Tim Drake-Wayne (redrobin) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2013-01-24 08:41:00 |
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He hated leaving Iraq and abandoning his search for Ra’s, but Helena was more important. Going after the cure had been a bit reckless, but it would’ve been worth it to save her. Surely she knew by now the lengths he would go to in order to keep her safe and happy. That included visiting her in quarantine with full protective gear even though he hadn’t gotten sick yet, not even a trace of it. He left Iraq through the door and reappeared in his Red Robin costume at Drake Manor. He quickly changed into fresh, uncontaminated clothes and sped off toward the facility she and Dick were staying at. It took longer than expected, but he still made good time and that was what counted as far as he was concerned. He donned the protective gear she requested and then entered a small visiting room that had been created for this purpose. It was a sterilized room, uncontaminated, and with the protective gear they were both wearing, it would be very unlikely that Tim would get sick. He didn’t want to get sick, of course, but he wanted to see her without the gear, to kiss and hold her like normal people. He stepped into the room first and then she was notified on the other side of the door that he’d done so. That way, she could enter as well. It was a relief to see her, no matter what her state was. She was alive at the moment, and not in such bad a shape that she didn’t feel up to visitors. They only had forty-five minutes. “Hey, how are you?” Tim asked, voice distorted by the microphone inside the safety gear. He moved forward, towards her, to give her a hug. Helena knew better than to think that Tim was coming here just because she wanted it. (She knew he would have, but this time was all about him.) What she wanted was not to be sick, not to feel like every cough was trying to explode directly out of her chest, but in lieu of that, she dressed herself slowly in the suit and went through the decontamination process. It wasn't to protect her or Dick, they were already sick, but to make sure that nothing they had was going to come out. Waiting until he cleared the room, she stepped in and hugged him back tightly. "I'm okay," she said, making a face at the distortion of hearing both their voices over the mics and through the suits. Weird. "You know you shouldn't be here." He felt better, having his arms wrapped around her. What he wanted more than anything was to just take her back to the manor - his manor - and stay with her until they found a cure. They had to find a cure. Tim was slow to let her go and even when he did, he didn’t let her get far. He needed to be touching her in some way just to remind himself that she was there. “I don’t care,” he replied, shaking his head. “I had to see you, Hels.” He wished that he could cup her cheek or run his fingers through her hair. There was a part of him that thought the risk of getting sick would be worth it just for a real touch. “They’re working on a cure and a vaccine. As soon as they’ve got the vaccine, I’ll be back until there’s a cure, okay?” Gotham was falling apart and it would only continue to deteriorate. There was only so much he could do and only so much energy he had left. He’d rather spend it with Hels, reassuring her that everything would be okay even though it was a lie. Tim hated seeing her like this, sick and pale and obviously hurting. He just wanted to take that pain away from her. "You should care," she replied, but her words lacked any bite. Hels didn't want him getting infected or for him to accidentally transmit it to anyone else. That's why she'd taken herself off the streets. Gotham needed every last one of them well. "You see me on facetime," she pointed out though she knew what he meant. It wasn't quite as lonely with Dick here, but Dick wasn't Tim and he was busy trying to put on a brave face for her. She'd almost told him that he needed to stop until she considered that it might help him feel better to do so. Hels wasn't going to take that from him. Much like Tim, and even though she might chastise him for it, she stayed close. "Okay. How are things out there?" They got the news in here and they could follow, to a lesser degree, what was happening inside the hospitals with those infected and the reassurances were beginning to feel more and more like desperate wisps of hope instead of anything real. Tim shook his head and drew her in close again for a moment before leading her over to a wall. He slid down and tugged her down with him, wrapping his arms around her and keeping her close. If this was the last time he was going to see her - and he desperately refused to believe that - then he was going to stay as close to her as possible. He promised himself he’d tell her how he felt, but later. Right now, he just wanted to enjoy every bit of his forty-five minutes. “Facetime isn’t the same, and neither is this,” he replied softly, “but it’s better than nothing.” That much was true. When she asked about Gotham, he shook his head. “It’s bad, and getting worse every day.” There was no point in lying to her. People were sick, dying, and the panic and chaos weren’t making things easier for anyone. “We’ve got the GCPD helping us out though, and the health organizations have quarantined the city as a whole. