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seriousficTitle: Five Times H.G. Wells Had Her Way With Myka Bering (And Myka Didn't Particularly Mind)
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,783
Notes: This story takes place after 2x09 – Vendetta
Characters/Pairings: Myka/H.G.
Previous: Part 4
Next: Bastille Day
Summary: Sometimes Myka is so desperate, she'll even go to Pete for advice.
"By the power of Grayskull!" was all Pete could say when Myka told him. He took her slugging his arm like a man.
It hadn't taken long for Pete to realize something was wrong. Even though Helena had only been with them a short while, he'd gotten used to her outrageous flirting with Myka, and Myka's often-fake scandalized response. Then he came into work one morning to find a cold front on. Helena, who'd always had so much vigor and pluck it wasn't hard to imagine her building her steampunk gadgets with the same excitement as a kid racing in a soap-box derby or building a tree fort, was suddenly a ghost of her former self. Despite Claudia's best efforts to cheer her, she drifted through her days doing nothing more than inventory and maintenance, not raising one crossed word when Artie froze her out from active duty.
And Myka was worse. He was used to his partner being a wet blanket, but never so volatile. It was like she was personally offended by people being cheerful. She snapped at the others' joking without an ounce of good humor, she yelled at suspects at the slightest provocation, and Pete had to work hard to stop her from Tesla-ing a McDonald's guy who said they were out of coffee.
It was like all of a sudden, he was working with three Arties.
Since he and Helena still weren't close, although he would've loved to be after the tongue action in London, he went to Myka, braced himself for some military-grade scorn, and asked her what was up with her relationship.
Myka denied the whole thing, of course, but the fact that she'd used more four-letter words than a game of Scrabble gave up the lie. Slumping down into her chair, Myka started at the beginning. Pete crossed his legs and resolved to steer well clear of the Larry Flynn wheelchair that fed on inappropriate thoughts. Then Myka got to the part about destroying the world. Suddenly sex, even kinky lesbian half-British-accent sex, was the last thing on his mind.
"We have to tell Artie."
"No, no," Myka said certainly. "I've thought of that. He'll jump at any excuse to bronze H.G. again, you know that, he wouldn't even shake her hand!"
"Okay, okay, okay, no Artie. But, dude, what do you want to bet she has a Plan B? Maybe if she can't destroy the world, she'll settle for Australia? And all that stands between her and Australia is a bout of depression. Oh, and you broke up with her."
Myka grabbed her armrests and propelled herself up into motion, furiously pacing through the Warehouse. Pete had to catch up with her and shepherd her away from the Dark Section.
"I just… I can't…" Myka grabbed her hair like she wanted to pull it out by the roots. "I know everything you're going to say and I agree, but I just can't."
"You love her," Pete said slowly, like he was stepping out on a ledge.
"I can't lose her. It's not the same thing."
"Well… would it hurt this much if you didn't love her?"
"Argh. Argh-argh-argh!" Myka stomped down another hallway and Pete followed, frantically scanning the labels to see if any of the Artifacts could be set off by lesbian angst. "Can we just… get rid of this? Find Sigmund Freud's pocket watch and make me forget this ever happened? With her, I was so… I didn't know I could feel that way."
"We're better off knowing this. We need to do something to… you know…" Pete shook his head. Myka didn't need a plan to put a bell around Helena's collar. Clearly, this was a bit more personal than the end of the world. "Look, you trusted her, right? Even back when you thought she was Bronzed for good reason. Maybe, I dunno, maybe you were right then and you're right now. Do you know for a fact she would've gone through with it, even without you getting all Bound with her?"
Myka stared at him.
"Jennifer Tilly, Gina Gershon, Wachowski Brothers' last movie before The Matrix? Not a bondage joke."
"No, Pete, I don't know if Helena would have had second thoughts about the apocalypse!" Myka erupted, hands flailing like he'd stolen her lunch from the fridge. "She's kinda unstable, in case you hadn't noticed from her idea of breakfast conversation!"
"Okay, great, we get her a good psychologist, do some crisis counseling, she's fine. Isn't that how all those Lifetime movies work? You're a chick, you should know this."
Myka hugged herself tightly. Pete made it all sound so simple. "And then what? I go back to her?"
Pete nodded. It seemed like what she needed to hear. "If you want."
Myka didn't lift her bowed head. "She was my first since Sam."
Myka didn't like to be touched, at least not by him. But sometimes, she really needed to be. Pete pulled her into a bear hug. "Trust me, there aren't that many good-looking girls out there with a side-order of brains. If she's not the one, you'll find someone else. People do it all the time."
"And who'll she find?"
***
Pete had never seen anyone so good at getting themselves under control. Myka took a moment, regrouped, scrubbed her eyes, fixed her hair, and focused on the job, even if the job was just cataloguing a few things from Warehouse 2.
