Warehouse 13 AU: Persist In Folly (4/9)
Jul. 16th, 2012 02:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Persist In Folly
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,645
Characters/Pairings: Myka/HG
Previous: Part 3
Next: Part 5
Summary: Once Helena remembers, she can't forget.
What To Expect When You're Expecting, or at least the 2011 edition that Claudia had on hand for some reason, kept telling Myka to get ready to hate her life. It was filled with blurbs like "Don't worry, four more months, then it's post-partum depression." But Myka wasn't depressed, or having mood swings, or demanding that Pete fetch her pickle-flavored ice cream… well, maybe that last one, but it was cuz he was Pete and he annoyed her.
Myka was breathtakingly, fabulously optimistic. She still remembered what it'd been like to think Helena was lost. Now she had her, and a baby on the way, and her friends and her job and she wouldn't change a single thing.
But she wasn't so giggly that she couldn't see what was happening to Helena. For the last few days, Helena had gone from her usual devil-may-care self to someone morose, withdrawn, more Edgar Allen Poe than H.G. Wells. And it had happened so abruptly too. Like a switch had been thrown and Helena's happiness was sucked away overnight.
But Myka was sure it wouldn't last. The baby would kick or they'd have an ultrasound or Pete would come up with a name they'd never, ever use and whatever Helena was going through, it would fall away in the face of her family.
Myka got a bottle of wine from the store to go with their usual groceries, resigned to not being able to drink it herself, but knowing that watching Helena drink was almost as good. When she got home, Helena's car (a Prius. Surely H.G. didn't know how ridiculous it looked) was in the driveway, but the woman herself wasn't there to greet her with one of her customary shakes. 'Coconut and paisley, dear, it could raise the baby's IQ by five points!' At that point, Myka would've stomached the taste so long as it meant Helena was back to her old self.
She moved through their house, brow furrowing at how many boxes had yet to be put away, and finally found Helena in their room, curled up on the bedspread like a bug hit by Raid.
"H.G.?" Myka called gently, prompting a slight rousing in the woman's shoulders, but no real movement.
"Myka," Helena breathed, and her voice might as well have turned on a spotlight and shone the word "MYKA" in the night sky. She was needed.
Myka sat down on the bed—even in her angst, Helena had stayed on her side of the mattress-and reached a hand out to Helena's back. She rubbed it unceasingly for long minutes, knowing she wasn't soothing Helena, but hoping some fraction of her commitment would pierce whatever had awoken in Helena.
As time wore on, Myka pulled her legs up onto the bed and eased herself down beside Helena. Her feet thanked her. She ran her hands up and down Helena, not sexually—none of Helena's erogenous zones were exposed with her curled up so tightly—but just to ensure there wasn't one bit of Helena's body that didn't know she was there.
Helena slowly unwound, a foot emerging from her fetal state, running down the bed and then falling over the side. Her fists unclenched. Her face emerged enough for Myka to kiss: her cheeks, her brow, her nose, reminding all of them that Myka wasn't leaving. Helena's arm relaxed enough to drift. Myka took it, kissing Helena's cheek repeatedly to assure her she wasn't going anywhere, and moved the flat of her palm to the pregnant belly between them.
"I love you," Myka said. "Nothing will ever change that. Nothing you do or say, because you're not capable of anything that I couldn't forgive you for. And if I've done anything to make you not believe me, not trust me, then believe this." Myka pressed Helena's hand to her stomach with both hands, letting the baby feel Helena as much as Helena felt the baby. "That's our love, Helena. It's real and you can touch it and talk to it and feel it."
"I was going to cook you dinner," Helena said. She didn't sound herself. The boundless confidence, the assured intelligence, all the things that Myka believed intrinsic to Helena's character—they were missing. She sounded confused, and weary, and dead. "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted to give you something to remember."
"You're perfect," Myka assured her. "You want to give me something to remember, just tell me another story about Victorian England. Mmm? I'll fix tea."
Even though she hadn't been crying, Helena sniffled. "Do you know how tempting you are?"
"Pete has a bad habit of letting me know."
Helena shook her head. "We can't do that. We can't. I need to ask you something."
"Okay. Ask."
Helena just laid there, her mouth open, her eyes defeated, staring at Myka like her words were being pilfered from her.
Myka laid a hand on her chin and closed her mouth and kissed her shut lips, all as gentle as a flower growing. She pulled back to lay her head on Helena's chest. "Ask me."
"This is… much easier without you watching me. Seeing me." Myka heard Helena rummage through the nightstand for tissue and attend to her sudden mistiness. She kept her eyes carefully cast away from Helena. Instead, they found Helena's hand, flat and gnarled on the mattress. Myka took it and squeezed.
