16. Bertram
Bertram
The moment they reached camp, Helena and Bertram both stripped off their outer layers and Bertram began wrapping the egg as tightly as he could.
“Blankets,” Bertram said. “Lots of blankets. Go.”
“Right.” Helena nodded and bounded off.
Helena was still trembling—Bertram guessed from a combination of the cold and her own emotions—and yet there was no hesitation in her step as she disappeared into her tent.
He had always admired Helena’s ability to snap into “scientist mode” in a crisis, no matter how panicked she was.
This was undoubtedly the worst crisis they had endured, and yet Bertram had no doubt that Helena could not only handle whatever he needed her to, but that she could do so swiftly and efficiently.
For not the first time, Bertram found himself happy that it was Helena on the project with him after all. Yes, Bertram wouldn’t have had a sordid romantic history with a different PhD student. But Bertram also wouldn’t have been able to have such utter faith in their competence.
Whatever other feelings he had about Helena, Bertram had no doubt in her skills as a scientist.
Bertram took the egg into the laboratory, holding it tightly against his chest, wrapped in Helena’s sweater and both their coats.
He went to the human-style thermostat and cranked the heat up as high as it would go.
It was one of the rare moments where he wished the laboratory operated using magic, rather than traditional human solar power.
Helena ran in shortly thereafter, carrying a blanket, pillows, and her suitcase.
“So, we can set it down somewhere soft, with boundaries,” Helena said.
“Good thinking,” Bertram said.
Helena opened her suitcase and lined it with pillows, then laid a blanket on top of them.
Bertram cautiously lowered the egg in and set it down gently.
Helena took the blanket beneath the owl-bear egg and wrapped it snugly around its base, anchoring it in place.
Then she rushed out of the room once more.
Again, Bertram admired her single-minded focus and determination.
She returned almost immediately, arms full of clothing, and more blankets—which Bertram saw were from his own bed this time.
Helena flung Bertram’s blanket over the egg, then started piling clothes over it, starting with the warmest, heaviest pieces first. She wrapped the egg in layer after layer of thermal undergarments and cozy sweaters and snowpants.
Bertram recognized that she was throwing his clothing on top of the egg as well, but under these circumstances he had no interest in chastising her for privacy violation.
“I don’t know if that will replicate the heat of a fully grown owl-bear,” Helena said, her voice a terrified whisper. “I don’t know how much longer it would have been before she laid the egg, if it was even fully developed—”
“Not much longer,” Bertram said, with a confidence he didn’t actually feel. “The shell felt very firm. The egg was heavy. And it was really low in her body—I think she would’ve laid it any day now.”
The facts he listed were true, though he was less sure about their implication.
All he knew was that Helena sounded devastatingly close to breaking, and he couldn’t let her.
Not because it might impede her work—she had already proven herself more than capable of snapping into crisis management mode even in the throes of her own emotional turmoil.
Just because—because he couldn’t stand the idea of Helena in pain.
He heard a strange clicking noise and looked for the source—only to realize it was the chattering of Helena’s teeth as she stood in a T-shirt and cotton pants, all her warm outer layers having been sacrificed to the egg.
“I turned up the thermostat,” Bertram said. “The room should heat up soon.”
Helena nodded as she rubbed her arms frantically around herself.
“You can grab yourself a sweater from the egg pile,” Bertram said.
Helena shook her head fiercely.
“Hel. Come on. One sweater won’t make a difference—”
“You c-can’t know that!” Helena insisted.
“We don’t know what temperature the egg should b-be or when it would have been laid, and if I g-g-grab a sweater and the egg freezes overnight I will spend the rest of my life wondering if that sweater would have made a d-difference between a b-b-baby owl-b-bear living or d-dying. ”
Bertram sighed and dragged his hand over his face. Helena was probably right. Not right about one sweater making a difference, but right about her torturing herself should the owl-bear not hatch.
“While we’re waiting for the lab to heat up . . . here.” Bertram leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. He opened his arms.
Helena’s eyes went wide. “What are you d-doing?”
“If you don’t want to disturb the egg bundle, we can at least share body heat. Platonically,” Bertram added, quickly.
“Of c-course,” Helena said, even faster.
But she didn’t move toward him.
“You don’t have to,” Bertram said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You d-didn’t!” Helena said. “I’m n-not uncomfortable. I mean, I am—I am uncomfortable—b-but not b-because you—I—b-because—c-c-cold—and—I—I—”
Whatever she intended the rest of the sentence to be, she couldn’t get it out past the chattering of her teeth.
She moved quickly, eyes closed, as if trying to fling herself at Bertram before she could think better of it.
She sat down between his legs. His arms instantly enfolded her, bringing her closer, her head tucked under his chin, his neck against her own.
She let out a shuddering sigh as she nestled into his body, allowing his warmth to seep into her. He could feel her breathing slow just a little, her body relax.
“You’re so hot,” Helena murmured against his chest.
Both of them froze.
“Platonically,” Helena added quickly.
“Of course,” Bertram said.
“Literally,” Helena clarified.
“I figured,” Bertram said.
“I . . . I forgot how much hotter than mine your skin is,” Helena said. “I mean, I didn’t forget, really. I do still think about your—I mean, I don’t think about—I mean—”
Helena’s face flushed bright red, and Bertram felt fairly confident it was from her own shame rather than the heat he was providing. He decided to jump in before she contorted her tongue into knots trying to stave off her embarrassment.
“It’s okay, Hel. We’re just making sure you don’t get frostbite or anything, alright?”