Pete couldn't focus, knowing his best friend was in an 'It's Complicated' with the closest thing they had to Dr. Doom. He'd always had bad vibes about Helena. Lately, they'd slacked off a bit. That'd never happened before. He was thinking that maybe Helena was just a player and Myka was going to end up walking in on her with another woman—maybe a Frenchwoman and an Aussie, for that accent trifecta—but now it looked like his vibes hadn't been messing around.
He had to tell Artie. Myka had pretty much said she didn't trust H.G. either, and as much as he wanted to give her a fair shake, this was way above his paygrade. What if he got a major vibe just in time to find out she'd ix-nayed Africa? Besides, Myka and her seemed pretty donesies. So really, it would be irresponsible of him not to kick this up the ladder.
***
The first hint Myka got was when she went to Helena's room—not to apologize, just to check up on her, that was all—and saw the Regent agents bagging and tagging her things. The beautiful first editions of her books that Myka had gotten her as a housewarming present, the towering stack of Post-Its she'd bought so she'd never run out, the dozen cell phones she was disassembling to tinker with. All of them went into cold, sterile plastic, like dead things at an autopsy.
She ran outside in time to see Helena on the bench, bound hands in her lap, like she was waiting for a bus except for the guards on either side. "Where are you taking her?" she demanded, though she knew the stonewall was coming.
"Any pertinent information will be released to your supervisor," one of them said.
"Get out. I want to talk to her."
The guards looked at each other. Or maybe they just turned their heads at the same time. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.
"I'll take full responsibility. And look at her, she's not going anywhere. You can guard her just as well from over there."
"Frederic said to extend courtesies," one said to the other.
"You have five minutes," the other said to Myka.
They got up and walked out twenty paces, leaving Myka more or less alone with Helena. And for a moment, Myka wasn't sure how wise that was. She looked at Helena and felt shame. Not the piteous feeling she got for not living up to her standards, for eating a Twizzler when it was full of sugar. This was like what she'd felt for Sam's killer, but directed inward.
She sat down beside Helena, busying herself by looking at her handcuffs. They didn't seem to be on too tight, so at least they were comfortable. At least there was that.
"I'm sorry," Myka said quickly, suddenly wondering how much time they had left. If they would ever have any more time. "I never meant for this to happen. I just told Pete and… I needed to talk to someone, that was all, I didn't want this!"
"Didn't you?" Helena looked at her. She wasn't crying. She wasn't doing anything. Her eyes were so hard, so cold, that they might never have been unbronzed. "Now you're rid of me and you can blame Artie, or Pete… Leena, for all I care."
"I'll get you out of this, I swear, I'll make them see—"
"Should you?" Helena's eyes softened a bit. They looked down at her hands. "I don’t now recognize who I was when I came out of the bronze. There was so much anger, so much pain. Who knows what I'll be when I emerge from whatever fresh hell they've fashioned, now that they can't trust me with you?" She smiled, lopsided.
Myka hugged her tight, trying to squeeze enough love into her to last that long. "I have feelings for you. You were right. I was too scared to tell you what they were. I do feel… whatever you feel."
"That's enough, that's enough—" One of the guards was back. He pulled Helena away, forcing her to stand. A black Range Rover was coming up the street.
"You said five minutes!" Myka said. Her voice cracked as she said it.
"Ride's here now," the guard said piteously. He shoved Helena to the curve as the Range Rover came up.
Helena looked over her shoulder at Myka, frozen to the bench. "The world never does live up to my expectations. Even when all I want is a measure of peace and someone to share it with. Goodbye, Myka. Thank you for… for what you had to give me. It was more than I should've expected anyway."
***
After that, Myka went on missions partnered with Claudia.
***
It took a week of dreamless nights, as if her subconscious was punishing her, but Helena returned to her. Myka was lying awake, trying to just run through the day's events like she had always used to, but her mind kept returning to Helena and that last, horrific look on her face as another loved one disappeared from her life. Not even by being taken from her, but by betrayal. And then the door opened.
Myka looked over lazily, expecting Pete, apologizing again. It was the middle of the night, who else would bother her? But the silhouette was unmistakable. Helena lingered in the doorway for a moment, backlit by the dim light, gathering herself, before coming in. The door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness, and Myka frantically groped for the lamp.
"H.G.?"
"Agent Bering." Helena's cool tone weakened, warmed. She was coming closer. "Myka."
Myka got her fingers on the lamp's dial and turned it up. It was her! Helena stood before her, crisply tailored suit hugging her body, her arms locked before her, her body language all twisted up. But she couldn't hide the smile on her face when she saw Myka.
"No," she said, reaching to turn the light back off.
"What are you doing here?" Myka asked. "Did they let you go? Did you—"
"Does it matter?"
Myka wished she could just give in and say it didn't, but she was still an agent. If she wasn't, Helena never would've gone. "Is anyone hurt?"
"No."
