Chapter Text
How many times does one have the opportunity to see a person dying? In a whole lifetime that could easily be zero, at least nowadays with ambulances whisking patients away; with anonymity damning old and suffering to a solitary, quiet death in solace of their dwellings. To be a part of a terrible, unexpected and frantic scene, to see with one's own eyes the struggle to preserve life was a shocking reality.
Helena counted the times she witnessed death. There was the boy Bane pummelled during that ritualistic scuffle back in Armenia. She remembered vividly how she felt then, how sickened she was with the instinctive surge of pride at the mercenary’s victory.
Then there was the corpse of the guard who let her escape. Not technically falling under death, but his execution was swift and noiseless, and incredibly fast. One minute he was being escorted towards the Chapel, dragging his feet and using every opportunity to lengthen his time under the rainy sky, and the next his body was being hauled out unceremoniously. Spent shell, no longer needed, no longer useful. Was there any pride to be spared though, for the dying? Was it possible to retain one’s dignity at least?
Do not go gentle into that good night…
Anna clawed at her throat and gasped, desperate for the tiniest gulp of air. But then she was just a shell, kept at the brink of life, useless, a burden if anything at all.
Can one really come to terms with people dying before their very eyes?
The memory of the whole brunch was tainted now, as was the mood of all who attended. Helena wondered briefly if others watched how she behaved, if they were surprised by Bane's bearing, if they wondered themselves about this whole situation…
It was surreal.
Merely half an hour later, she was sitting on the sofa in Bane’s cottage, sipping her ‘sleep-well’ tea. He refused to let her be alone at her place and she didn’t really feel like arguing about it; were it possible she would love to go to bed with him, bury into the covers and the solid mass of his warm body and wash away all the tension and unhealthy excitement of the last hour. For the time being, they had to make do with sleeping in separate rooms. So instead of cuddling up, she watched him pace as he talked with Graham on the phone, calm and concise and commanding. If anything should happen to her, Bane would be the first to react. He knew what to do and he had a baffling amount of experience on his hands, along with monumental restraint.
Would he retain his control, though, if it was her suffocating instead of Anna?
Her mind shot to the last night they shared the bed. No calmness then, but tons of repressed instincts and reflexes, little involuntary jerks of his body, like he had to have himself under constant check. Almost perfect governance over what he did, always. Maybe that’s why every lapse felt like such a failure.
Chugging the remainder of her tea she got up and left the mug on the kitchen counter, smiling mischievously when Bane shot her an annoyed glare and went after her to put the beaker into the dishwasher, never stopping his conversation.
She showered briefly to get rid of the grime of the day, waiting for the tub to fill with warm water, frothy with a combination of salts and some fragrant oils she poured in with gusto. Bane came in just when she rummaged through the cupboards, clad only in her bath towel, looking for candles.
“Need assistance?”
“I’m good. Hop on into the shower and then consider yourself invited into my bath.”
“Do you think the tub is big enough for us both?” He taunted.
“We’ll see. At least this one doesn’t look like it would topple over…”
“That depends on what we choose to do inside there.”
“Shower,” she growled, shaking her head with a smile.
Watching him clean himself from the comfortable warmth of the bath was making her sluggish. He was separated from her with a clear pane of glass matted with steam, a blur of flesh-coloured movement, dotted with streaks of white. How would he look up close covered in foam? She smiled and leaned back. How many nights had she spent like this, imagining him, or pretending that the body on the other side of the partition was Bane instead of some beefcake she picked up? All those times she asked to be on her knees, facing away and kidding herself that was enough to believe that the man behind her was Bane, that it was him holding her in her bed, or in some hotel, or in an unfamiliar apartment.
A slow hum brought her thoughts back to the present. There he was, in the flesh, skin glistening with moisture, reflecting light off of powerful muscles marred by scars. A map of an eventful life. Sven said an intelligent man with this many marks, this old, had to be dangerous.
She felt safe now, safer than ever before.
