Chapter Text
“Did you always know you would be taking over Lumon?” asks Erin Weber, the journalist Devon recommended. Helena was unfamiliar with her work, but she wrote a few good profile pieces on other high-profile women. So now they sit in Helena’s Gramercy Park apartment, not too different from the last time Helena was ever interviewed. At least this time she doesn’t have to memorize the bullet points Seth Milchick sent to her, and she actually gets to talk about herself, not bioprinting.
“It was expected of me,” Helena replies, “but it was never a guarantee. My father wanted me to prove myself as an Eagan.”
Erin nods and jots in her notepad. “Do you think you have?”
Helena flicks her eyes over to Natalie, who sits on the sofa pretending to sift through emails on her tablet but obviously has one eye and ear on the interview taking place. Helena is beholden to no one now, and yet occasionally falls back into the habit of seeking confirmation from others before speaking.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever did. Growing up, our relationship felt transactional.”
Helena doesn’t mean for this interview to come across like a public therapy session, but for once, it feels so good to finally say all of this stuff for the world to hear. And if the Lumon Board of Directors doesn’t like what she has to say, then they can just fire her once and for all.
They won’t, though. She is almost singlehandedly keeping Lumon’s image out of the gutter after an unsteady and scandalous year.
So Helena talks, and Erin asks thoughtful questions. Natalie never interrupts, until—
“What about Dr. Mark Scout? Is that an ongoing relationship?”
“That question is off limits,” Natalie remarks, already on her feet and at the edge of the table.
“No, it’s okay,” Helena says. Natalie eyes her—-a telepathic What are you doing?— but Helena remains steadfast. She hasn’t spoken about Mark in a while. Come to think of it, has she ever spoken about him to anyone? Her friends in Manhattan were smart enough to never ask. No one at Lumon dares to. The therapist she’s been seeing for a month is more interested in unpacking her childhood than recent romantic trysts.
The people want to know, but this is an interview for a published profile that anyone can read. She’s adjusted to life as a public figure—barely, but she’s managed—but Mark is not one at all. He sometimes researches and publishes work, but he is not equipped for this level of scrutiny.
Nor does he want it. If he really wanted to, he could speak out and share all the nitty gritty details about Helena that the world desperately wants to know. But to the best of Helena’s knowledge, he’s never said a word.
Maybe he’s consciously protecting her. Maybe he isn’t. But he deserves the same courtesy.
“He’s no one,” Helena tells Erin, “and I haven’t seen him since.”
Later on, after Erin leaves the apartment, Natalie glowers at her. “I made it clear to her not to ask about Mark—”
“I said it’s fine,” Helena interrupts.
Natalie wants to protest, Helena can see it in her eyes and her pursed lips, but she holds back. “Martin Schoeller wants to know when you can meet him at his studio for the photo shoot,” she says, defeated.
Jame Eagan has been dead for four months now, and the Board still has not selected a successor. Helena suspects they’ll just keep her as ‘acting CEO’ forever until she herself drops dead fifty years from now.
Or twenty minutes from now, because this quarterly projections meeting makes Helena more brain dead by the minute. How did her father stomach all of this and not die of boredom?
“And finally, three new branches are opening this quarter—Gaffney, SC; Preston, ID; and Baird Creek, NY.”
Helena’s ears perk up and pull her out of her daze. She’d almost forgotten about the new branch in Baird Creek that she had to schmooze about to the City Council. That was just over a year ago.
“When are they supposed to open officially?” she asks.
“Gaffney and Preston are both slated for grand openings at the end of the month. Baird Creek will be in the middle of November. Still finalizing the interior, I believe.”
Helena files away that information, unsure what to do with it. It gnaws away in her brain for the next couple of weeks. Lumon likes to host grand openings for each new branch, all pomp and circumstance, and surely the new Baird Creek branch is no exception. She could attend. It could be a good reason to go upstate.
Or she can stay behind. No reason in digging up any graves.
It’s for the best.
That’s what she tells herself until she walks through the aisles of the Strand Book Store on a sleepy Sunday evening before it is set to close. She’s not incognito, there hasn’t been much point to it these days. She wanders looking for a new book to read when she rounds the corner and finds herself in the used science fiction section and sees a bookshelf filled displaying book covers with a handwritten banner— Staff Picks.
And right at eye-level: The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell.
“It’ll wreck you.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is, but in a good kind of way.”
Helena rushes out of the Strand and pulls out her phone to call Natalie.
This was a mistake.
Helena stands outside the large colonial revival building on the Ganz campus, stares right at the second floor of windows. One of them must be Mark’s office. Can he see her right now, wrapped in a plaid wool coat, debating whether to go in or not? Is he even in his office? She’s not wearing a hat to conceal her hair; the red waves flow over her shoulders and tousle in the autumn breeze. There aren’t many students milling about, but the semester is still on. Helena checked the academic calendar, checked Mark’s faculty page to confirm the office number.