"Then it doesn't." Myka got up, kneeling before Helena on the bed. Helena being there seemed more impossible, more wondrous, than anything she'd ever found in the Warehouse. She reached out a hand to touch her, to make sure it wasn't some cruel trick, but held back at the last instant. What right had see to so much as hold Helena's hand after what she'd done?
Helena, sensing her distress, took Myka's hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her skin felt pleasingly cool, like moonlight. Myka's brain couldn't stop racing, zooming through the story of Psyche and Cupid. Psyche had loved Cupid and come to her each night to show his passion, asking only that she blow out the candles before he arrived so he could keep his godly identity secret for a little while. But, misled by bad advice and her own insecurities, Psyche had lit a lamp while Cupid slept beside her. Even as she had fallen even more deeply in love with his beauty, a drop of wax had fallen to awake him, and they'd been separated for long years, Psyche having to eventually go through the underworld to get him back.
Myka would go through hell for Helena. She was the only bit of heaven Myka had ever found.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Myka said, running her hand over Helena's face. Everything was as she remembered it. She put both hands on Helena's shoulders, as if holding her in place. "I was scared, Helena. I fucked up."
"It's alright," Helena assured her. She cupped Myka's face in her hands and eased her down to fit against her chest, only then adding her arms around Myka's back and hugging her tightly. Myka could've melted into her. Her face felt warm where it pressed against Helena's breast—Myka imagined it was her heart. "Don't cry, it's quite alright. You were trying to do the right thing. It's one of many qualities I find most admirable in you."
"Forgive me," Myka said, both hating herself for sounding so pathetic and needing an answer more than she needed air.
"Always," Helena said. "Can you forgive me? For betraying your trust, then having the audacity to feel insulted by your reaction—"
Myka slipped out of Helena's arms and kissed her. Helena's lips warmed quickly against her own. "Never talk about it again. It doesn't matter. There's nothing to forgive."
"Myka," Helena said, her face splitting into a smile. She pressed her forehead to Myka's, glorifying in the simple fact that they could again touch each other, look at each other. Myka was doing the same. "I know it'll sound bold, but I can't bring myself to care. May I stay?"
Myka threw the sheets off her body. She remembered she'd been wearing something like this the night before Sam had died. Her blouse, the same remnant of her business suit, and a pair of boy-cut panties. She cast the thought aside. She couldn't stay in the past with Sam anymore, not when Helena had given her a second chance at a future.
"Always."
Myka drifted back against the pillow, her hand sliding over Helena's arm until it was at her hand, holding on, linking them. Helena gave into the pull, straddling Myka. She put Myka's hand on her thigh and used her own fingers to work at the buttons of her jacket, exposing a vest underneath. The tweed jacket Myka helped her out of reminded Myka of several professors she'd had. As Helena undid the vest, Myka teased at her bowtie.
"You look like you should be giving a lecture."
Helena smiled, slipping the vest down her cotton shirtsleeves. "Would you like me to teach you something, Agent Bering?"
"Everything."
Helena snappily undid her bowtie, but left it dangling around her neck. She took Myka's hands, gave them a squeeze, and then left them at the collar of her shirt. Myka went along happily, slowly sorting each button through its holes.
"Many deserts," Helena began primly, running her hands through her hair to release it from its bun, "go for years without rainfall. But not forever. When it comes, the entire ecosystem is centered around that precipitation." Helena pulled the hem of Myka's shirt out from under her legs, pushing it back until it pooled under Myka's breasts. "Flowers bloom. Animals mate. Cacti store water. And predators hunt." She reached down, her hand brushing over the crotch of Myka's panties. "The desert becomes wet and rich with color. It's actually quite beautiful. It's called the flowering desert." Her fingers bored into Myka.
Myka gasped. She was halfway down Helena's shirt and pleasure she wasn't ready for, would never be used to, electrified her. Lit up, she ripped the shirt open. Buttons clattered through the room, making it sound alive. She reared up, nearly toppling Helena from her perch on Myka's legs, and ripped open her own shirt. Unlike Helena, she didn't wear a bra.
"I'm yours. Have me. Please, have me."
Helena leaned back, baring her throat, letting her shirt slide away from her like useless inhibitions. When she craned her neck back to Myka, it was so she could see the look on her face as Helena opened her bra. "I already have you, Myka. And I do intend to keep you."
They embraced. Myka remembered something else about moonbeams. They felt exquisite on bare skin.
"I'd like if you were naked," Helena said. "Completely."
Her voice opened Myka up like a caress. She couldn't disobey. She couldn't want to disobey. She shed her shirt, her panties. She laid down before Helena like she was posing for a picture. And Helena looked at her like she was painting one in her head, letting the paint dry in her memory before moving over Myka, smiling as the other woman wrapped one long leg around her waist.
