Work Text:
When she falls pregnant, Charles demands to know who the father is; Helena tells him it's absolutely none of his business. She's past caring if he takes that to mean she doesn't know, but he's already milking one of her successes for all he can get out of it, and she will not have him meddling with her pregnancy as well as her literature.
She doesn't tell the father, either, but that's because neither of them were expecting anything more from each other and she sees no need to change the rules of engagement on him.
All the way through the pregnancy, she can't decide whether to give the child up to an orphanage or not. In some ways, it would be far easier to do that and go about her business; but on the other hand, she's in the relatively unique position of being a working woman, and providing for the child's needs would present no problem. (She never once considers terminating the pregnancy; even the Warehouse's abortifacients are far too risky.)
Helena keeps working cases until she can hardly walk, and can't be torn away from the paperwork after that, to the point where the Warehouse's doctor insists upon overseeing her delivery. It's hellish - she makes a note to be more sure of her contraceptives, in the future - and the result is a squalling little girl.
She's the most beautiful thing Helena's ever seen, and from that moment on, there's no way she can turn that girl out of her life.
"It's all right, little one," she says, when the doctor hands her her daughter. "Mummy won't ever let anything hurt you."