Some Things Are Personal
For the Livejournal 50scenes challenge. A collection of scenes featuring Lieutenant Helga Sinclair.

Darkest Before Dawn
When everything has fallen apart, all that's left is to rebuild.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters who appear in this collection of fiction. They are property of Disney and the creative team behind Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

(Author's note: Some chapters/scenes will be slightly AU, presuming that Helga survived the volcano with the help of Dr. Sweet and Milo Thatch. This will likely be detailed in a later scene.)

As men and women huddled under umbrellas and hurried for shelter, one woman wanted nothing more than to stand out in the rain. Instead, she could only listen to it tap against her window. She wasn't even able to pull back the curtain. Her bed was too far away.

She turned, and her lips parted in a silent cry of pain. Tears welled in her eyes. She refused to let them fall, instead throwing her head back against her pillow. Fire spread through her side, and she wanted more than to thrash. She knew, though, that would only hurt more. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't. She was a soldier, not a child. All her training forced her to swallow every sound. Her bare fingers trembled as she pressed the buzzer near her bed.

She needed pain medication.

"God," she whispered, slamming her head to the side. Breath came only with difficulty, and she shut her eyes tight to try and forget everything. "Damn."

"You look like Hell, Lieutenant."

She groaned, either annoyed or in pain. As her eyes opened, Lieutenant Helga Sinclair knew she was alone in her room. Still, the company her imagination supplied wasn't terribly objectionable. Not when she knew it wasn't real. And as long as she knew it wasn't real, she wasn't insane.

"No thanks to you," she muttered.

The phantom of Lyle Rourke sighed. His massive shoulders rose and fell with the action, and she watched every familiar muscle extend and contract. He didn't smile, but something in his eyes was warm, inviting. His uniform was pressed, perfect. There wasn't a speck of dirt on him, not a single sign of a scar. He was no worse for the wear than the day she'd met him. "We both did what we had to."

"We underestimated Thatch."

Let the doctor or nurses who answered her call think she was crazy. She knew he was dead. She'd seen the look in Thatch's eyes when she'd asked. Who'd have thought the linguist had it in him to take a life? Especially Rourke's. How in God's name had he managed that? He had to have more than luck on his side to pull it off, she was sure. It didn't matter to her that she was talking to thin air. At least she had someone to talk to. She wasn't used to this. She never got injured this badly, and she never spent hours on end without someone to sit with her. Rourke had always done that, at least for a little bit every day the few times she'd had something that required her to be off her feet for more than a few hours. He'd always taken time to sit with her, make her smile. Take her mind off the pain. He couldn't do that now, not really, but the illusion she conjured would do for now. It would have to do, really. There wasn't anyone else.

"Never thought he'd cause that much trouble." His mouth formed a familiar smile, and she bit back another scream of pain. Even with her eyes closed, she saw him reach for her hand. He curled his fingers around it, but she felt nothing. Maybe if she lost her mind, she could feel him again. For a moment, she wondered if losing herself like that would be better or worse than her current situation.

Her next words made him withdraw and let her breathe, even as something in her chest tightened. "Never thought I'd be expendable."

"Helga."

"I know." Her voice held more venom than she'd meant for it to. "Nothing personal."

"There weren't other options."

"I don't give a damn!"

She tried to sit, wanted to throw something at the shadow of the man, but she fell back to the bed with a strangled gasp. Tears clouded her vision as the room went dark and she saw bright flashes. She choked and shook, pain she couldn't even describe flooding her back.

"Lieutenant!"

Fantasy and reality mixed. She heard her commander's voice but felt real, warm hands on her. Someone drew her in, held her against his broad chest as she quivered from pain. He whispered reassurances as he touched her arm, turned her hand over in one of his, and slid her sleeve up. Something cold pressed against the crook of her elbow, something wet. A moment later, sharp metal bit into the flesh there, and she hissed at the following pressure.

"God," she said under her breath.

"Shouldn't take long." The African-American man holding her came into focus as she opened her eyes. "I told you not to get up. You need rest, got it?"

Too tired to argue and acutely aware of the disarming warmth spreading through her veins every second, she only said, "Yes, sir."

"What had you so riled up anyway?"

"Talking to an old friend." She cracked a smirk as the doctor laid her back on the bed. Her eyes slid closed as her muscles relaxed. Breathing came easier, and she felt sleep winning her over every second.

"Just get some rest. Buzz if you need me again." He pulled the covers over her and left quietly.

As she drifted off to sleep, listening to the rain's gentle rhythm outside, body numb, Helga rolled onto her side. She slid her hand to the edge of the bed, under the blanket. Where some delusional, desperate part of her mind was sure a hand belonged, she felt only the cool, even mattress. She tried to imagine strong arms around her, the voice that had promised nothing would hurt her on his watch. She knew he was gone, knew everything they'd built was gone. No matter how vivid she could let her imagination get, she couldn't escape simple facts. She didn't want to. At least, she was fairly sure she didn't want to.

She knew one thing, though. As soon as she fell asleep, she would dream. As soon as she dreamed, she would no longer be alone.