Helena pressed against Myka, at first softly, letting her used to all the different feelings—the warming suppleness of her skin, the cool leather of her belt at Myka's belly, and lower… the wool of Helena's trousers feeling perfect between Myka's legs, coarse but not rough, teasingly nipping at her secrets. Then Helena went harder, her hands sinking into Myka's hips, forcing her into the feeling. Myka was overheating. The friction was burning out of control. And no matter how she pawed at the sweat-slick skin of Helena's back, she couldn't get enough of it.
More than anything, Myka needed to share this with Helena. She couldn't take without giving, not tonight. "Let me—" she began, sliding her hand between their bodies, to the straining muscles of Helena's belly. Helena stared into her eyes, anxious and pleased. "Let me—" Myka begged once more, her hand pawing open Helena's belt buckle.
"Yes," Helena said, and she couldn't stop saying it as Myka's hand dipped into her trousers, breaching the cool satin of her panties. "Yes, yes, yes…"
It was when Myka felt her own hand pressed between them that they came, Myka first, then Helena, screaming out for both of them like she was feeding off Myka's orgasm. The next time Myka felt her trousers, there was a vast wet spot in them. With a gleeful chortle, Helena rolled Myka, her breasts swaying beautifully as she settled beside her.
It wasn't enough for Myka. She could never make Helena feel loved enough, and she could never have enough of the woman. She could only manage her addiction. And now, she could only give in.
Rolling on top of Helena, hopelessly tangling the sheets around them, Myka put her smile against Helena's. "Please, Helena. Say my name. It feels like it's been a lifetime since I've heard you say my name."
Helena petted Myka's hair easing her down so her ear was at Helena's mouth. "Myka. Myka Ophelia Bering."
"No. Say it… like you say it. Like only you say it."
Helena took her hand off Myka's head, making it easy for her to meet her gaze. "Myka. My jewel."
Myka bent down and kissed her, just a peck, not wanting to stop the words she formed—the only thing sweeter than her lips.
"My dear, dearest, dear one," Helena said teasingly, and Myka teasingly kissed her throat.
"My fire." Helena's voice quickened with lust as Myka kissed her breasts, detouring on her downward journey to lavish the perfectly formed flesh with attention. "My wine."
Just as Myka was becoming engrossed, Helena ran a finger through her hair, twisting it along a curly lock. "My heart."
Myka smiled and ran her face down Helena's belly, stopping only to kiss her belly button.
"My queen," Helena continued, her voice serene now, her hands resting on Myka's head and neck with a simple, comforting grip. "My goddess. My love."
Myka could smell her arousal now, old and new, and needed to taste it. Needed to show her devotion as plainly as she could. She stopped to look up at Helena, her eyes shining with loyalty and forgiveness. Myka eased Helena's trousers down, the open buckle dragging over Helena's scintillating flesh as if marking a trail for Myka.
Impulsively, Myka surged up to kiss Helena's lips, properly this time, feeling the moan she provoked rattling in Helena's throat. She pulled back, cupping Helena's face, and her moonlit lover felt as warm and real as a fireplace on a winter's night. All that was left was for Myka to say how she felt.
That was when she woke up. As always.
In the morning, the dreams always melded into sameness. A feeling of longing, of regret. She was so used to it, she sometimes didn't register she'd dreamt. But asleep, she knew every moment. Each night, she dreamt of sharing the day's events with Helena. Even the rare lazy day was rewritten with her. Her meticulous mind had turned against her. Each detail was exact, her memory of Helena so precise that it was as if the woman had been resurrected whole.
If she were dead. Myka didn't even know that much.
The worst dreams were when she imagined them making love. It wasn't the flirty promise of their first date. It was slow and tender, wild and joyous, even painful in its animalistic intensity. But Helena always made her feel loved, safe, whole. No matter how Myka begged the shade of her to stop, to let her forget,
And Helena laughed and held her and made her warm. And Myka felt a comfort she didn't deserve.
"Helena," she whispered in the morning air, the sun's harsh and merciless revealing of her empty room. She whispered, knowing if she shouted at the top of her lungs for the rest of her life, it would never reach Helena. She could only hope Helena, with all her brilliance, had already figured out what it had taken her until it was far too late to discover.
"I love you."
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,783
Notes: This story takes place after 2x09 – Vendetta
Characters/Pairings: Myka/H.G.
Previous: Part 4
Next: Bastille Day
Summary: Sometimes Myka is so desperate, she'll even go to Pete for advice.
"By the power of Grayskull!" was all Pete could say when Myka told him. He took her slugging his arm like a man.
It hadn't taken long for Pete to realize something was wrong. Even though Helena had only been with them a short while, he'd gotten used to her outrageous flirting with Myka, and Myka's often-fake scandalized response. Then he came into work one morning to find a cold front on. Helena, who'd always had so much vigor and pluck it wasn't hard to imagine her building her steampunk gadgets with the same excitement as a kid racing in a soap-box derby or building a tree fort, was suddenly a ghost of her former self. Despite Claudia's best efforts to cheer her, she drifted through her days doing nothing more than inventory and maintenance, not raising one crossed word when Artie froze her out from active duty.
