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"Henry? Henry! What on earth
. . . sit down before you hurt yourself!" Helena gasped as she pushed open
the door to his room several hours
later. What she saw took her breath from her lungs in a frightened
gasp. Henry was standing precariously by the side of his bed, the outline
of his
body still fresh on the bedding where he had laid these past days.
His legs shook weakly as he clutched the bedpost with white knuckles. His
tangled
hair fell in large clumps over his face, as he struggled to get his
free arm, the one closer to his chest wound, into the sleeve of his nightshirt.
The pain
he was enduring was written all over his face, and when Helena spoke
in her urgent tone, his eyes shot up at her. The look in his eyes was one
of
helplessness, and she knew how utterly torturous it was for him to
loose his strength.
"Helena . . . I simply cannot bear
to lie in that . . . that sepulcher for another moment!" He shouted with
as much anger as he could muster,
still fighting futilely with his sleeve.
"Henry, please . . . you'll tear
the sutures . . . Henry, here! Let me help you . . . just calm down . .
. " Helena said, biting back a laugh at his
adorable little fit. He sighed heavily as she rushed to him, tenderly
taking his arm in her hand, supporting it gently at the elbow as she helped
him
maneuver his trembling hand through the soft fabric. "There . . . if
you wanted so badly to get dressed, you could have simply rung for me!"
She said
softly, easing him back into a sitting position on the bed, knowing
the uselessness in coaxing him to lie back. He opened his mouth to speak,
but she
shushed him, placing a finger to his lips, then tapping the tip of
his nose. She sat there for a moment, loosing herself in his chocolate
eyes, wondering
about the extent all the swirling emotions that lurked behind his expressive
brows. He sighed again, watching her as she watched him, the silence of
the moment speaking volumes about the feelings of the pair.
"Helena . . . I don't expect you
to understand how I feel . . . the weakness in my very bones. I'm afraid
all the uncertainty that has welled in
my core for so long is slowly turning to desperation . . . It's terrifying,
Helena . . . " He said, speaking the truth with such beautiful honesty
she could
feel the emergence of tears.
"Henry . . . I know how much this
weakness frustrates you. I also know how much you feel the need to be strong
for Emma . . . for myself."
She said, looking away as she spoke those final words, remembering
all too well his drunken confession. He looked at her as she spoke, startled
by
this comment. He had always tried to protect her, this was true . .
. but he had not been aware that she could see through his facade so easily.
"You are my equal . . . of that
I have no doubt, Helena . . . but you are . . . so fragile, so tender and
loving. Your emotions exceed mine, your
capacity to give so incredible . . . Helena, forgive me for wanting
to protect you. It's terribly clear now which of us is the weaker." He
spoke with
such a tone of sorrow; her eyes had overflowed with tears by the time
he gave in to the silence.
"Henry, your courage and bravery
made me what I am today . . . if not for you, I would be a miserable, bitter
nurse back at St. Jude's, giving
injections to muttering invalids and washing old men." She said, the
seriousness in her voice making him laugh all the harder. He instinctively
reached
over and embraced her, holding her head to his tender chest.
"Oh my darling Miss St. Just .
. . how much you mean to me." He said quietly, his smile creeping into
his voice, spreading across her face in
its contagion. "But now, for the sake of my sanity, I simply must leave
this room, before I suffocate." She sighed, relaxing in his arms, where
she had
longed to be for so very long, his hand straying absently to her hair,
stroking softly. She gasped softly at this incredible sensation . . . his
simple action
meaning so much. She wished for a single undetectable instant that
she could lean up to his face, kiss him as she did in her dreams, but in
a flash that
dream was gone. "I simply must see Emma. Having her visit isn't enough,
she is my wife now, and I need to spend every moment I can with her . .
.
for several different reasons . . . " He said softly.
"Henry, I can go and get her for you. She'll be darting up those stairs in a millisecond, Henry, you know that!"
"Nonsense! What I need right now
. . . more then drugs or rest, is to see her smile-a thing she won't even
consider lest I give her reason
enough to do it."
He lifted her gently from his chest
then, looking into her eyes with a spark of mischief. "Helena, you must
help me surprise her, I must get
down there . . . If I can just-"
"Careful, Henry . . . " She spoke warningly as he meekly stood once again, hand still clutching the post for support.
"I'm fine . . . I've never felt
better, Helena, hand me my smoking jacket, please?" He asked, motioning
to a large oak boudoir on the far side
of the room. She gave him a scolding glare, which he acknowledged with
a raise of the eyebrows as if to say 'well?'. Finally her look gave way
to a
slight grin, and she turned away from him, moving quickly to retrieve
his jacket. Bringing it to him, she once again helped him dress, nodding
gently
in comfort at his returned look of anguish. Once she had successfully
drawn the luxurious fabric over both of his broad shoulders, tying it tightly
around his waist, he took a deep breath and lowered his hand. He looked
down on her, she likewise looking up, for the first time in these past
days . .
. a feeling of familiarity returning to her at this for the first time
since the wedding. He took a few steps, pausing to support himself on the
dresser by
the door, and she hurriedly appeared at his side, wrapping her arm
around his waist, his around her shoulders. "Helena, I'm fine . . . I just
need a
moment."
"You're lying to me, Dr. Jekyll.
How on earth do you think you will make it down those stairs?" He glanced
over at her, sighing knowingly,
accepting his weakness.
"With your help, Helena. One at
a time."