33. Bertram #2
“Or, if we can’t start with a clean slate, then tell me that now.
” There was a quiet desperation in her voice.
“Because there are times you look at me like you hate me. Like yesterday. And when I showed up, it was the only way you looked at me. But since then . . . , there have been moments where we’ve had fun and laughed together and you looked at me like—like . . .”
It seemed like Helena wanted Bertram to jump in and fill in the gaps. But he couldn’t tell Helena how he was looking at her, how he felt about her, because half the time he wasn’t even sure himself.
“If you think we can never be okay again, I understand,” Helena said, softly, “but just tell me now, so I can stop hoping—because I do, Bertram.” Helena’s wide, silver-ringed eyes shone with sincerity.
“I do hope. I miss you. I’ve missed you for years.
And in the moments where it feels like, where it feels like we’re friends again .
. . I just, I’m so happy and then—and then that disappears and it’s just .
. . it feels so cold without you. I don’t know how to explain but, if it can’t be a clean slate then I .
. .” Helena bit her lip. “What did I do, Bertram? What did I do that was so horrible that you can’t forgive me half a decade later? ”
You lied to me, Bertram wanted to say. Every day for ten years. You smiled at me and laughed with me and talked to me like you cared about me, like you saw me for who I am. Like you saw me as a Person, and not just a monster.
Maybe you never said it in so many words, but every shared sandwich, every stolen kiss, every coauthored paper, all of them said, “I see you. I know you. I care about you.”
And then, in so many words, you explicitly said that you didn’t. You never saw me at all. You never saw me as anything but not human.
How could you, Helena?
How could you?
But all he said was: “Clean slate.”
“Wait, what?” Helena asked, blinking in surprise.
“You said if I don’t want to talk about it, can we start over? And I’m saying yes. Let’s start over.”
Helena’s face brightened. “Really?”
Bertram shrugged. There was no answer she could give as to her behavior half a decade ago that would ever truly satisfy the ache in his heart.
His whole reality had fractured the second those hateful words had left her mouth.
No apology could undo the pain caused in that moment, and all the long devastating months that came after.
Particularly an apology that he himself had to specifically request and explain.
But they had both changed in the intervening years. He saw that.
“And when you say, ‘clean slate’”—Helena smiled, almost shyly—“do you mean as colleagues, or—or could we try to be actual . . . friends, do you think?”
Bertram sighed.
The idea of just letting go of the past—of moving on and pretending like Helena never wounded him so deeply—tied his stomach in knots.
But on the other hand, he tried to be a kind Person, a reasonable Person. And refusing to discuss the past with Helena and refusing to forgive her felt unkind and unreasonable.
Plus, Helena had stepped between him and a rampaging owl-bear.
A baby one, but still.
If Helena was willing to throw herself in front of Bertram to protect him, Bertram could at least give Helena the chance to start fresh.
Besides, whether he wanted it to be true or not, he liked talking to Helena. He liked spending time with Helena.
He liked Helena.
“Friends,” Bertram said, and hoped he wouldn’t regret it. “I can’t promise we’ll be best friends overnight. But I’m ready to move forward. And here. To start with”—Bertram extended the mug toward Helena—“I made you coffee—FUCKING OUCH!”
The moment he stepped toward Helena with his arm outstretched, he felt the hot burn of coffee hitting his skin and the sharp pain of a beak biting down.
“V-2, NO!” Helena yelled. “He’s being nice!”
V-2 did not seem to care about Helena’s analysis of the situation and continued to repeatedly nip at Bertram’s arm.
Bertram was worried that rekindling a friendship with Helena would open himself up to being hurt.
He didn’t expect that hurt to be so instantaneous or so literal.
“We don’t bite our friends!” Helena said as she wrestled V-2 away from Bertram.
Bertram examined his arm. Only two of the bites had even broken the skin, and neither had anywhere near the depth of the attack that V-2 delivered yesterday, when Bertram had actually grabbed the baby owl-bear.
“I’m so, so, so, sorry,” Helena said, as she cradled the now-cooing V-2 against her chest.
“It’s not your fault,” Bertram said. “Apparently imprinting makes owl-bears very protective of their mother—”
Helena looked close to tears. “I’m sorry—”
“It’s okay,” Bertram said, gently. “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.”
Helena swallowed and nodded.
Seeing the tears welling in Helena’s eyes tugged at Bertram’s heart. Before, whenever Helena stirred emotion in him, Bertram felt the need to repress it.
But if he was going to make a sincere and honest attempt at friendship, then he could allow himself to feel things for Helena—things like not wanting her to cry. He wanted to take her in his arms again, to comfort her and soothe her and hold her, just as he had the night that V-1 died.
Friends did that, didn’t they?
Friends could gather one another to their chest and hold one another close and kiss their tears away.
Well, maybe not the kissing part, but friends could certainly hug each other to stave off crying. Bertram took one step forward, hands at his side, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.
Immediately, V-2 hissed and her pupils narrowed to slits. Goosebumps raised all over her naked form.
In a high concept way, yes, friends could hug each other to stave off crying.
But when the crying was threatening to happen because a baby owl-bear was very belligerent at aforementioned friend’s approach, then no, actually, friends could not hug each other to stave off crying.
Bertram took a step back. “I’ll help you with her as much as I can, but I think it’s going to have to be at a distance. For now, at least.”
Helena nodded. She angled her body away from Bertram so that he was obscured from V-2’s vision, hoping to calm the baby.
V-2 clamored up onto Helena’s shoulder, keeping Bertram within her sight. She hissed with greater spite.
“I’ll take her back to the lab now, before she leaps at you again,” Helena said.
“If you let me know how much of each species you want to try to feed out, I’ll prepare the slurry for you. Just so it’s one less thing on your plate.”
“I appreciate it,” Helena said. “And I really appreciate your willingness to at least try being friends. I missed you, Bertram. You have no idea how much I missed you.”
Bertram nodded. But it wasn’t true—he knew exactly how much Helena had missed him. He had missed her just as much.