AN: I am back.
This is not a FannyHelmholtz story. This is not a FannyBernard story. This is a BernardHelmholtz story. That is all, people.
Fanny could see it in his eyes.
She had known for…How long again? Some time. There were some things one just knew, without anyone saying so, without anything repeated when nobody can hear.
She knew. It could be the way Bernard was always with Helmholtz when he was not chasing after Lenina. The way he looked at him with those-those eyes.
Fanny had learned that people reveal a lot with their eyes. Once she had stood by as Helmholtz asked Bernard: Do you really love Lenina?
Bernard had said nothing. Made his eyes look out the window, looking at the surroundings without seeing. And yet Fanny saw something in his eyes that she couldn't quite explain. Fanny thought herself a sensible person, realizing that when things make no sense they are the most likely thing to happen.
She wouldn't tell Lenina.
Once, one day, they were all together, the four of them- Bernard was talking to Helmholtz. There was something in his voice, like that, only Fanny noticed. Bernard looked back at Fanny, he noticed she looked concerned, he was frozen in Fanny's stare.
Fanny gave a half smile and nodded her head, just so that her hat would shake a little bit, so her forehead would tilt, to show that she understood.
She was, silently, understood in a seemingly invisible agreement.
Later that night some silly girls had dragged Helmholtz out of sight, to who knows where. Only the subconscious knows, probably. Lenina said- Lucky girls, eh? Not knowing. Bernard said he didn't hear after Lenina asked him why he didn't answer, but Fanny knew this was a lie. "I must go," said Fanny, zipping her fuchsia-dyed substitute fur jacket.
Was it so terrible?
No, thought Fanny. It wasn't.
The next day, Bernard approached Fanny. Is something the matter? Asked Fanny.
Well…He said, the paused. Then: Never mind.
She could see something in his eyes as he walked away.
That day, Fanny went and took a walk. There was so much to think about these days, she thought. I know things, and I am not sure if I am meant to know them.
But she does know them, those things, and perhaps this means they are meant to be known, perhaps she has just found out by a mistake, but she knows, and this should count for something.