Archive of Our Own

As a general rule, Helly R. is somewhat unsteady on her feet. Really, she has been since she stumbled onto Lumon’s deep-emerald carpet, over the edge of the orientation table and into her first day.

Today is different, though.

She looks paler than usual, the fluorescent light emphasizing the sickly green tinge to her face.

“We’ve yet to determine why she collapsed.” Milchick says. “I've measured her body temperature and found it to be within acceptable range.”

"Hm." Cobel lays the back of her hand against the girl's forehead anyways. After a beat, she turns her hand over so the more sensitive skin of her palm brushes Helly's bangs aside.

The skin feels only slightly over-warm, but it's sticky with a sheen of sweat. She can sense Helly frowning at the continued touch, forehead bunching under her palm. So sweet and utterly predictable.

Adorable.

She could slide her fingers into dark copper hair, curled and hair-sprayed and princess-perfect, and find an unsparing grip.

It would be worth it, if only for a moment, to see her glare in shock and irritation. She has such lovely features, meant to be contorted in the extremes of emotion.

Helena makes very little use of them.

Helly embraces them without realizing, broadcasting her thoughts to the world before she even opens her mouth. And most notable of all - those big dark eyes so expressive, expectant.

(She has the face of someone begging to be ruined.)

Cobel withdraws her hand. She could wipe her palm off on Helly's shoulder - against today's creamy silk blouse that Helena sent her in, so kind of her -

But she opts for the more diplomatic route and presses her hand against a towel, drying it carefully.

It takes effort to put distance between the two of them, when the hum of proximity is already so languid, so splendid.

But she can be patient.

They run through the checklist of basic needs, vitals - whatever they can address in-house - and when Cobel reaches nutrition, she knows she's landed squarely on the cause.

"Uh, lunch? I don't..." Helly considers, brows knitting together in concentration. "An apple? There's usually an apple." She rubs her eyes, and Cobel watches as Helena's (doubtlessly expensive) mascara smudges into a shadowed, inky bruise.

For a moment, she imagines licking her thumb and wiping it clean.

"Jesus, this feels gross." Helly runs a hand across her face - Cobel can already see a new layer of sweat breaking out in dots of perspiration along her lip.

"You may lean forward and rest your head between your knees for a cycle of four-count breaths, should you begin to feel woozy." Milchick smiles encouragingly. “I can demonstrate, if you’d like.”

Cobel taps her pen against the clipboard impatiently. "An apple, and-?"

"Oh, and this disgusting power bar." The girl grimaces at the memory. "Actually, can you please tell Her to save those for after-hours? They're like trying to eat a brick." She takes on a mock-serious tone, lifting her eyes. "It's affecting my work performance, Ms. Cobel."

If they were alone, she'd indulge the expression as long as Helly held it - that playful challenge, provocative even without possibly knowing what she's aching to provoke. She'd carve that pout, lines burned in her mind long after she returns home, alone. Helena. Helly. Her girls.

Even now, with Milchick hovering, she lets the moment linger.

Helly sighs, caving. "What?"

"That's your typical mid-day meal - in its entirety?"

"Look, I told you everything, I swear. I’m sure you have creepy little cameras you can check if you don't believe me."

The managers ignore the jab, exchanging meaningful glances.

Helly groans and leans forward like Milchick suggested, exhaling hard enough to ruffle her bangs. "I know the guys have something different - have more, but I don’t - I've never had a chance to flip through a cookbook or- or go out to dinner, so.” 

The color seems to be returning to her face, just in time for her to put more energy into being petulant.

"As senior refiner, Mark S. is responsible for reviewing monthly lunch schedules and selections,” Milchick notes, reciting policy dutifully as ever - as if standard procedure could outweigh the will of an Eagan.

"Hm." Cobel pretends to write something down, giving herself time to see past her irritation. She has half an urge to call down the Glasgow block and give Helena a piece of her mind right then and there. "I will be certain to pass along the message regarding a change of menu."

