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Her mind is wandering. That’s never good.
She should really talk to someone about Terra Nova; it’s too much to be carrying around. The images belong in a horror film, not in her mind. The Eagle exploding before they can get Alan out of it, Paul practically dead before he even hits the ground, losing Sandra in the storm, and the Moon- God, the Moon. She can’t even think the words.
And then there’s John, taking his last breaths, saying his last words, shoving her into the space between the rocks so she doesn’t have to die with him.
But to be alone, in that hell? It might have been preferable to die.
“Circumstances being what they are,” Victor says, “if we ever do find a suitable planet, we’re going to want to be making babies.”
Somehow the subject has turned to fraternization. That will teach Helena not to pay attention. They haven’t really had the chance to visit this subject in any kind of detail. Getting their bearings and surviving has taken most of their time.
“We can’t possibly keep anyone from doing it now,” Victor continues. “All these young people here with us need to get their energy out somehow.”
John nods from across the table. “And we’ve already lost some.” He pauses and looks at Helena. “Would we be able to support children here, now?”
“We could do it,” she replies. To be crass about it, the deaths mean there’s room for error. “Not many, I would think. But we could do it.”
John nods again. “It’s going to be necessary eventually. We might as well let them lay the groundwork now, if they want to.”
“Even section heads?” Helena asks, before she even realizes what she’s saying. It isn’t as if she’ll be contributing to population growth. They’ll need young, healthy participants, and forty-five is seriously pushing it. Especially out here, with death lurking around every corner.
John looks at her again, long enough for Victor shifting in his chair to be loud. John’s gaze falls to the table.
“If both parties feel sufficiently inspired, why not?” Victor says. “We don’t exactly have the luxury of worrying over the moral ramifications of relationships between leaders and subordinates.”
Again, John glances at her.
“Let’s not shy away from physical contact,” Helena says. “People have to know they can be comfortable.” Not to mention this place needs all the warmth it can get.
“All right,” John agrees, rising from the table. The meeting’s finished, then.
Physical contact. It’s almost as if she was watching herself say the words outside of her own body.
When everything on Terra Nova was fixed, she held his hand. He let her do it.
John Koenig would shove anyone out of danger. That’s just the sort of man he is. It isn’t more complicated than that.
---
John pulls her aside one morning and asks, his voice low, “Are you all right?”
It’s the fifth or sixth time he’s asked her since the Tritonians.
“Goodness, John, yes,” she answers with a smile.
He still won’t give it up. “I’m here if you want to talk,” he says.
Sure. She can imagine it now: My entire body was hijacked and made to do all sorts of things I didn’t want to do, but yes, let’s talk about that.
“Thank you, John,” she says matter-of-factly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got charts to read.”
Somewhere around lunch is when she realizes she does, actually, want to talk. The only other person who knows what she went through is dead and confronting it before it festers isn’t the worst idea.
In the evening, in the middle of reviewing reports, she calls John. When he answers, she says, “It’s about your offer. I think I’d like to take you up on it.”
He sets something down out of view. “When?”
“Now, if you have time.”
“Of course,” John says.
They agree to meet in his quarters. She’s gotten a little stiff, and the walk will be good for her. When she arrives, he’s at the door much faster than she expects and he immediately ushers her inside.
“Would you like some water?” he asks.
She nods. “I would.”
His quarters are sparse, but organized. Victor’s quarters aside, they’re all like this, really; no one ever thought this would be anything close to a permanent home. She spies the rows of books on his shelves, but can’t make out any of the titles from here.
“You know,” she says, turning to him, “I walked all the way here and now I’m not really sure what to say.” How can she describe the feeling of powerlessness, the dread of awaiting the next activation? Of not knowing whether the next time will be the one that melts her brain in her skull?
All she can do is look at him and shrug.
He sets the water down. Cautiously, he comes to her. He looks like he might say something, but nothing comes. Instead, he closes the remaining space between them and puts his arms around her.
She has to admit she’s a little startled. This is certainly not talking.
They did just decide not to shy away from physical contact. But that was intended for public displays. A hand on an arm in the hallway, a hug in Main Mission in a moment of collective joy. Not an embrace in his quarters with no one else around.