“What were you talking about with Graham?”
“Some details of what happened tonight, what could happen tomorrow.”
“You needed half an hour to get that Anna had an anaphylaxis shock?”
“I conferred with our charming policeman, too. He had some interesting observations.”
Helena frowned, sitting up straight, bringing her knees close to her chest.
“Didn't she have an allergic reaction?”
“Perhaps she had.”
Her previous light-heartedness vanished briefly.
“What other options are there?” She frowned, murmuring to herself.
“Let's not talk about it tonight,” Bane proposed. “I'd rather enjoy a tub that can fit us both. Finally.”
“Yeah, at long last,” Helena chuckled.
Bane sighed when he got into the tub, immediately relaxing into the warmth of the water. A snicker on his side and he sneaked his feet behind Helena's back, effectively trapping her before him.
The temptation of sliding her hands on his skin was too big and she gladly gave in, leaning back, looking at him with half lidded eyes. Her gaze stayed steady when she pushed with her feet slightly on his chest. The scars there looked older than they actually were. Was it Venom’s miraculous effect or something else?
“Let's plant the herbs tomorrow. “
“Sure.” Pads of her fingers slid effortlessly under the water, feeling the coarse texture of hair on Bane’s legs, even more scars and a surprisingly delicate plane of unblemished skin behind his knees.
He squirmed a bit, but didn't otherwise object, himself content with caressing Helena's feet and ankles with long unhurried strokes.
“I thought a shared bath would be somewhat more thrilling.”
“I'm content with this,” Bane noted with a lazy smile.
The unhurried pace of their mutual touching and an all-surrounding warmth were intoxicating in their own respect.
“If you keep this up I will fall asleep,” Helena warned playfully, a half-truth.
“I'll carry you to bed then.”
She sighed in response, leaving his skin to grab onto the edges of the tub. “That will not do, dear Dr Dorrance. I have to change the sheets.”
He barked out a small laugh and let her come out, grinning as well over the astounding normalcy of the conversation.
It was so easy to fall into the routine of a couple, to give and take comfort freely as needed and requested, to be carefree. Almost as if they didn't fight and bleed with emotion only hours before. Almost as if no one was harmed less than two hours prior.
What did Bane mean, perhaps there were other reasons for Anna’s episode? What options were there? A poisoning?
A fuzzy and soft towel wrapped around her from the back, along with strong arms encircling her shoulders.
“You really need to grab some sleep.”
“Will you help me with the bedding?”
He hummed and kissed her neck.
For the next quarter of an hour Helena tried to forget the pang of worry that manifested after Bane’s words. As usual, she tangled the duvet cover, getting lost inside the expanse of white linen to add an insult to injury. Bane fished her out, but only after he finished tucking the sheet into a crisp, even plane over the mattress.
“How did you manage to put sheets on when I wasn't here?”
“I had other helpers.” She quipped spitefully, pouting.
The silence behind her was heavy with disappointment.
“I really wish you‘d stop reminding me of your numerous affairs.“
Bane's quiet voice sounded matter-of-factly at first glance, but she knew better.
“Why?”
He didn't look at her, pretending to focus on the sheets.
“Because there were so many of them.”
“Why does it bother you?”
“Why does it bother me?” The question was sharp, not shouted out, but delivered with such force lesser man would wince on impact. Helena saw it happening, knew the intent behind it. Remembered how it used to precede a palm nonchalantly splayed over a vulnerable plane of a throat…
She refocused and made herself smile.
“That is what I asked, yes.”
Helena didn't want to argue with Bane. But it showed how he tensed when she joked with Alex earlier in the day, how he circled her protectively when Sven whisked her away for a chat, how he kept on observing her, her interactions, through the ordeal of the brunch.
Wasn't he sure where she stood? Was he jealous? Disturbed with her promiscuity?
“I don't enjoy the thought of you enjoying other men.”
There it was.