And Myka was worse. He was used to his partner being a wet blanket, but never so volatile. It was like she was personally offended by people being cheerful. She snapped at the others' joking without an ounce of good humor, she yelled at suspects at the slightest provocation, and Pete had to work hard to stop her from Tesla-ing a McDonald's guy who said they were out of coffee.
It was like all of a sudden, he was working with three Arties.
Since he and Helena still weren't close, although he would've loved to be after the tongue action in London, he went to Myka, braced himself for some military-grade scorn, and asked her what was up with her relationship.
Myka denied the whole thing, of course, but the fact that she'd used more four-letter words than a game of Scrabble gave up the lie. Slumping down into her chair, Myka started at the beginning. Pete crossed his legs and resolved to steer well clear of the Larry Flynn wheelchair that fed on inappropriate thoughts. Then Myka got to the part about destroying the world. Suddenly sex, even kinky lesbian half-British-accent sex, was the last thing on his mind.
"We have to tell Artie."
"No, no," Myka said certainly. "I've thought of that. He'll jump at any excuse to bronze H.G. again, you know that, he wouldn't even shake her hand!"
"Okay, okay, okay, no Artie. But, dude, what do you want to bet she has a Plan B? Maybe if she can't destroy the world, she'll settle for Australia? And all that stands between her and Australia is a bout of depression. Oh, and you broke up with her."
Myka grabbed her armrests and propelled herself up into motion, furiously pacing through the Warehouse. Pete had to catch up with her and shepherd her away from the Dark Section.
"I just… I can't…" Myka grabbed her hair like she wanted to pull it out by the roots. "I know everything you're going to say and I agree, but I just can't."
"You love her," Pete said slowly, like he was stepping out on a ledge.
"I can't lose her. It's not the same thing."
"Well… would it hurt this much if you didn't love her?"
"Argh. Argh-argh-argh!" Myka stomped down another hallway and Pete followed, frantically scanning the labels to see if any of the Artifacts could be set off by lesbian angst. "Can we just… get rid of this? Find Sigmund Freud's pocket watch and make me forget this ever happened? With her, I was so… I didn't know I could feel that way."
"We're better off knowing this. We need to do something to… you know…" Pete shook his head. Myka didn't need a plan to put a bell around Helena's collar. Clearly, this was a bit more personal than the end of the world. "Look, you trusted her, right? Even back when you thought she was Bronzed for good reason. Maybe, I dunno, maybe you were right then and you're right now. Do you know for a fact she would've gone through with it, even without you getting all Bound with her?"
Myka stared at him.
"Jennifer Tilly, Gina Gershon, Wachowski Brothers' last movie before The Matrix? Not a bondage joke."
"No, Pete, I don't know if Helena would have had second thoughts about the apocalypse!" Myka erupted, hands flailing like he'd stolen her lunch from the fridge. "She's kinda unstable, in case you hadn't noticed from her idea of breakfast conversation!"
"Okay, great, we get her a good psychologist, do some crisis counseling, she's fine. Isn't that how all those Lifetime movies work? You're a chick, you should know this."
Myka hugged herself tightly. Pete made it all sound so simple. "And then what? I go back to her?"
Pete nodded. It seemed like what she needed to hear. "If you want."
Myka didn't lift her bowed head. "She was my first since Sam."
Myka didn't like to be touched, at least not by him. But sometimes, she really needed to be. Pete pulled her into a bear hug. "Trust me, there aren't that many good-looking girls out there with a side-order of brains. If she's not the one, you'll find someone else. People do it all the time."
"And who'll she find?"
***
Pete had never seen anyone so good at getting themselves under control. Myka took a moment, regrouped, scrubbed her eyes, fixed her hair, and focused on the job, even if the job was just cataloguing a few things from Warehouse 2.
Pete couldn't focus, knowing his best friend was in an 'It's Complicated' with the closest thing they had to Dr. Doom. He'd always had bad vibes about Helena. Lately, they'd slacked off a bit. That'd never happened before. He was thinking that maybe Helena was just a player and Myka was going to end up walking in on her with another woman—maybe a Frenchwoman and an Aussie, for that accent trifecta—but now it looked like his vibes hadn't been messing around.
He had to tell Artie. Myka had pretty much said she didn't trust H.G. either, and as much as he wanted to give her a fair shake, this was way above his paygrade. What if he got a major vibe just in time to find out she'd ix-nayed Africa? Besides, Myka and her seemed pretty donesies. So really, it would be irresponsible of him not to kick this up the ladder.
***
The first hint Myka got was when she went to Helena's room—not to apologize, just to check up on her, that was all—and saw the Regent agents bagging and tagging her things. The beautiful first editions of her books that Myka had gotten her as a housewarming present, the towering stack of Post-Its she'd bought so she'd never run out, the dozen cell phones she was disassembling to tinker with. All of them went into cold, sterile plastic, like dead things at an autopsy.