It occurs to her that if she continues to stand here unmoving, he’ll stop, so she wraps her arms around him in return. John is warm and easy to lean into. Strong and steady, as he has been since the moment she met him.
It might not be talking, but it’s doing the job. The hug tightens just a bit, and she can’t figure out which one of them is doing it.
Yes, she was terrified. But is it possible that John was even more frightened than she was?
Helena shuts her eyes and breathes, slow and measured.
---
“Did you know I married?”
Even if no one told her, Helena knows the answer. Looking at her other self – older, softer, contented – she knows.
“You married John Koenig,” she replies, without hesitation.
She already knows what it’s like to be a widow. How the other Helena went through it a second time while staying sane, she has no idea.
Seeing her kiss him, with everyone watching – it makes her legs want to give out under her.
She looks at the flowers, standing strong in the soil of that Earth, as she tries to draft a report. Her pen trembles above the page.
It’s... returning. To you. To myself. And through you, finding all those I love, including John.
She wrests the paper from her clipboard and tears it into pieces, each one smaller than the last. She takes the entire pile, with both hands, and shoves it into the recycler all at once.
---
Victor and Helena look at each other, jaws dropped. They’ve both reached the same part of John’s report.
“You wanted to stay?” Victor asks, aghast.
John won’t look at either of them, his gaze firmly out the window.
“It wasn’t rational,” he says.
Absolutely not. Honestly, she’s surprised John’s mind isn’t just Swiss cheese. It’s remarkable everything turned out as well as it did. Telepathic experiments, trying to starve himself, a young (so to speak) girl manipulating his mind to try to get him to stay with her.
That girl did manipulate his mind, didn't she?
When John first gave them this report, he said nothing and walked to the window like he was preparing for a funeral. His expression has been indecipherable ever since.
“Do you regret coming back?” Helena asks.
John whips around, alarmed. She hadn’t meant it to be accusatory. It’s just that she hadn’t thought anything would pull anyone away from the group. It’s the first time she’s considered the possibility that some people might split off, not coming with them to wherever they all end up.
“No,” John finally responds. He turns his attention back out the window.
Victor gives her a look and nods toward the office door. They should leave him be for now.
Something makes her stop. She can’t help but be reminded of herself, staring out the windows on the balcony in Main Mission, watching Terra Nova recede until it disappeared into black space. Whatever John’s feeling will stay with him for some time.
Helena turns and gives Victor’s arm a squeeze. He nods with a soft smile and leaves the office.
Silently, she comes to stand beside John. Space is as dark as ever, but she focuses on the stars, watching each one go by as they drift along.
“Helena,” John says softly. He’s searching for words, but settles on, “Thank you.”
“Of course,” she responds.
They stand together for a long while, Helena counting the stars in her head.
---
People scurry through the corridors, heads down. A giant walk of shame for everyone involved. Some people put their arms around themselves, others don’t bother. Some of the men who kept their shirts on now have them off, draped around the shoulders of their female friends, shielding them from wandering eyes.
“I want to see everybody in Medical,” Helena says. “I mean it, the whole base. We’re checking everyone.”
John nods. “That makes sense.”
Helena points to him. “You especially, I want you in Diagnostic right now. Last I remember, you had a giant gash on your forehead, and I want to know where it went.” She grabs his arm to lead him there.
“Ah, Helena-” John says, stopping in his tracks. She pulls at him and again, he says, “Helena!”
“What?”
He’s looking at her, but not at her face. He seems distracted. With some trepidation, he comes around, positioning himself in front of her. He gently grabs her shoulders.
“You might want to change first,” he says.
Oh. Right. She, too, got comfortable on Piri. These robes really are short, and her legs are getting cold.
John gives her two awkward pats on the arm, turns, and leaves. Helena stares after him, shocked.
“Diagnostic!” she finally yells after him.
“I’ll be there!” He gives her an affirmative wave, but doesn’t turn around.
Helena stands there, somewhat dumbly, she thinks.
Victor strolls up beside her. “Well,” he says, “we’ve confirmed his eyes are working.”
Helena rubs her forehead. “At least you kept your clothes on.”
“I think that’s lucky for all of us.”