This was a big fucking mistake.
Judd is parked in the visitor’s parking lot. She can turn around right now, go back to the Grand Kier to prepare for the branch opening tomorrow, and no one would know she was here.
Well, that’s not true. Surely some passing-by student has taken a photo of her on their phone and plastered it all over the Internet. Then Mark will find out somehow, and he’ll wonder why she was there, and she’ll wonder why she didn’t go inside.
Helena heaves a sigh and enters the building.
It takes a few minutes to actually find the history department, tucked away in the far corner of the second floor facing the back of the building. So if Mark is in his office, he couldn’t have seen her outside. Not that it does much to still her heartbeat or soothe her dry mouth.
MARK SCOUT – 210
Helena pokes her head into the empty corridor of offices. Nearly all of the doors are closed save for one. She holds her breath in anticipation as she approaches, but she already knows.
Mark sits at the desk, engrossed in a doorstopper of a book with no jacket, reading glasses perched over the bridge of his nose. She pauses at the doorway to study him while he still hasn’t noticed her. He looks a little better than he did when she last saw him, haircut and light five o’clock shadow along his jaw, crisp pale pink collar and cuffs poking out under an earthy green sweater. She’s never seen him in his element—the accidental reunion at the campus gallery does not count. Her heart inflates and spans over her chest.
Then she lightly knocks on the door.
“Hey, Eustice, come on in.”
He still doesn’t look up from the book. Helena chuffs at the thought of him expecting a student.
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not Eustice.”
Mark looks up from his book, pale-faced and slack-jawed, jumping up to his feet and snatches the reading glasses off his face. They hold each other’s gaze, and Helena could melt into a puddle on the hardwood floor right now.
“Hello,” she finally says.
“Uh, hey,” he replies.
She eyes the chair in front of his desk. “May I sit?”
“Sure, yeah, go ahead.”
Helena unbuttons her coat and slides out of it. Somehow, even in jeans, sneakers, and her matching cerulean blue top and cardigan, she feels more vulnerable than when she was actually naked in front of him.
“Is there somewhere I can hang this up?” she asks, motioning to her coat.
“Yeah, uh…behind the door is a coat rack.”
Helena slings the coat over a spare hook. She can feel his cautious eyes all over her as she moves around his office from door to chair. Once she settles in, Helena offers her kindest smile as an olive branch.
“How have you been?” she asks in hopes it will break the ice, but it might’ve chilled it even more.
Mark sits back down to meet her at eye level, but he sits on the edge of the seat rather than leisurely sinking into it. He remains guarded, has every reason to be.
“Good,” he responds curtly. “Semester’s crawling to the end, but I’m getting by. All my students have stopped sleeping and now run on coffee and Adderall. Allegedly.”
Helena hums in amusement. “I remember something similar. Don’t miss those days.”
“Are you admitting to abusing Adderall?” Mark teases with an arched eyebrow.
Helena sits up straight with her hands in her lap, puts on her best camera-ready face. “I would never use a non-Lumon medication for its unintended use.”
“But you’ve used a Lumon-branded one?”
That’s an entire can of worms that Helena doesn’t have time to unpack with him right now, but she shrugs playfully. It’s too easy, like no time has passed at all. This is going better than she thought, not that she had much expectation for how it would. They’ve already fallen back into this familiar pattern of banter and flirtation, so maybe—
“You’re in town for the branch opening, right?” Mark pipes up. His demeanor cools down, returns to cordial apprehension.
Helena’s smile falters. “Yes, that’s right. Tomorrow.”
Helena takes a moment to observe his office. A large map of the Battle of Verdun campaign hangs behind him, and three shelves stacked occupy the wall to her right. On her left, a window overlooking the main campus walkway, with two framed degrees next to it. His desk is littered with a few loose papers and pens, the book he’d been reading an overexaggerated paperweight.
“So…” he begins, but then trails off.
“Why am I here, in your office?”
“Well, yeah.”
Impulsiveness. Her most defining trait, no matter how much her father wanted her to tame it, no matter how much she chastised herself for it. Helena has no plan, not for this.
“I wanted to see you. To apologize for how we left things off the last time we saw each other,” she admits. “I was cruel and too caught up in what was happening to think clearly. I’m sorry. Truly.”
Mark’s attention turns to the door, another look of surprise on his face. Helena glances over her shoulder to a teenaged girl with dark straight hair standing at the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder. Helena holds her breath.
“Eustice!” Mark exclaims, his voice at a higher pitch than she’s ever heard it before. “Hey, uh…why don’t you wait outside by the chairs? This won’t take too long.”
“But I—”
“Just a few minutes, okay?”
She hesitates before retreating down the hallway. Mark springs up to close the door behind her. Helena’s head reels.
This won’t take too long. How does he know that?
“So, uh…where were we?”
“I was apologizing.”