Helly looks doubtful in the face of immediate acquiescence. She presses with a half-joke, sitting back in the chair: "So, do I get to stop working early?"

Cobel's eyes flick to Milchick. 

"I'll supply you with apple juice and continue monitoring your blood sugar until it returns to acceptable levels," he says, right on cue. "Once this occurs, I will escort you back to your desk to finish the day."

Helly scoffs, clearly unimpressed. "If you're going to make me work anyways I'll just take the juice box to-go, thanks."

She shoves off the chair, managing to look halfway confident before swaying on her heels.

Milchick looks fully prepared to dive for her, but Cobel throws out her arm, stops him.

They watch as Helly buckles, lurching into the side of the filing cabinet. Her fingers curl as though looking for purchase on the smooth metal, then she goes fully limp.

Overly dramatic, some would say.

A breath later, Helly groans from an awkward slump. Already beginning to mumble curse words that her management team will benevolently choose to ignore.

Cobel steps closer until she’s nearly right on top of her. "You are at the mercy of biological processes you clearly do not understand." It satisfies her to see the mark reddening Helly’s cheekbone, a bruise sure to form.

A reminder, one that will stick around long enough for Helena.

Cobel continues, "I strongly advise that you listen when a superior gives you instruction - but it does occur to me that I've advised you of this before, hm?"

A little late, she catches the steel of misdirected frustration creeping into her tone. 

Clearly, her job here is done. She nods to Milchick and leaves him to it. Surely he can handle one malnourished innie, however spunky she may be.

Once back in her office, Cobel recites the Nine to herself until the haze of fury settles to mere prickling irritation.

For someone like Harmony Cobel, Helena's schedule is easy enough to find. Easier still, to plan a plausible interception point. 

Cobel places herself nearby the last meeting of the evening with an entirely coincidental choice of kitchenette for her late night decaf indulgence. Private, and not entirely unbelievable. 

She steps out at the exact right moment, arranging her features into pleased surprise.

"Helena! Oh, you won't believe what your innie got up to today."

And just like that, she’s caught.

It doesn’t take long for Helena to realize she’s walked into a confrontation, but it’s already too late.

"You are being irresponsible, carrying on like this," Cobel tells her. "This cannot continue."

Helena sets her jaw, all angles and deflection. "I certainly don't require your approval."

Cobel wonders if Helena can feel where her innie's cheek struck the filing cabinet, if the blood still pushes into the bruise painfully with each pulse. (Certainly, if she reached out to press it-?)

Sometime between Helly's shift and Helena's meeting, the mark has disappeared under layers of expensive makeup.

Helena has the resources to conceal almost anything.

Almost. It’s easy to see, for instance, her rising irritation, now - bright in her eyes and cheeks.

"I don't report to you for oversight," Helena says, as if saying it another way will make it even more true.

"Broadly? No." There. Let the girl see she can be reasonable. Can compromise. "Nevertheless, when you consented to putting that pretty little chip in your brain, you put Helly R. under my leadership and my control."

There's no disputing this. She continues, though Helena shifts and looks past her, impatient. "You've spoken of Helly as being a tool, rather than an individual. In that case, I would expect you to avoid destroying the tool."

Helena’s gaze returns to her. Something shifts in her eyes at the reminder of duty. Traction at last.

Cobel leans into it. "If you continue in this manner, you risk the integrity of everything the company - and your family - has worked for."

“I’m aware of the stakes, thank you.” Helena's voice comes slightly quieter, deceptive, in a manner Cobel recognizes as a sign that she's becoming more enraged. "You may rest assured I haven't forgotten my position here."

The fire is dangerous. A tricky balance.

Cobel's own pulse ticks a little faster, though she gives no external indication of her delight.

She eases up, slightly: "I would never act to deny you your methods of control, nor comfort-"

"-not that you'd have the authority to do so in the first place." And here Helena looks so incredibly like Helly for a moment.

Cobel holds up an appeasing hand.