They were both running around together not even thirty minutes ago. Three hundred people available to him, and he chose her. He could have taken anyone to help him; Victor was right next to her. But he chose her.
So is it really necessary for him to be retreating now like he’s scared of her?
The flow of people back into the base is unceasing. The women seem to have plenty of chivalrous escorts.
Maybe she would have liked to have one, too.
What a juvenile thought. She’s an adult. She can go to her quarters on her own.
Still, her face flushes and she tugs at the bottom of her robe as she begins her own walk of shame.
---
At first, the joy of having Sue and the baby back chases everything else away. It’s difficult to resist the temptation to hover, but Sue doesn’t remember any of it, and it’s better that way.
It’s not until later that the first nightmare comes. It’s not about turning off anyone’s life support, and it’s not about anyone holding a gun to their own head. It’s about her hands around John’s throat, crushing his airway, his eyes locked with hers while he lays on the floor, unmoving.
Jarak stands above them both, his eyes cold, and she screams at him, begs him to stop this, offers up anything and everything he could want just to make this end. It’s an hysterical stream of words that changes nothing. She can’t pull away and she can’t move her hands, and as her tears drop onto John’s face, he mouths her name.
She wakes up shaking so much she can hardly move, sobbing into her hands with little control.
The next night is the same, and the night after that, and the night after that. No matter how much she cries, it doesn’t get any less vivid. It feels as if someone has reached through her skin and grabbed her heart, squeezing it.
On the fifth day, Victor gives her a call.
“I want to run something by you,” he says. “When do you have some time today?”
“Right now, actually” she tells him, and heads over to his quarters to meet him.
When she gets inside and the door shuts behind her, Victor’s expression is soft and concerned.
“You look like hell,” he says quietly. “What’s happened?”
That’s all it takes for the dam to break. She bursts into tears. Victor puts his arms around her and she clings to him, crying into his shoulder.
“Every night, Victor,” she says between sobs. “I see it over and over again. With my own damn hands. But it’s never Bob: it’s John. I’m killing him with my own hands every night.”
“Let it out,” Victor says. There’s little choice now; she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to.
At some point, he sits her down and brings her tea, which she somehow manages to sip. It’s smooth and warm and she feels herself center a little.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Victor responds.
She shakes her head and puts the tea down on the desk. “You’re not a counselor.”
Victor chuckles. “They never did find the funding for that, did they?”
“I can’t burden you with this,” Helena says.
Victor sits down beside her and takes both her hands. “You can,” he says. “You must. How can you care for the rest of us if you can’t care for you?”
He’s right, of course, and being so gentle. He’s not scolding her, and she appreciates it.
“Who does this for you?” she asks.
He shrugs. “I manage between you and John.”
Her head feels heavy and her shoulder muscles are burning. “I’m afraid,” she admits. “I’m so afraid of what will be next.” Who’s getting controlled next, who’s crashing in an Eagle, who’s getting shot, who’s coming to her in Medical transformed into something unknowable? It’s all too much.
There are days she wonders what the hell they’re doing here. The entire universe seems to move against them at times, and they think they can live? They think they can survive it all before their resources run out, find some place to sustain them, and live? They really think they can be happy out here in the darkest corners of space?
“I like to hope what’s next will be beautiful,” Victor says eventually. “Otherwise, I might go mad.”
That night, she has one dream. She’s on the floor, besieged by pain, when she hears her name. John appears, emerging through a thick fog. He takes her hand and the pain vanishes. When he pulls her up, it’s as if she were never hurt at all.
She throws her arms around him. That’s what she wants. It’s him she wants to cry to, it’s him she wants to hold her, just like before, in his quarters. She wants to hold him and be held by him and doesn’t want either of them to ever let go.
She wakes up on her back, staring at the ceiling in the darkness. Her heart rate is stable, and everything seems clear, like a missing puzzle piece has finally slipped into place.
---
The planet is tiny and purple, like a lavender bud.
That’s about all they have time to digest before someone screams.
Alan backs away from the rest of them, looking down at himself. He’s transparent, and he’s fading away fast. Paul leaps from his seat to try to get to him, but his hands pass through Alan’s body, and then he disappears completely.
More start to go, seemingly at random. Tanya tries to fight, as if she’s swatting away invisible assailants, but there’s no one there. Others run, trying to outmaneuver whatever’s happening to them. They, too, disappear.