She ran outside in time to see Helena on the bench, bound hands in her lap, like she was waiting for a bus except for the guards on either side. "Where are you taking her?" she demanded, though she knew the stonewall was coming.
"Any pertinent information will be released to your supervisor," one of them said.
"Get out. I want to talk to her."
The guards looked at each other. Or maybe they just turned their heads at the same time. It was hard to tell with the sunglasses.
"I'll take full responsibility. And look at her, she's not going anywhere. You can guard her just as well from over there."
"Frederic said to extend courtesies," one said to the other.
"You have five minutes," the other said to Myka.
They got up and walked out twenty paces, leaving Myka more or less alone with Helena. And for a moment, Myka wasn't sure how wise that was. She looked at Helena and felt shame. Not the piteous feeling she got for not living up to her standards, for eating a Twizzler when it was full of sugar. This was like what she'd felt for Sam's killer, but directed inward.
She sat down beside Helena, busying herself by looking at her handcuffs. They didn't seem to be on too tight, so at least they were comfortable. At least there was that.
"I'm sorry," Myka said quickly, suddenly wondering how much time they had left. If they would ever have any more time. "I never meant for this to happen. I just told Pete and… I needed to talk to someone, that was all, I didn't want this!"
"Didn't you?" Helena looked at her. She wasn't crying. She wasn't doing anything. Her eyes were so hard, so cold, that they might never have been unbronzed. "Now you're rid of me and you can blame Artie, or Pete… Leena, for all I care."
"I'll get you out of this, I swear, I'll make them see—"
"Should you?" Helena's eyes softened a bit. They looked down at her hands. "I don’t now recognize who I was when I came out of the bronze. There was so much anger, so much pain. Who knows what I'll be when I emerge from whatever fresh hell they've fashioned, now that they can't trust me with you?" She smiled, lopsided.
Myka hugged her tight, trying to squeeze enough love into her to last that long. "I have feelings for you. You were right. I was too scared to tell you what they were. I do feel… whatever you feel."
"That's enough, that's enough—" One of the guards was back. He pulled Helena away, forcing her to stand. A black Range Rover was coming up the street.
"You said five minutes!" Myka said. Her voice cracked as she said it.
"Ride's here now," the guard said piteously. He shoved Helena to the curve as the Range Rover came up.
Helena looked over her shoulder at Myka, frozen to the bench. "The world never does live up to my expectations. Even when all I want is a measure of peace and someone to share it with. Goodbye, Myka. Thank you for… for what you had to give me. It was more than I should've expected anyway."
***
After that, Myka went on missions partnered with Claudia.
***
It took a week of dreamless nights, as if her subconscious was punishing her, but Helena returned to her. Myka was lying awake, trying to just run through the day's events like she had always used to, but her mind kept returning to Helena and that last, horrific look on her face as another loved one disappeared from her life. Not even by being taken from her, but by betrayal. And then the door opened.
Myka looked over lazily, expecting Pete, apologizing again. It was the middle of the night, who else would bother her? But the silhouette was unmistakable. Helena lingered in the doorway for a moment, backlit by the dim light, gathering herself, before coming in. The door shut behind her, plunging the room into darkness, and Myka frantically groped for the lamp.
"H.G.?"
"Agent Bering." Helena's cool tone weakened, warmed. She was coming closer. "Myka."
Myka got her fingers on the lamp's dial and turned it up. It was her! Helena stood before her, crisply tailored suit hugging her body, her arms locked before her, her body language all twisted up. But she couldn't hide the smile on her face when she saw Myka.
"No," she said, reaching to turn the light back off.
"What are you doing here?" Myka asked. "Did they let you go? Did you—"
"Does it matter?"
Myka wished she could just give in and say it didn't, but she was still an agent. If she wasn't, Helena never would've gone. "Is anyone hurt?"
"No."
"Then it doesn't." Myka got up, kneeling before Helena on the bed. Helena being there seemed more impossible, more wondrous, than anything she'd ever found in the Warehouse. She reached out a hand to touch her, to make sure it wasn't some cruel trick, but held back at the last instant. What right had see to so much as hold Helena's hand after what she'd done?
Helena, sensing her distress, took Myka's hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her skin felt pleasingly cool, like moonlight. Myka's brain couldn't stop racing, zooming through the story of Psyche and Cupid. Psyche had loved Cupid and come to her each night to show his passion, asking only that she blow out the candles before he arrived so he could keep his godly identity secret for a little while. But, misled by bad advice and her own insecurities, Psyche had lit a lamp while Cupid slept beside her. Even as she had fallen even more deeply in love with his beauty, a drop of wax had fallen to awake him, and they'd been separated for long years, Psyche having to eventually go through the underworld to get him back.
Myka would go through hell for Helena. She was the only bit of heaven Myka had ever found.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Myka said, running her hand over Helena's face. Everything was as she remembered it. She put both hands on Helena's shoulders, as if holding her in place. "I was scared, Helena. I fucked up."