"Myka," Helena said at last, sounding a little her old self, a little this new, broken person, "how did you feel when I used the Minoan Trident?"
Minoan Trident. Those were words Myka had never wanted to hear again. All those months without thinking of it had left her defenseless. Suddenly she was back in Yellowstone.
Helena's betrayal hadn't really hit her until then. It had stayed nestled in her head like a tumor, silent and lethal. But seeing Helena, Myka had not only known that it was true—no excuses, no reprieve—but that Helena truly was in such pain that this seemed like the sanest course of action. The cancer had gone to her core and twisted her up inside. Her heart broke. She broke. And though she'd managed to hold her pieces together afterward, it was only with Helena that she'd started to rebuild.
"What do you mean?" Myka asked, trying to be gracious.
"You forgave me. Was it just because I lost those memories? That I'm not that woman any longer?"
Helena turned over to face Myka, but that just let her hold Helena in her arms. "You're the woman I love, then and now. What matters is that you picked me in the end."
"What if I didn't? What if I'm not that woman either?"
Myka sighed. "You're you, okay!? Now tell me what's wrong. I may love you, but you don't get to freak me out like this without an explanation."
Helena looked into Myka's eyes like she was trying to press the answer into her mind. Her look was no longer teary, or blank, or broken. It was accepting. For some reason, that scared Myka worse than anything else.
Helena kissed her, slowly, meticulously, the same way she approached all her work. And Myka let herself relax into it. She let herself moan, deep in her throat, and let her arm wind around Helena. She didn't even feel how damp Helena's hand was when it was laid on her shoulder.
"I got you something," Helena said, her eyes shining again, mischievous.
"Is it a puppy? Cuz I don't know if we're ready for that kind of pressure. Maybe we should have the baby first and see how that works out."
"No, not a puppy. Something you'll find much more lovable." Reaching under the bed, Helena came up with a gorgeously leatherbound book. Myka took it and thumbed through, not yet scanning the words, just taking in the craftsmanship. The book had clearly been made by hand, the leather cover handsome, the pages crisp and new. "I apologize for the verse. Poetry was never my strong suit. Perhaps it was just too expected of me in my own time. Or perhaps I just lacked the proper inspiration."
Myka was yawning just at that moment, and it took her a second after for the comment to land. "Me?"
Helena nodded, overcome. "You. And us. And her." She laid a hand on Myka's belly. This time Myka realized how wet her hand was, saw the purple glove she was wearing.
"What's that?" she asked, yawning.
"Promise me you'll show it to our baby. Hate me if you will, but at least let her know my words."
"Sure. Whatever." Myka yawned. "Sorry, I'm just so tired…"
"That would be the ale," Helena explained, stripping her glove off, "from Rip Van Winkle's jug. Don't worry, I measured out the amount six times. It's only enough to put you in stasis for a few weeks. Just long enough to be out of harm's way."
"What harm?" Myka insisted, fighting to keep her eyes open. It felt like there were two-ton weights attached to each eyelid.
Helena didn't answer. She'd hear enough about it as soon as she woke up. For now, Helena could kiss her. She did, imprinting her lips on Myka's brow and both cheeks. "Remember me like this. I think this is who I really was. I just have to be someone else now. And you can't see me like that. You just can't."
"I saw you at Yellowstone. I still… loved…" Myka's eyes closed, but her head stayed stubbornly level.
"What I tried there was meant as a mercy. What I do to the Regents won't be. They took my daughter, Myka. They took her from me." Helena lowered Myka to the bed. She kissed the baby in Myka's belly. Contented herself that that would be the only time she did.
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,645
Characters/Pairings: Myka/HG
Previous: Part 3
Next: Part 5
Summary: Once Helena remembers, she can't forget.
What To Expect When You're Expecting, or at least the 2011 edition that Claudia had on hand for some reason, kept telling Myka to get ready to hate her life. It was filled with blurbs like "Don't worry, four more months, then it's post-partum depression." But Myka wasn't depressed, or having mood swings, or demanding that Pete fetch her pickle-flavored ice cream… well, maybe that last one, but it was cuz he was Pete and he annoyed her.
Myka was breathtakingly, fabulously optimistic. She still remembered what it'd been like to think Helena was lost. Now she had her, and a baby on the way, and her friends and her job and she wouldn't change a single thing.