“Get me anything!” John shouts. “I don’t care what it is, get something on somebody! And don’t-”
Helena feels the color drain from her face. It’s the fact that John stops talking that tells her what she’ll see when she turns around. Sure enough, John’s staring through his own hand. He looks at her from across the room, and time slows to a crawl.
Not like this. Not one of them being taken again, not having to watch helplessly as this happens to John.
She sprints to him, straining to reach him before he’s gone. But it’s too late: she runs through him, and there’s nothing to grab.
Victor and Paul, thank God, take charge. They’re giving orders and collecting information (what little of it they have) while Helena stares at her empty hands.
There’s a spark in her chest, blossoming into a flame. Her hands shake, but it isn’t from fear. It’s anger. They’re innocent people, wandering through space with outmatched defenses, just trying to make it to the next day. How dare people do this to them, over and over again? For science or for malice, it doesn’t matter. How dare they?
They almost die at a rate that would put trained soldiers to shame, and she hasn’t told John how she feels. And now she might not have the chance at all.
No. She will. She’ll have the chance, because she’ll tear him out of wherever he’s being held with her bare hands.
They’ll have two Eagles ready to go in ten minutes, so she heads to her quarters to prepare. There really isn’t much to prepare – her commlock, her laser, and she already has those. If they had suits of armor, that might be more helpful.
It’s more of a ritualistic visit before they depart. Her gaze falls on Lee’s picture, then to the flowers of that other Earth, their orange petals bright and striking against the white in her quarters.
She straightens her ring before leaving and doesn’t look back.
---
Victor and Paul and Kano devise a rescue plan. It’s not so much a plan as it is flying blind, but it’s all they have. They’ve detected a large underground structure and not much else, so it seems to be the place to go.
Kano grabs a final printout from Computer and hands it to Victor, except that Victor can’t take it because the paper goes through his hand and flutters to the floor.
It seems to happen all at once this time. Victor, Paul, Sandra, and Helena herself, all staring through each other while Main Mission goes dark around them.
Kano’s expression is hopeless. They didn’t even get a chance to start the plan.
“We’ll be back,” Helena says to him. “Keep the lights on for us.”
Kano straightens and nods. “We will,” he says, and then everything plunges into darkness.
Despite the blackness all around, they can see each other perfectly. There are about 20 of them here, wherever here is. Helena takes a step forward and kicks something. A rock. There’s dirt underneath them.
Before them, a red dome illuminates, pulsating vividly. And within the dome hover all the vanished Alphans, suspended like they’ve been crucified. They hear a few moans, but most aren’t moving. Helena’s blood runs cold at the sight of John in the front, motionless, his head down.
“We’ve got to help them!” someone yells in a panic.
“There’s got to be a mechanism somewhere!”
A voice booms in their heads, so loudly that they all instinctively cover their ears.
NO.
Victor asks the obvious question: “What are you doing to our people?!”
STUDY. The shield turns gold.
“They’ll die like this!” Helena yells. “You’re hurting them!”
UNDESIRABLE. The shield turns back to red.
“Then let them go!” Sandra pleads.
SCIENCE, they say, the shield turning green.
“This isn’t science!” Helena shouts, enraged. “It’s torture!”
Beside her, Paul raises his laser and says, “Maybe it’s time we do our own study.”
Before he can fire, the shield pulses so hard they can all feel it in their chests. An audible surge of energy kicks off while the shield flashes again to red. Victor yells for all of them to get down.
With dizzying speed, the shield shoots out a barrage of red spikes. One of them flies by Helena’s face, buzzing dangerously as she and Victor drop to the ground. It feels and sounds like an electrical storm shooting past, and she hears everyone else cry out behind them.
When it stops, she and Victor look back to find everyone on the ground some distance away. No one was spared, except for the two of them.
The shield turns green, its light growing brighter, and the people inside begin to scream. This can’t go on.
They need to check out the group behind them before anything else. A few moan in pain, but most are unconscious. Everyone has a pulse, to Helena’s relief.
Paul groans in the middle of the pile of bodies, gritting his teeth.
“Don’t move,” Helena tells him.
