Helena Wells-Quinzel is H.G. Wells (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} indelibleink) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} makebelievelog,@ 2013-01-14 03:07:00 |
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What: After Myka saw Helena's conversation with Finnick, she now wishes to prod the issue(s).
When: Tonight after this
Where: Their bedroom
Warnings: TBA but will say low to medium given the content to be discussed. And Helena has no filter currently so who knows what will come out of her mouth.
Status: Closed/incomplete
It wasn't a wonder why Helena had gotten as sick as she was. Given all the stress she was under, partly due to her younger self having snuck out with the younger Anakin to see the dragons, partly due to her struggling with telling her younger self about her future, and partly due to the stress of a job, it really wasn't a mystery why the flu had escalated into something bigger. Helena hadn't given thought to her constitution because she'd always been very healthy. Aside from having a couple severe illnesses in her childhood, a broken leg, and childbirth nearly killing her, she'd never been ill overly much. Well, nothing more than a simple cold or flu here or there, so she'd never truly thought she'd get as sick as she had become. Oh she knew she had over-reacted when Myka and Claudia had taken her to the hospital to see a doctor, and she knew she'd over-reacted and been far too bitchy the following day. But Helena Wells was the world's worst patient. She was not one to simply sit around in bed all day without having something to work on. But even having a notebook to sketch inventions in or write in only entertained her for so long.
If she had not seen Finnick's post earlier in the day, Helena might have thrown a tantrum about being kept in bed. But as it stood, Finnick's post had diffused that and sent her mind along another track, successfully distracting her for a time. She'd even fallen asleep at some point for an hour or two after her exchange with Finnick. But after waking, Helena couldn't help but reflect on some things she'd said to him. She knew Myka loved her, and there were instances where she could see why she did, but more often than not, Helena couldn't see the good in herself. She was trying, but she had a lot of darkness to work through. Though perhaps the true issue in all of this was that Helena had yet to forgive herself for the things she'd done. She felt so undeserving of forgiveness, even after the good things she had done to save Myka, Pete and Artie and to try to protect the Warehouse as best as she could. The Warehouse itself had forgiven her, giving her that scent of apples shortly before the bomb detonated. She knew that Myka forgave her. She knew all of that on a rational level, but she couldn't forgive herself for the monster she'd once been. So that was perhaps why she didn't understand how others could forgive her, see good in her because she was so stuck on the bad.
When Myka had texted her, Helena had been writing. Not a novel or short story, but a diary entry regarding the topic foremost on her mind currently. As much as she wanted to continue the flirtatious comments, she couldn't keep it up. She needed Myka, needed to feel that sense of comfort and love. Setting her phone and notebook aside, Helena had immediately snuggled up to Myka when she came in and laid down. Helena rested her head on Myka's chest, just listening to the beat of her lover's heart, finding comfort in the sound. Her arms were locked around Myka's middle, pressing close against her, an unspoken sign that she wanted and needed comfort. The Victorian woman wasn't one who always outright asked for comfort. She always kept her chin up and such emotions close as she was raised to do. But right now, she needed Myka and the comfort she brought to her. Her defenses were down due to her being ill. Helena briefly broke contact with Myka to turn her head away and cough, then she returned to resting her head on her chest.