"It's alright," Helena assured her. She cupped Myka's face in her hands and eased her down to fit against her chest, only then adding her arms around Myka's back and hugging her tightly. Myka could've melted into her. Her face felt warm where it pressed against Helena's breast—Myka imagined it was her heart. "Don't cry, it's quite alright. You were trying to do the right thing. It's one of many qualities I find most admirable in you."
"Forgive me," Myka said, both hating herself for sounding so pathetic and needing an answer more than she needed air.
"Always," Helena said. "Can you forgive me? For betraying your trust, then having the audacity to feel insulted by your reaction—"
Myka slipped out of Helena's arms and kissed her. Helena's lips warmed quickly against her own. "Never talk about it again. It doesn't matter. There's nothing to forgive."
"Myka," Helena said, her face splitting into a smile. She pressed her forehead to Myka's, glorifying in the simple fact that they could again touch each other, look at each other. Myka was doing the same. "I know it'll sound bold, but I can't bring myself to care. May I stay?"
Myka threw the sheets off her body. She remembered she'd been wearing something like this the night before Sam had died. Her blouse, the same remnant of her business suit, and a pair of boy-cut panties. She cast the thought aside. She couldn't stay in the past with Sam anymore, not when Helena had given her a second chance at a future.
"Always."
Myka drifted back against the pillow, her hand sliding over Helena's arm until it was at her hand, holding on, linking them. Helena gave into the pull, straddling Myka. She put Myka's hand on her thigh and used her own fingers to work at the buttons of her jacket, exposing a vest underneath. The tweed jacket Myka helped her out of reminded Myka of several professors she'd had. As Helena undid the vest, Myka teased at her bowtie.
"You look like you should be giving a lecture."
Helena smiled, slipping the vest down her cotton shirtsleeves. "Would you like me to teach you something, Agent Bering?"
"Everything."
Helena snappily undid her bowtie, but left it dangling around her neck. She took Myka's hands, gave them a squeeze, and then left them at the collar of her shirt. Myka went along happily, slowly sorting each button through its holes.
"Many deserts," Helena began primly, running her hands through her hair to release it from its bun, "go for years without rainfall. But not forever. When it comes, the entire ecosystem is centered around that precipitation." Helena pulled the hem of Myka's shirt out from under her legs, pushing it back until it pooled under Myka's breasts. "Flowers bloom. Animals mate. Cacti store water. And predators hunt." She reached down, her hand brushing over the crotch of Myka's panties. "The desert becomes wet and rich with color. It's actually quite beautiful. It's called the flowering desert." Her fingers bored into Myka.
Myka gasped. She was halfway down Helena's shirt and pleasure she wasn't ready for, would never be used to, electrified her. Lit up, she ripped the shirt open. Buttons clattered through the room, making it sound alive. She reared up, nearly toppling Helena from her perch on Myka's legs, and ripped open her own shirt. Unlike Helena, she didn't wear a bra.
"I'm yours. Have me. Please, have me."
Helena leaned back, baring her throat, letting her shirt slide away from her like useless inhibitions. When she craned her neck back to Myka, it was so she could see the look on her face as Helena opened her bra. "I already have you, Myka. And I do intend to keep you."
They embraced. Myka remembered something else about moonbeams. They felt exquisite on bare skin.
"I'd like if you were naked," Helena said. "Completely."
Her voice opened Myka up like a caress. She couldn't disobey. She couldn't want to disobey. She shed her shirt, her panties. She laid down before Helena like she was posing for a picture. And Helena looked at her like she was painting one in her head, letting the paint dry in her memory before moving over Myka, smiling as the other woman wrapped one long leg around her waist.
Helena pressed against Myka, at first softly, letting her used to all the different feelings—the warming suppleness of her skin, the cool leather of her belt at Myka's belly, and lower… the wool of Helena's trousers feeling perfect between Myka's legs, coarse but not rough, teasingly nipping at her secrets. Then Helena went harder, her hands sinking into Myka's hips, forcing her into the feeling. Myka was overheating. The friction was burning out of control. And no matter how she pawed at the sweat-slick skin of Helena's back, she couldn't get enough of it.
More than anything, Myka needed to share this with Helena. She couldn't take without giving, not tonight. "Let me—" she began, sliding her hand between their bodies, to the straining muscles of Helena's belly. Helena stared into her eyes, anxious and pleased. "Let me—" Myka begged once more, her hand pawing open Helena's belt buckle.
"Yes," Helena said, and she couldn't stop saying it as Myka's hand dipped into her trousers, breaching the cool satin of her panties. "Yes, yes, yes…"
It was when Myka felt her own hand pressed between them that they came, Myka first, then Helena, screaming out for both of them like she was feeding off Myka's orgasm. The next time Myka felt her trousers, there was a vast wet spot in them. With a gleeful chortle, Helena rolled Myka, her breasts swaying beautifully as she settled beside her.