"I wouldn't deny you them," she repeats. "I won't."

Helena watches uneasily, unsure, processing the likelihood of this. Gradually, the flare in her eyes fizzles out.

In turn, Cobel softens, lets her see a bit of something real: I know there isn't much you get to call your own.

The concern confuses Helena. She frowns, searching for the right angle, trying to see through an optical illusion she can't quite conjure up. The form doesn't take shape.

Cobel gives her a small smile, all business with a dash of warmth to boot. "I'm making coffee - decaffeinated, naturally, at this hour - let me pour you some." And she reaches out, smoothing her thumb along the line of Helena's shoulder as she passes.

"If you insist," Helena says faintly, and though Cobel is facing away from her, she can tell her gesture has landed.

"I do. Come in."

She savors the tentative click of Helena’s heels against the floor, following just over a beat behind.

Cobel waits until they're both well into the kitchenette to speak again. "I hope you don't plan on working through much more of the evening." She pauses. "You look awful."

"Thank you, Harmony. Just what I needed to hear."

Cobel shakes her head, pouring into each of their mugs. "You must rest. Don't be ridiculous."

Helena watches the steam rise dispassionately. "The last thing I need is another babysitter."

Cobel sets a mug in front of her. "Certainly. I won't keep you, then." She turns to leave, calling Helena's bluff.

"It's just-" Helena clears her throat, and Cobel pauses. "It's just a bit…difficult to believe she's still causing trouble. Even after getting all this attention." She sighs.

Under the bluster, Cobel can see her wavering. She steps closer and the pleasant hum of proximity returns full force.

She wonders if she imagines the flutter of Helena's eyes, stepping through the point of no return, prey to the pull.

"You have my attention up here, too, you know."

"I wasn't…" She flushes. Sweet thing. "Yes, thank you. I do appreciate your mentorship." She lifts her chin as if daring the other woman to challenge this.

Cobel keeps her tone careful, professional, only the slightest of a playful lilt. "…And regarding the tool?”

“I won’t destroy the tool,” Helena says, with a valiant effort to keep the petulance out of her voice.

“More specifically?” She's pushing it, now, but she needs to be sure.

“I will send very nice little lunches to the tool, in fact.” The concession, sarcasm-laced as it may be, is rewarded with a smile.

“It can be reasonable," Cobel assures her, almost conspiratorially now. “We certainly don’t require a Thanksgiving turkey.”

The resulting laugh makes her jump a little, as attuned as she is to the tiniest reactions.

"Harmony."

"What?" She can feel a mirroring smile tugging at her own lips, even as her brows furrow in confusion.

“Oh, I apologize - I’m just a little tired.” Helena shakes her head, and this time when she giggles Cobel can clearly place the sleep-deprived delirium. “And half the time, I really have no idea what you’re going to say next.”

It's not meant in a complimentary fashion, Cobel knows, but she allows herself a small measure of satisfaction nonetheless.

She can generate a veritable wealth of stupid asides, if it means Helena will slow this ridiculous self-destruction. Most any idiom from Salt's Neck will serve the purpose.

“I should say, Helly R. did rather emphatically request that you cease sending the protein bars.”

“Of course she did.” Helena heaves a dramatic sigh. Cobel watches the lines of her collarbones flex and cast shadows. The exhaustion ages her and reduces her to childhood all at once. "Consider it done.”

"The tool also requires a solid eight hours of sleep for optimal functioning.”

Helena scoffs. “The tool is lucky to get five."

Cobel studies her, decides it's a good a time as any to go all in. "I've long ago compromised my health in service of the company. I'd rather not see you do the same."

"You'd love it if I did."

"You'd be surprised."

They look at each other for an appraising, dangerous moment.

Helena breaks the tension with a shaky laugh. “Fine, fine. By the time you see me next, I’ll have at least one of my basic biological needs somewhat under control.”

"A solid start.”

The conversation as outlined prior has run its course, but neither of them moves to end it.