“Couldn’t if I wanted to,” Paul chokes out. “I’m numb all over.” His forehead shines with sweat. “But... it hurts.”
The screams quiet down. Helena doesn’t want to leave Paul and the others, but they need to see what the situation is behind the shield while they have an opportunity. It remains green, humming quietly.
Someone coughs and calls out, “Who’s out there?”
“Alan,” Victor realizes, and they run around the dome until they find him. He’s visibly struggling, breathing heavily.
“Alan, can you hear me?” Helena asks.
Alan raises his head as best he can. “I hear you.” He’s obviously not okay, so there’s no point in asking.
“Tell us what’s happened,” Victor says.
Alan shakes his head. “Don’t know,” he answers. “The younger ones... not doing great. We tried...” He takes a shuddering breath. “Tried to protect them.” He looks at Victor and Helena, then says, “Get out of here.”
“Not without the rest of you,” Helena says.
The younger ones. She glances over the group inside the shield, and sure enough, everyone on the younger side of the spectrum is out completely. Everyone on the floor under thirty had been knocked right out, too. Paul and Alan managed to stay conscious, and of course, she and Victor are standing. But that doesn’t explain John, who shouldn’t be down if this really has something to do with age. Something must have happened when he and Alan tried to protect the rest of the group.
There has to be something they’re missing.
“Helena,” Victor says. “Did you see that?”
It takes her a moment, but then it’s obvious. The shield is faltering, or so it appears. It goes through a sort of cycle, fizzling in and out, its pulsating weak and tired. It’s much different from the threatening, powerful force that attacked them moments ago.
Then, Helena finally sees what’s going on with John. There’s a sustained red pulse behind him, beating strongly. It’s about the only thing in the room right now that looks like it has any stability.
Victor kneels down and picks a rock up from the ground. It’s the size of his palm, and he hefts the weight of it before throwing it into the shield. Turning back to red, the shield warps around the rock, which lies frozen in mid-air for a moment before the shield snaps back like a rubber band, tossing the rock out. It rolls back toward them, kicking up dirt before it comes to a stop.
Helena picks up her own rock and tosses it in. Same result.
“Wait,” Victor murmurs, picking up another rock. This time he pauses, scrutinizing the shield. When the color dulls, looking its weakest, he throws the rock. The shield warps, but this time, the rocks falls further and further inside. There is no moment of snapping – instead, with the shield stretched to its limits, the rock slips through, spit out on the other side.
“They don’t have enough power,” Helena breathes, the probable series of events hitting her in a rush. They can’t handle the load of keeping up the shield, running their “study”, launching an attack, and holding down John.
And if they already can’t do all that, then they just might be able to break through.
Helena takes her laser and her commlock, handing them both to Victor.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m going through,” she says.
“Helena, that was a rock, not a body.” Victor says, stepping in front of her. “We still don’t know what that thing’s made of.”
“We don’t have time to figure it out. We have no mechanism to destroy, nobody can help us, and we don’t know how long it’ll be before it’s back to full strength.” They have to go now, or they might never leave here alive.
Victor looks between her and the shield and back again. Then he removes his own laser and commlock.
“What are you doing?” Helena asks.
“I can’t very well leave you to do this alone.”
Now it’s Helena who steps in front of him. “Not with your heart. We have no idea-”
“Yes,” Victor interrupts. “We have no idea, and like you said, we don’t have time to figure it out. But, we do know a well-timed rock can make it through unscathed, and these people can’t seem to get it together against adults. Besides,” he adds, “I’m older than you, so I should have an even better chance.”
She can’t argue with that. The two of them together might be able to spread the shield too thin to function.
They approach the boundary together, watching for a few moments to get the timing. Victor counts it down, Helena spares one last look at John and the red pulse, and then they both throw themselves onto the shield.
It hurts immediately, like walking into a field of thorns. The shield definitely doesn’t like what they’re doing, springing to life with renewed strength to fight them. The red around them seems darker, angrier. Helena feels a sharp slice on her face, feels it draw blood.
The shield shifts to gold. She glances over at Victor; he’s bleeding, too. A fresh stain of blood on his uniform, along his arm. The shield hisses like an animal around them, with that same powerful hum they can feel in their chests, but they’re making progress. It’s like pushing against cloth, growing more and more taught. Sooner or later, it has to snap.