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” He sounded about as grim as he felt. “Everyone is running on as little sleep as possible. I don’t even think Bruce has taken a break yet,” he added, a bit of a forced smile in his words. He was resting, sort of. At least Oracle had finally taken a break. Even if it had only been an hour and a half. It sounded grim, but at least it wasn't the same desperate hope any longer. Hels tried to look at the glass as half full, but this glass was getting less and less water in it as it grew. "You all need to rest," she said quietly. "We're not going to be of any use to Gotham if we're all sick." Leaning against him, she tried to get as close as the suit would allow. Hels didn't want to think about all the ifs: if this was the last time, if she didn't see Kara again, if she died down here in this bunker, because that's where it was going to end, wasn't it? Death. She closed her eyes and slowly wrapped one arm around his middle. All this talk about the people and taking care of one another reminded her of something else. "There are kittens at the Manor. Wayne Manor. One kitten is Damian's but she needs special care." Because no matter what Ra's said about cats being safe, she wasn't going to believe him. "Will you take care of her? She's a fighter." Maybe that needed to be her name, but she was Damian's to name. "She's mostly on milk but she's eating some wet food now, no dry food." In theory, they did all need rest. They’d never actually get it though and Tim was okay with that. So long as he wasn’t dozing off in the middle of grappling between buildings or moving across rooftops, he was fine. He’d take his few hours when he absolutely needed it. “Jason doesn’t think he will get sick, because of the Lazarus Pit. I haven’t gotten sick yet, and neither has Bruce or Barbara. I hope it stays that way at least, because that’s the only thing that’s likely at the moment.” He was only a little bitter about that. He wished she was better. Dick too, and Selina and Stephanie. “You’ll all be better soon though,” Tim said, trying to be optimistic for her. “Of course I can. I’ll go over there after I leave here,” he promised, nuzzling her plastic covered head just slightly because he couldn’t kiss her. He just held her tighter in response. “I’ll pick up some wet food on my way, too.” Just in case. There were so many ‘just in case’s running through his mind that it was enough to drive him to silence. He should tell her, just in case this was his last chance. He should keep it to himself, just in case it wasn’t or just in case she didn’t feel the same way. She should know, Spencer advised quietly, and Tim wanted that to be true. So desperately, did he want her to know and to return the feelings he had for her. “Hels...” he shifted slightly so he could look at her. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Just, in a moment, he thought to himself. One more moment. "There should be plenty of food. I got a couple cases just before this happened," she said quietly. It was good to know who wasn't sick, but worse to think of who wasn't on that list. Selina. Dick. At least Damian was in Vegas so he couldn't get sick -- or that's what she hoped. Stephanie. Her thoughts were interrupted by his tone and she glanced up, sucking in a sharp breath. Was it bad news? Some news that hadn't made it through their channels yet? It didn't sound good, whatever it was that Tim had to tell her and she almost, almost, wanted to tell him to wait. "If it's bad news, I don't want it," Hels said quietly as she looked up at him. "I don't. I don't want to know if it's bad." “Okay,” he replied. The food didn’t matter, not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. Food for people, clean food and water were hard to come by. He would have been able to scrounge up cat food for a kitten if necessary. She told him that she didn’t want to know if it was bad news and that made Tim pause. Would it be so bad to tell her how he felt? Was that bad news? Tim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s bad news, Hels. I don’t think it is, but it’s all subjective,” he explained, leaning back against the wall. “I hope it’s not a bad thing. It’s not bad to me. A little scary maybe, but not bad.” Or maybe it was bad. “The timing is all wrong, I know. I’m sorry. Kara’s showing up, I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way or if you’d be interested in me feeling this way.” He was rambling, he knew. He took a deep breath. “I love you, Hels.” There. He’d said it. Now hopefully she didn’t laugh in his face. Her brows drew together when he started rambling about Kara and it being the right timing. And then he said it. It. Italics and bold face print, even in her brain. She sucked in a breath of air, not expecting the words that came tumbling out of his mouth, and triggered another coughing spell. Even sitting on the ground as she was, she doubled over, small flecks of blood appearing on the clear face plate of the suit. Hels tried to calm down, one arm going around her own middle, the other palm smacking to the floor to help keep her on her knees as the coughing only grew worse, tears flooding her eyes. She felt the cough rattling down her throat, into her chest and before she knew it, she was gagging, throwing up nothing but blood and splattering it all over the clear protector. "You have--" she tried to force out of her irritated throat, hand leaving the floor as she rocked forward, the head of the suit to the ground while she pushed at him. "Go!" She didn't want him to see this and now there was blood in her suit. What was that going to do for keeping him uncontaminated? "Go!" Everything stopped for him, between when he admitted to loving her and when the coughing started. That was the beginning of the end as far as he was concerned. She pulled away from him but it didn’t stop him from putting a hand to her back as she braced herself on the floor. Watching her cough so hard that it wracked her body was physically painful, a deep ache right in his gut that he fought through because there was nothing he could do to help her. She had to suffer, no matter how much it hurt