“Alright.” Helena let out a sigh of relief. “I just. Thank you. I appreciate that you’d share your body with—no, sorry, that sounded wrong—I mean, it didn’t sound, I mean, that is what you’re doing, I just . . . thank you. Thank you.”
Bertram smiled against her hair. “If I can help warm you, I’m happy to do so.”
Helena tucked her face further into Bertram’s chest, hiding her expression. “I’m surprised you would say that.”
“Why?”
“You don’t even like me,” Helena mumbled.
It felt like a dagger to Bertram’s heart. He didn’t know why, though, because it was true. At least, he thought it was true.
It was supposed to be true.
“That doesn’t mean I would let you freeze to death,” Bertram finally said. “If I let you die, my mother would kill me.”
He could feel her smile against him.
“Whatever issues we have, Hel . . . I would never let anything hurt you. Including the cold.”
“Punch the wind,” Helena suggested into his chest.
Bertram laughed. “What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” came the muffled response.
“Did you just tell me to punch the wind?”
“No,” Helena said, “ . . . yes. I’m tired, okay?”
“You can sleep on me, if you need to,” Bertram said. “I’ve got you.”
“Gonna punch sleep deprivation too?” Helena mumbled into him.
“Sure. I’ll punch the wind, and then I’ll punch sleep deprivation.”
“And then you,” Helena whispered. “You hurt me too.”
Bertram could imagine the raw, hurt look he would see in her eyes if her face weren’t currently tucked into his torso.
He had seen the wounded look on her face over the weeks in moments where he had brushed her off or dodged her attempts at friendship.
He had rebuffed her attempts at closeness for the sake of his heart, and he knew he had every right to do so, but it still stung when he saw how pained she looked.
“Believe me, Helena,” Bertram said. “There are days when I absolutely want to punch myself.”
“You punch yourself, and I’ll punch me, and then we’ll be friends again,” Helena suggested.
Bertram sighed. If only it could be that easy. Part of him did genuinely want to reach into the past and regain the ease he had once felt with Helena, the sense of familiarity that crept up on him so suddenly in moments like this.
Part of him wanted to make sure he never, ever felt that ease again.
She had nearly broken him once before. Bertram worried that if he gave her another chance to hurt him, he would shatter.
“You should go to sleep now, Helena.”
Helena shifted to the side, leaning her head against his shoulders and her legs against his. She was so delightfully soft in his arms. Bertram would have loved her at any size or shape, but in the midst of a snowstorm without blankets, he was glad her body happened to be of a squishier variety.
Loved her, emphasis on the past tense.
Past tense, past tense, he reminded himself on a loop, as Helena snuggled under his chin.
She was once again trembling against him, so violently now that he was worried she had hypothermia. Then the trembling became more and more erratic—
“Are you crying?”
“No,” Helena sobbed, face buried in Bertram’s shirt, tears staining it where they fell.
Bertram brought his hand up and stroked Helena’s hair. On instinct alone, of course.
It didn’t matter how badly she had broken his heart, if someone was sitting in his lap weeping, he was going to comfort them. Unlike what Helena believed, he wasn’t a monster.
Well. He was a monster, but not that sort of a monster.
“It’s okay,” Bertram whispered, rubbing her back.
“No, it’s not!” Helena protested. “It’s not okay! And it’s all my fault!”
Bertram sat up straighter, craning his face around to look at Helena with alarm. “What are you talking about?”
“The point of this study is to make sure humans don’t interfere with owl-bears so they don’t get hurt. Preventing anthropogenic interference, right? In this case, it was me. I was the anthropogenic interference.”
Bertram shook his head. “Hel. The truck was the interference.”
“But why was she in that road where the truck was?” Helena cried. “What if it’s because I startled her when I hit her with that tracking spell and changed her planned movement pattern? What if the spell disoriented her?”
“I’m sure it didn’t—”
“You’re a scientist, Bertram. You know we’re supposed to consider all possible variables. Maybe if we weren’t here, she would have been hunting on this plateau, and she wouldn’t have gone anywhere near that freeway.”
“If the location of basecamp caused this, that would’ve happened whether you were here or not,” Bertram said.
“And if she was disoriented because of the tracking spell I hit her with?” Helena sniffled.
“If you hadn’t hit her with it, my mother or I would have.”
Heena shook her head. “But it would have been at a different location or a different time and then she wouldn’t have—”
“Maybe,” Bertram agreed. He stroked Helena’s hair slowly, calmly.
“We’ll never know. But Helena, this isn’t the first time otherfolk have been killed in a car crash.
It’s not even the first time it’s happened on that stretch of freeway.
We’re working to stop it from happening because it does happen, Hel.
It happened all the time. Before you ever got here.
That’s why we’re here, remember? And I can tell you this much: If V-1 had been hit by that car and we weren’t here, her egg wouldn’t have made it. ”
“That’s true,” Helena said, softly.
“And here’s what else: We’re going to use this to stop it from happening anymore. We’re going to get that otherfolk crossing built over the 394. And we’re going to make it so that no animals—magical or otherwise—are endangered by shitty human activity ever again.”
“I don’t think that’s a realistic end goal,” Helena said, her voice barely above a whisper as she sniffled and wiped her eyes.
“Maybe not,” Bertram agreed, “but we are going to get the crossing built. And. We are going to hatch V-1’s egg for her.”
“We don’t even know the egg is viable—”
“It is.”
“And even if it’s viable, we have no idea what it needs or how to protect it; we have no idea if we can hatch it—”
“The egg will hatch,” Bertram said, firmly.
“How do you know?” Helena asked.
Bertram smiled down at her. “Because it’s my turn to be optimistic.”