There’s a tingling in her limbs, a numbness creeping up her body. It’s just like Paul’s description: a painful numbing bubbling up all over. She focuses on the ground beneath them, of the crunch of their boots in the dirt.
Victor lets out a pained gasp. He’s gripping his chest. This is exactly what she was afraid of.
“Go back!” Helena yells at him.
Victor shakes his head and pushes on. He scores a few more cuts before he slips. There is a deep, surging sound, like a wave crashing down, and then Victor flies out, tossed to the ground in an instant.
Without Victor, the force increases. Helena feels the shield pressing against her from every angle, pushing her back. It slices at her quickly, like it’s threatening her: this is what will happen if you don’t stop.
She can’t stop. There’s no one else. If she doesn’t make it to the end, it’s over for everyone on Alpha. She won’t let that happen.
She digs her heels into the dirt, shields her face with her arms, and takes another step.
The shield shifts its color to blue. That’s a new one. Red has appeared in every instance of a negative – the aliens saying no, the shield resisting their advance. Gold came up in times of questioning or uncertainty, green for their plans proceeding as normal. Then what is blue? Fear?
They should be afraid. They should be regretting every decision that led them here today.
The sensation of pushing against cloth returns, tough and tight. She shoves her way through it, feeling it ripping against her arms like cobwebs.
A searing pain explodes through her thigh, making her stumble. A massive line of red erupts on her uniform. She can feel how close she is; she can’t be stopped here.
All it needs is one final push, and the whole thing shreds around her. She falls forward, slamming onto the dirt. The sounds of the shield – the buzzing, the sizzling, the humming – all slow and fade away.
Helena pushes herself up on unsteady arms. She’s a mess, coughing dirt out of her mouth, red splotches all over her uniform, her blood dripping onto the ground. The pain in her leg is unbearable.
Above her, the mechanisms keeping everyone aloft are failing. Their bodies are coming loose from their invisible restraints, but they’re going to fall. She’s right near John.
It’s agonizing, but she stands, scrambling to get to him. He falls right into her arms, but she can’t support the weight of them both with her injured leg. She curls around him, protecting his head as they crash to the ground.
When they settle, she’s frantic for his pulse. It’s there, beating steady beneath her fingers. The relief is dizzying, even laying down.
She tries to catch her breath. When she wipes her hair out of her face, she realizes her hand is fading out. John, too, is transparent in her lap. Anyone she can see is halfway gone already. Wherever they’re going next, they’re going together.
CONCLUDED, she hears, and the Medical Centre ceiling comes into view.
Everything is quiet, save for beeping machinery and a few moans here and there. People end up everywhere there’s room: on the floor, on each other, draped over beds, hanging off of chairs and consoles. What matters is that they’re all here.
Bob appears above her, astonished.
“Doctor Russell,” he says, taking it all in. “What happened?”
Helena shuts her eyes and exhales.
“Lousy science,” she replies.
---
“You look like you’ve been in a pub brawl,” Victor says.
She supposes he’s right; she’s got the most bandages out of all of them. At least it’s all superficial, with the exception of her leg, which will take some time to heal properly.
“Do I at least look like I won?” Helena asks.
“Oh, yes,” Victor assures her with a smile.
People are starting to perk up. Some have been released already and are back to visit others, so it’s just as crowded as when they started. They gave up trying to control it a while ago. This one really scared people, and they need to see each other now.
“I feel fine, by the way,” Victor says. “I don’t need to be taking up this bed.”
Helena sighs. “Humor me with another two hours of observation, and then you can go.”
He gives an affirmative hum, then turns to the bed next to him – John’s bed.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s been semi-conscious a few times,” Helena says. “I haven’t been able to talk to him. Whatever they were doing to him was rough. He’ll probably be out of it for a few more days.” That’s the hardest thing about this: watching the rest of them bounce back while John lies still for hours at a time.
Alan’s still in, but he’s up and around, despite everything. He’ll be feeling it in his face for a while – smashed right on it on his way down, and Helena didn’t have enough arms to catch him, too.
Paul and Sandra sit with him, and they all brighten when Helena arrives.