It wasn't enough for Myka. She could never make Helena feel loved enough, and she could never have enough of the woman. She could only manage her addiction. And now, she could only give in.
Rolling on top of Helena, hopelessly tangling the sheets around them, Myka put her smile against Helena's. "Please, Helena. Say my name. It feels like it's been a lifetime since I've heard you say my name."
Helena petted Myka's hair easing her down so her ear was at Helena's mouth. "Myka. Myka Ophelia Bering."
"No. Say it… like you say it. Like only you say it."
Helena took her hand off Myka's head, making it easy for her to meet her gaze. "Myka. My jewel."
Myka bent down and kissed her, just a peck, not wanting to stop the words she formed—the only thing sweeter than her lips.
"My dear, dearest, dear one," Helena said teasingly, and Myka teasingly kissed her throat.
"My fire." Helena's voice quickened with lust as Myka kissed her breasts, detouring on her downward journey to lavish the perfectly formed flesh with attention. "My wine."
Just as Myka was becoming engrossed, Helena ran a finger through her hair, twisting it along a curly lock. "My heart."
Myka smiled and ran her face down Helena's belly, stopping only to kiss her belly button.
"My queen," Helena continued, her voice serene now, her hands resting on Myka's head and neck with a simple, comforting grip. "My goddess. My love."
Myka could smell her arousal now, old and new, and needed to taste it. Needed to show her devotion as plainly as she could. She stopped to look up at Helena, her eyes shining with loyalty and forgiveness. Myka eased Helena's trousers down, the open buckle dragging over Helena's scintillating flesh as if marking a trail for Myka.
Impulsively, Myka surged up to kiss Helena's lips, properly this time, feeling the moan she provoked rattling in Helena's throat. She pulled back, cupping Helena's face, and her moonlit lover felt as warm and real as a fireplace on a winter's night. All that was left was for Myka to say how she felt.
That was when she woke up. As always.
In the morning, the dreams always melded into sameness. A feeling of longing, of regret. She was so used to it, she sometimes didn't register she'd dreamt. But asleep, she knew every moment. Each night, she dreamt of sharing the day's events with Helena. Even the rare lazy day was rewritten with her. Her meticulous mind had turned against her. Each detail was exact, her memory of Helena so precise that it was as if the woman had been resurrected whole.
If she were dead. Myka didn't even know that much.
The worst dreams were when she imagined them making love. It wasn't the flirty promise of their first date. It was slow and tender, wild and joyous, even painful in its animalistic intensity. But Helena always made her feel loved, safe, whole. No matter how Myka begged the shade of her to stop, to let her forget,
And Helena laughed and held her and made her warm. And Myka felt a comfort she didn't deserve.
"Helena," she whispered in the morning air, the sun's harsh and merciless revealing of her empty room. She whispered, knowing if she shouted at the top of her lungs for the rest of her life, it would never reach Helena. She could only hope Helena, with all her brilliance, had already figured out what it had taken her until it was far too late to discover.
"I love you."
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no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 05:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 06:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 06:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 07:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 07:48 pm (UTC)Sequel! Please dont leave it at that!
So sad and beautiful and angsty and I'm trained to want a happy ending. :(
no subject
Date: 2011-09-05 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-06 01:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-06 12:28 pm (UTC)It's definitely sad to find the reunion is just a dream. But this is still well-written, and beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-06 05:18 pm (UTC)I enjoyed every chapter, and I loved the development.
The ending is sad indeed, but stories with angst and sadness are very gripping.
A wonderful read. Thanks for sharing.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-06 08:17 pm (UTC)You went through Helena's mental state so well, capturing when she was still, you know, "Hey, kids, let's BLOW UP THE WORLD!" to when she first starts seriously thinking about Myka, when she gives Myka that look when Myka's stuck on the ceiling, when she gets Myka to confess that she honestly does want Helena to be in the Warehouse, to the happy little date they have with that FUCKING TRAGIC ending- you know what? This is my new personal canon.
Totally happened, all of this, on the show: Myka got into a bout of depression and resigned in a fit of pique, Steve got himself instated, Pete managed to get through to her somehow at the start of Season 3 and Myka got to talk to Helena in the season opener, Helena telling her not to abandon what she needed and gave all the hints that she still absolutely loved her.
Myka didn't want to admit it when she wasn't in person and in private, but then they had a quick moment to speak, alone, during 3, 2, 1, where Myka confessed her love and Helena reciprocated as much as they could. Totally what's been happening on the show. Totally. I'm convinced there is no other way for my shippy fangirl needs to be satisfied than to completely and totally believe in this new canon. This is my new religion.
Thank Seriousfic, this is my new religion.
(S)
no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 12:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-07 05:40 am (UTC)poignant, beautiful
Date: 2011-09-07 07:41 am (UTC)Thank you!
no subject
Date: 2011-09-08 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-13 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-15 05:25 pm (UTC)