her sound terribly old, doesn’t it? In reality, she could have a great-great-great grandchild by now, or more, but sometimes, she still feels too young for it.) “That’s great! I mean, thanks, Doc.”
He hesitates on the last word, and she knows he must be weighing it. In the end, though, he says nothing; he has called her Doc for nearly three decades, now, and it would feel odd for him to try anything else.
Besides, he doesn’t need to say it; she’s long heard Mother when he’s called her Doc, just as she hopes he hears “I love you” every time she says “Well done, Henry.”
With that settled, he turns to go, and a thought occurs to her.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
Only half-joking, she arches a brow. “Not Granny. ”
He laughs, warm and full, and she allows herself another smile. “Copy that. Hey, how do you think the Big Guy would feel about Pops?”
She tries to picture it, but even closing in on three centuries and thriving on creativity, she cannot manage it. “Promise me that you won’t ask him that until I can see,” she says, shaking her head. Either her old friend will glare until Henry chooses a better nickname (though of course he’ll accept the role), or he’ll promptly fall to tears.
Regardless of what he chooses, she wants to be there to see it.