The girl still looks so tired. Vulnerable. Boundaries collapsing to a sharp point Cobel wants to reach out and prick her finger on.

What might the rawness reveal?

She extends her arm, a line crossed without real permission, and settles her hand gently on Helena's.

It would be an overstep, if Helena labeled it as such. And as such, every point of contact is noted and logged - most of all, the way Helena tenses under her touch.

For a moment Cobel wonders if the girl will pull away.

But she doesn't - just as soon as it began, the tension falls away in a shift of warmth beneath Cobel's fingertips. With the smallest hitch in her breath, Helena leans into the contact - and freezes, catching herself.

"Get some rest." Cobel removes her hand before she finishes speaking. Sees the loss register.

Even without the reinforcing touch, she's pleased to see minute relaxation in the girl's jaw, eyelids closing slightly at granted permission.

It's amazing to see how much sway her words have. It makes her want to say more.

In spite of this - or because of it - she steps back.

"Goodnight, Helena. I'm going home now." She gathers her bag. "I suggest you do the same."

The next night, Helena works late again, the strip of light under her door a tell-tale sign.

Cobel doesn't bother knocking before stepping into her office.

"You logged another two hours in the recreation center this evening," she says, in lieu of greeting.

Helena startles, dropping the book she was holding. "Shit, Harmony - what is it!?"

Cobel takes in the pallor of her face. Doesn't bother to hide her disappointment. Guilt is a potent motivator for Helena, after all. "And all that following yesterday's full Severed shift and your father's debrief. And don't think I've forgotten about your early morning swimming."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack." Helena's hands have a slight tremor where they rest on the desk. She puts them firmly in her lap and looks up, resentful. "Are you finished scolding yet?"

"Helena. You are not a machine. What’s more, no one expects you to be."

"You heard the Board. According to every meaningful metric, I am performing better than I have in months."

Pride, with a sour edge. Helena is aware, at some level, of how wrong it all is, this esteemed, gold-plated maze set out before her. But what else is there?

It's a pragmatism Cobel herself has had to adopt. Though Helena's version leans a bit defeatist for her liking.

"It is foolish to drive yourself to collapse. Even Kier's vessels require care."

Helena looks as though she might argue, then nods, belated and unconvincing. It's too stiff to be sincere. She isn't listening.

"The Board's approval is not the only measure of your progress," Cobel presses.

From how Helena's jaw works, Cobel knows the girl has picked up on the unspoken part: The Board. Your Father.

"It is the only measure that matters." Helena offers a thin smile and leans to pick her book up off the floor, returning it to her desk.

As Helena finds her place again, Cobel glances over and sees a half-finished protein shake sweating condensation onto a coaster. Thinks of Helly, crumpled against the filing cabinet.

Impressive and idiotic in equal measure. Both of them.

"When was the last time you ate something that wasn't powder-based?"

"I will shortly."

"You will now. You're hardly effective like this."

"There's no time," Helena snaps, the words coming all at once. Irritated, but worn down enough to be honest.

There's a chance, then - an opening.

Cobel steps closer, careful. "Please."

Helena looks up like she’s been struck.

For a moment they look at one another, the air between them charged - then Cobel steps forward and shuts the book on the desk with a decisive, dull thud. "That's enough for tonight. Up."

Helena's mouth opens as if to protest, but she's already standing. Cobel comes beside her with a firm hand, steers her to the kitchenette easily.

To some degree, Helena clearly intends to resist, but the sheer impossibility of her habits has taken a toll on her. She can't ignore the hunger forever.

Cobel wonders if it's some kind of loophole in the girl's network of complex mental gymnastics. Some softness allowed - if only under duress. Perhaps that’s Cobel's role.

They enter to find a Lumon-issued nutrition box - one of the newer varieties, in which the customer customizes selections for each food group. Cobel has kindly taken the time to plate two in a lifeless approximation of a charcuterie board - egg, nuts, cheese, various fruits. 

"These aren't scheduled to go on the market for a month," says Helena slowly, eyeing the table.