“Right,” Mark says as he plops back into his chair. “Um, thank you. I’m sorry, too. I got nasty then and said one or two things I shouldn’t have.”
Yeah, he did. Slumming it up. The words sometimes echo in Helena’s mind late at night when she cannot sleep and she misses the warmth of his body.
“Thank you,” she accepts.
Mark stays silent.
So, that’s it. Helena will stand up and walk away, and they will never see each other again, simple as that. He’ll continue to teach stressed undergrads about history, and she’ll run Lumon until the Board stops dragging their feet and appoint a new CEO. And after that, she’ll find something else to do, something that banks on her name and image for a few more years before everyone inevitably forgets her, including Mark. A blessing and a curse rolled into one.
“How is everyone else doing?” she asks. “How is Irving?”
“Uh, Irving’s fine. Still running the bookstore.”
“Is Radar still there?”
“Yeah, he still naps in the window.”
The image of the dog curled up in the sun springs to mind and calms Helena for a few seconds. It gives her enough confidence to continue stalling, to keep talking with him.
“And your sister and niece?”
Mark exhales sharply. “Eleanor’s good. She’s walking and talking like crazy now. Definitely a handful for Devon, but nothing that she can’t handle.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Yeah, uh, she told me you reached out to her?”
“I did,” she says. “When New York Magazine approached me about a feature, I was told I could provide my own interviewer. I thought of Devon first, but she declined. Conflict of interest.”
Mark nods in consideration, casts his eyes off to the side. He’s already slipping away from her. She should leave now, forever. But Mark is here, now.
“What time do you finish work today?” she murmurs.
He snaps his attention back to her. His brown eyes crinkle in confusion.
“What?”
“I’m checked in at the Grand Kier.” She wades through the waters. “The Dieter Suite, again. I’m staying for tonight and tomorrow before I return to the city for a gala.” Her voice quivers. “And maybe you can join me then, too?”
Mark’s jaw clenches ever so slightly.
“That’s funny, I thought you said I was no one.”
The floor bottoms out underneath Helena, and she drops deep into the hole she dug herself. She should’ve expected this, but the crash lands just the same. Mark’s voice is dry and acerbic, and she cringes at her own words being used against her.
She immediately jumps into defense mode because defense is familiar after months—years, really—of doing it. “I said that to protect you. You’ve already seen enough of how… parasitic people online can be. I didn’t want any more speculation.”
“Okay,” Mark shoots back. “I believe you.” He speaks like someone who is absolutely not convinced, dismissive and hurt. And she understands, really, but Helena wants her coat back on, so she can burrow underneath it and hide.
“Do you?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think it changes anything.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Helena, c’mon…”
Helena bristles. He didn't call her Helly, and that’s all she needs to know. But she listens to him speak anyway.
“This was never going to work out. I’m a middling academic widower still trying to piece my life back together and you’re… well, you’re the CEO of a biotech company worth billions. You are worth billions.”
“Acting CEO,” she corrects softly.
Mark sighs. “Okay, but my point stands, doesn't it? We don’t exist on the same plane. I live in Baird Creek. You’re in and out of board rooms. Everyone knows your name. Students barely remember mine after they've taken my class. What we had was fun, but I think we should leave it at that.”
No. He’s saying no.
Helena swallows the lump lodged in her throat, bites her bottom lip to prevent it from trembling, fiddles with her hands in her lap. She blinks away any tears forming in her eyes, and thankfully, none spill over her cheeks.
“Okay,” she mumbles, mostly for herself. “I…I understand.”
She stands up and turns to the door to retrieve her coat. Time to get the hell out of here, retreat into the safety of her hotel suite before she has to put on her act tomorrow. At least she has an answer, and she’ll never ask herself ‘what if’ again.
“You know, I’m not actually a billionaire,” she says. Now is not the time to crunch the numbers, but that’s a detail everyone gets wrong about her. “But I’ve lived under scrutiny my entire life, long before the media got involved. I understand how much pressure there is. I know I only invite trouble.”
Her voice shakes, but Helena isn’t done, not yet. “But I didn’t come here to cause trouble,” she continues. “I just…I wanted to see if you’d still look at me the way you used to.”
Mark looks at her, taken aback. “Looked at you… how?”
“Like a normal person who can be loved.”
She puts her coat back on and smiles at him for one last bittersweet time. “Goodbye,” she says, then strides out of his office.
The teenager from before sits in a chair down the hallway. “Dr. Scout is ready for you now,” Helena mutters, tongue-in-cheek because she needs humor right now to keep herself together. She doesn’t stick around to see the girl’s reaction.
quinn-fabreeze: @HelenaEaganUpdates i am like 99% certain i saw helena eagan walking around ganz this afternoon
HelenaEaganUpdates: if you have photos, DM me
quinn-fabreeze: @HelenaEaganUpdates i don’t! didn’t want to be obvious
helena-eager2004: !!!!! if this true then maybe god is real