“Ah, but darling you're looking at this the wrong way.” She stepped closer, taking the opportunity to gently pull the duvet out of his hands, carelessly throwing it to the bed. “No matter how many others there were before and after we first met, you are the one I chose.” She reached up to run her fingers gently down the back of his neck. “Even when you weren't close, even when the prospect of meeting you was non-existent, even when I remembered how much you hurt me and I hurt you… You remained the only one I want.“
“If you put it this way it doesn't sound half as bad.“
oOo
If it weren't for the memory of past day, Helena could have sworn everything was perfect in the world. The weather was still a bit chilly but sun shone brightly, warming up their little plot. Bane made breakfast and ushered her to work right after; commandeering with brash confidence on everything that needed to be done. Somehow the garden turned from her project into his. He researched the best places to put the herbs in, knew all requirements and argued with steady confidence over which plants would have to wait until it gets warmer to be put out in the open.
Helena took everything in stride, enjoying the alien sensation of for once working with Bane, instead of for him. He was an easy man to follow, charismatic even during the smallest tasks, effortlessly taking control of the situation.
They surveyed for the last time layout of the herb patch, the plants carefully arranged over spots they would soon be put into. Last minute adjustments were interrupted with Helena’s phone ringing in the cottage.
“I’ll see what it’s about,” she murmured, taking off her gloves on the way. Before she opened the door she heard Bane’s own mobile coming to life.
The news were grim. Grace called to say Anna had passed away an hour earlier, unable to wake from the coma she fell in last night. Already the mourning and funeral preparations were in motion, since Sven had no other family but his daughter. As Grace said, it was their duty as his friends to lift the weight of responsibility off his shoulders at a time like this. Helena nodded through, watching as Bane calmly conferred outside. He finished his first call and immediately dialled another. She absentmindedly agreed to everything Grace proposed, walking cautiously back to the terrace.
Bane was speaking with Tirill now.
How did he manage to have every phone number he needed?
Before Helena arranged all necessities with Grace, Bane was already calling yet another person.
When they both finished, he looked at her with a pensive frown. His shoulders were straight, muscles taut with tension.
He probably could use a massage, she thought absentmindedly. Same treatment wouldn't hurt herself. But it was early and they had a full schedule, for now. With a sigh, she went back to the herbs, putting on her gloves.
“Let’s finish this.”
Bane nodded curtly and joined her. For a long while they worked in silence, digging holes, taking off the nursery pots, fiddling with positioning of each plant. Helena kept stealing quick glances Bane’s way, concerned over a determined wrinkle around his lips. He was plotting something.
Helena on the other hand felt oddly relieved. The woman who died was her friend, yet not a close one. She passed away swiftly, so the fact of her death registered only superficially in her mind. She knew, but didn't yet feel the burden death usually placed on the living.
Or perhaps, she mused, she was beyond caring?
“Do you know how a sculptor works, Helena?”
The question startled her, seemingly out of the blue, not linked to anything in particular. But it was Bane. He had to have a point.
“Enlighten me.”
“He studies his material before he picks up the chisel. He learns of its limitations and possibilities, traces veins in the stone, growth rings in the wood, bendiness of the metal alloys. Only then he reaches out to the very core and unveils his vision. To understand who sculpted the scene we saw at Easter, we need to understand who could imagine it, the situation it was created in.”
“You think Anna's attack was provoked on purpose?”
“Indeed.”
Despite the weight of the subject, Helena felt her lips stretching in a grin. She bit her lip to contain it at least a little.
“So you do want to be a sleuth, Monsieur Dorrance!”
“Helena,” he shook his head with a warning glance. “I can't stand the thought of someone close to you having this power. We need to know who did it. We need to see if the danger has passed. We need to know if it hit where intended or if perhaps the direction of the attack was somehow altered.”
The sombre tone deflated her amusement and she nodded, her head lowered a bit in passing shame. It was her friend who died, yet Bane was seemingly much more affected than she.
“We need to be prepared… For every possibility. Betrayal never comes from an enemy.”