either of them. Tim wished he could take it all away from her, to suffer in her place, but he couldn’t and wishing was for fools. “No! I’m not going. I’m not leaving you!” Tim insisted, trying to hold her steady. The blood terrified him. “I can’t leave you. Not like this.” He refused, because he’d already seen part of it and what else could be worse? How much worse could it possibly be? Tim didn’t want to know but he also couldn’t let her be alone for it. "Go!" She yelled, her entire body swaying as she forced the word out from aching vocal cords. A sharp inhale brought all the scents of blood and vomit, her body tensing as she tried to swallow down the urge. It didn't help and more blood shot out to cover the clear plate. For one irrational moment, she was afraid that she'd end up puking and puking and puking until she filled up the whole suit with it and ended up drowning in her own blood. She had to get this suit </i>off</i>. Staggering to her feet, Tim at her back, she stumbled towards the lock on her side of the bunker. Was he an idiot? Didn't he know he needed to leave? That she didn't want him to see this? With a sound that was more animal than human, she turned and pushed him with the last of the strength she had and fell into the open airlock, the heel of her hand smacking into the button that would close the door with her on one side and him on the other. “NO!” He was yelling, louder than he’d ever yelled before, but it didn’t matter. She was up and moving toward the airlock that would keep her from him for good. Tim tried to stop her, but it was half-hearted. He didn’t want to see it, not really. She pushed him and then fell back through the airlock and he saw her push the button half a second before the door started to close. He lunged, but it didn’t matter. His fist connected with the door and it was shatterproof. “HELENA!” He pounded against the door, but it wouldn’t open. The tears started then, because there was nothing else he could do. “Hels...” he whimpered, but the pounding ceased and he dropped to his knees in front of the door, his hand flat against it. “I love you,” he repeated, almost desperately. Hels could hear him, even over the rush and whirr of the decontamination spray. Breathing was a higher priority as she worked to do so and not cough, not throw up, but small wracking coughs still left her shuddering as she half-crawled, half-walked through the chamber, her hand on the wall for balance. As soon as the light on the far door turned green, she fell through, yanking the hood off with one hand so she could breathe and curled onto her side, her back to Tim. Her ribs hurt. Her stomach hurt. And every few breaths she took, her body tightened further as she brought up small amounts of blood. She needed to stop coughing right now and she knew it. Swallowing against the urge to cough, she sucked in another deep breath after and swallowed again, convulsively as if she could keep the air in. Anything not to cough. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t watch her like that, but he couldn’t leave her either. So he compromised and closed his eyes, squeezing them tight even though tears fell from his lashes. He could hear her coughing subside, hear the wooshing deep breaths, and he prayed to God that it was over for the moment. “Helena, Hels-” Tim banged on the door once more. “I’m not leaving you, Hels. Not like this, not alone.” He knew Dick was there, consciously, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t anywhere near the same. She could hear him banging -- anyone probably could, but she didn't move towards the noise. Certain things were a priority, like breathing. Eventually the worst was done and she was left panting on the floor. Her body hurt like she'd run a race, but much worse. A bone deep weariness, not just the fatigue that came after a good workout, but something else entirely. Reaching out slowly, she grabbed the hood and pulled her comm out, but she didn't turn towards him yet. "You need to go, Tim. Please. I don't want you getting this," her voice was raspy, and every word threatened to make her cough again. “I’m not leaving you,” he insisted, but even as he said the words, he knew it was a lie. He was going to leave her because that was what she wanted, because if he didn’t leave now, then he’d never leave her. Gotham needed him and she knew that. “I’ll always come,” he promised. “Always.” Tim pushed himself to his feet and turned his back to the glass separating them. “I love you, Hels. Have for a while now.” He shook his head and wiped away his tears, a deep shuddering breath following. “Hang in there. We’ll find a cure. I promise.” She wanted to say it back, wished she could have, but she couldn't. What she felt wasn't like the sisterly affection she felt for Damian, nor the slight awe she sometimes felt towards Dick (this Dick wasn't her mentor, but he was still a friend), nor was it like the relationships she had with Selina or Bruce. It wasn't like what she felt towards Kara either, but that was closer. It was still... different. And there were too many other things to think about other than how she might or might not feel about Tim Drake. "Please, Tim," she said softly into the comm. "Don't get sick." His only reply was a strangled sort of noise. It had been stupid of him to say anything. So stupid. He left the safe room and stripped out of the containment suit. He needed to get away, to forget about what just happened because if he forgot, then maybe he could forget that she didn’t say it back. Whatever the case was, Tim walked out of there without his heart because it belonged to Helena Wayne just then, broken or whole, it didn’t matter. It was hers and he hoped it helped get her through this. It would all be worth it then. |