“There’s the heroine of the hour!” Alan declares.
Helena laughs. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” Alan insists. “You saved us all.”
“You did,” Paul agrees. “Thanks, Doctor.”
Sandra’s beaming. “You were very impressive, Doctor Russell.”
She has to admit, this feels pretty good. But she just did what she had to do. What any of them would do for each other.
“Too bad I have to heal like the rest of you,” she says. She’s been up for a while, and her leg has had enough.
She settles into the chair she’d left beside John’s bed. Bob comes up next to her, frowning.
“You need to get some rest,” he says. “You’ve been pushing your leg too much today.”
She nods. “Just give me a little while longer. I’ll sit,” she promises. Bob seems to accept this deal and leaves her to it.
John’s breathing is peaceful and uniform. It’s good that he keeps sleeping, but it’s still a weary, heavy sleep that drags him under. She’ll feel better when he’s able to fall in and out of it with more ease.
As if responding to her wishes, John stirs. He wakes slowly, blinking to clear his vision. He turns his head toward her.
She smiles at him. “Hi.”
He’s exhausted, but there’s life in his eyes again. He smiles back and takes a breath to respond, but stops. The smile leaves his face.
“Helena,” he says, his voice rough. He reaches out to her, his thumb running over the bandages on her face. “What happened?”
She places her hand over his. “Just a few scrapes.”
He moves to sit up but stiffens and groans immediately, falling back onto the bed.
“Lie still,” Helena says, grabbing an injector. “Your dosage is wearing off. This will help.”
He winces less afterward and turns to her again. “Everyone else okay?” he asks. She nods and he breathes out, relieved.
He studies her face again, processing the sight of all the bandages. “What happened?” he asks for the second time.
“What happened,” Alan says from his bed, “is Doctor Russell told those guys where to shove it.”
“I helped,” Victor chimes in, raising a hand. “But,” he adds, smiling, “Alan’s got it right.”
“I told him he’s exaggerating,” Helena says.
“I’m not,” Alan says.
John’s face loses a lot of its tension and he regards her with... is it pride? Actually, if she didn’t know better, she’d say it looks more like adoration, and she feels a little rush of adrenaline in her chest.
She thinks back to when this started, when a heavy lead ball crashed to the pit of her stomach at the thought of never seeing John again. Of never telling him the truth. Here he is now, attentive and awake, and the base isn’t burning down around them.
It occurs to her that she’s been worrying about telling him, and not worried about hearing it from him. She’ll never hear it from him, she realizes. He needs her to make the first move, needs to know he hasn’t pressured her into anything. He needs to see she came to this of her own accord. He’ll never say anything otherwise. A perfect gentleman, through and through.
“There’s something I should tell you,” Helena says, keeping her voice low.
John’s contented expression turns to alarm. “What is it?”
“It’s all right,” she says. “It’s nothing fatal.”
He calms down a bit. When she doesn’t immediately continue, he murmurs, “Helena?”
She leans in slowly, until her lips are inches from his ear, and whispers, “I’ve fallen in love with you, John.”
The last thing she wants is for him to think she’s putting him on, so she leans back and keeps her eyes on him. At first, he seems shocked, but then gradually, a smile spreads across his face and breaks into a grin. He looks like a kid who’s just been given free rein in a candy store.
“And you,” Helena says, “are full of pain medication and probably won’t remember this.”
He grabs her hand, so quickly it makes her jump a little. His eyes are clear and focused.
“I’ll remember,” he says. “This, I’ll definitely remember.”
A tremendous weight drops from Helena’s shoulders. The relief is so great, she has to wonder what she was doing dragging all that around for this long.
“Good,” she says, smiling. She takes his other hand and brings it to her lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. He squeezes back.
She stays with him as he falls back to sleep. She watches the rise and fall of his chest, feels his hand twitch.
Maybe it’s a terrible idea. It’ll be so much harder when something happens to either of them, when they make decisions the other disagrees with. They’re always holding each other’s lives in their hands.
But it was already excruciating before, so what difference does it make? Like everything else, they’ll take it one day at a time, bracing for whatever comes next.
Although maybe, just maybe, it’ll be like Victor said. Maybe what comes next will be beautiful.