"The macro-nutrient counts are nearly identical to those of your beloved protein bar," Cobel says. "I made certain they included an itemized nutritional breakdown." She indicates a small notecard next to the napkin.

"You're insane." But Helena picks up the card, examining it.

Cobel sits first, across from her, behind her own matching plate.

"It would be rude to make you eat alone," she says, watching Helena reluctantly settle into her own chair. "Afterwards, we can submit feedback forms to the suitable department and contribute to their last-minute tweaks, if you'd like."

Helena is having none of it. “So," she says tightly, "you intervene. You insert yourself where you aren't needed." She picks up the fork gingerly, as if it's going to bite her; fiddles with it, frowning. "If the Board tells me to continue in the same way I have been managing - who are you to disagree?"

Cobel says nothing.

Helena shakes her head and begins cutting the hardboiled egg with a practiced hand.

The only sound is the gentle scrape of silverware against the plate as Helena divides her meal into smaller and smaller pieces. The same bleak precision she brings to everything else.

When she's satisfied with the size of her portions, she pauses. "It's your job to listen to my father. The Board. I thought you valued this above all else." The challenge is clear in her tone, as if the words aren't enough. "Or did I misread you?"

Cobel selects one of the pear slices from her plate, finds it rather dry. Disappointing. "I value my work. I value guiding others to embody Kier, to further His principles...that requires obedience, yes, but also discernment."

"Discernment." Helena taps the table, eyes flashing with recognition. "Kier never gives us discernment so that we may criticize -"

"-but so that we may intercede," Cobel finishes.

"Aren't you clever," Helena says dryly. "Backing me into a corner with quotes from my ancestors." She stabs into a bite-sized piece of egg and lifts it to her mouth, clearly resisting the impulse to roll her eyes.

Cobel waits until she's swallowed to continue. "I would call it loyalty, to warn you of your own excesses. And if that frustrates you, so be it."

Helena sets down her fork with more force than necessary. "I am not powerless in knowing my own limits."

The way her eyes flick to her, gauging her reaction (hoping to provoke one?) - it's so very Helly.

And just as she would as with Helly, Cobel denies her as much as possible. Smoothly: "I only intervene when you're on the brink of collapse. If you cannot accept it, you risk much more than fatigue or discomfort."

"That's awfully dramatic." Helena sips her water, giving up on a fight for now.

"I find it to be an accurate read of the circumstances."

"I'm sure you do."

More quiet stretches between them as Helena picks at her meal. (Cobel has already finished.)

"Your choices," says Cobel finally, "are just that - yours."

This is a necessary fiction.

"Hmm."

"I offer my counsel - at times more forcefully than others, certainly - but I decide nothing." Self-deprecating, seductive - I fall at your feet. I only serve you.

It feels clownish, obvious, but it works. Cobel watches some of the tension slip from Helena's shoulders.

The girl begins to slow, then stops, setting down her silverware with a small portion of the meal remaining. Better performance than Cobel had expected, really.

Helena folds her hands in her lap and raises an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Well. Until next time?"

"Are we making a habit of this?" Helena laughs.

"Oh, would it be so awful?" Cobel tilts her head, frowning. "You wound me, Helena."

"Don't pretend you care." Her cheeks are red. Too easy.

"Would you terribly mind if we did? Make it a habit?" 

"…No." Helena blinks, as if unsure of how they got here.

Cobel pats her arm. "Hm. Good."

The next morning, Helly's step is noticeably lighter. Still clumsy, but not much to be done about that.

Cobel swoops out of a side room to fall into step beside her in the hall. "Feeling better, Helly?"

"Wh- yeah, actually -" Helly pauses, as if surprised upon taking stock of her internal state. "Huh. Yeah, I am."

"You look it."

"Um…thanks?" Helly shakes her head and clomps onward, off to her work station.

"You're quite welcome," Cobel calls airily, lifting her eyes to watch as Helly disappears around the corner.

Such a sweet thing.