But she wasn't so giggly that she couldn't see what was happening to Helena. For the last few days, Helena had gone from her usual devil-may-care self to someone morose, withdrawn, more Edgar Allen Poe than H.G. Wells. And it had happened so abruptly too. Like a switch had been thrown and Helena's happiness was sucked away overnight.
But Myka was sure it wouldn't last. The baby would kick or they'd have an ultrasound or Pete would come up with a name they'd never, ever use and whatever Helena was going through, it would fall away in the face of her family.
Myka got a bottle of wine from the store to go with their usual groceries, resigned to not being able to drink it herself, but knowing that watching Helena drink was almost as good. When she got home, Helena's car (a Prius. Surely H.G. didn't know how ridiculous it looked) was in the driveway, but the woman herself wasn't there to greet her with one of her customary shakes. 'Coconut and paisley, dear, it could raise the baby's IQ by five points!' At that point, Myka would've stomached the taste so long as it meant Helena was back to her old self.
She moved through their house, brow furrowing at how many boxes had yet to be put away, and finally found Helena in their room, curled up on the bedspread like a bug hit by Raid.
"H.G.?" Myka called gently, prompting a slight rousing in the woman's shoulders, but no real movement.
"Myka," Helena breathed, and her voice might as well have turned on a spotlight and shone the word "MYKA" in the night sky. She was needed.
Myka sat down on the bed—even in her angst, Helena had stayed on her side of the mattress-and reached a hand out to Helena's back. She rubbed it unceasingly for long minutes, knowing she wasn't soothing Helena, but hoping some fraction of her commitment would pierce whatever had awoken in Helena.
As time wore on, Myka pulled her legs up onto the bed and eased herself down beside Helena. Her feet thanked her. She ran her hands up and down Helena, not sexually—none of Helena's erogenous zones were exposed with her curled up so tightly—but just to ensure there wasn't one bit of Helena's body that didn't know she was there.
Helena slowly unwound, a foot emerging from her fetal state, running down the bed and then falling over the side. Her fists unclenched. Her face emerged enough for Myka to kiss: her cheeks, her brow, her nose, reminding all of them that Myka wasn't leaving. Helena's arm relaxed enough to drift. Myka took it, kissing Helena's cheek repeatedly to assure her she wasn't going anywhere, and moved the flat of her palm to the pregnant belly between them.
"I love you," Myka said. "Nothing will ever change that. Nothing you do or say, because you're not capable of anything that I couldn't forgive you for. And if I've done anything to make you not believe me, not trust me, then believe this." Myka pressed Helena's hand to her stomach with both hands, letting the baby feel Helena as much as Helena felt the baby. "That's our love, Helena. It's real and you can touch it and talk to it and feel it."
"I was going to cook you dinner," Helena said. She didn't sound herself. The boundless confidence, the assured intelligence, all the things that Myka believed intrinsic to Helena's character—they were missing. She sounded confused, and weary, and dead. "I wanted tonight to be perfect. I wanted to give you something to remember."
"You're perfect," Myka assured her. "You want to give me something to remember, just tell me another story about Victorian England. Mmm? I'll fix tea."
Even though she hadn't been crying, Helena sniffled. "Do you know how tempting you are?"
"Pete has a bad habit of letting me know."
Helena shook her head. "We can't do that. We can't. I need to ask you something."
"Okay. Ask."
Helena just laid there, her mouth open, her eyes defeated, staring at Myka like her words were being pilfered from her.
Myka laid a hand on her chin and closed her mouth and kissed her shut lips, all as gentle as a flower growing. She pulled back to lay her head on Helena's chest. "Ask me."
"This is… much easier without you watching me. Seeing me." Myka heard Helena rummage through the nightstand for tissue and attend to her sudden mistiness. She kept her eyes carefully cast away from Helena. Instead, they found Helena's hand, flat and gnarled on the mattress. Myka took it and squeezed.
"Myka," Helena said at last, sounding a little her old self, a little this new, broken person, "how did you feel when I used the Minoan Trident?"
Minoan Trident. Those were words Myka had never wanted to hear again. All those months without thinking of it had left her defenseless. Suddenly she was back in Yellowstone.
Helena's betrayal hadn't really hit her until then. It had stayed nestled in her head like a tumor, silent and lethal. But seeing Helena, Myka had not only known that it was true—no excuses, no reprieve—but that Helena truly was in such pain that this seemed like the sanest course of action. The cancer had gone to her core and twisted her up inside. Her heart broke. She broke. And though she'd managed to hold her pieces together afterward, it was only with Helena that she'd started to rebuild.
"What do you mean?" Myka asked, trying to be gracious.
"You forgave me. Was it just because I lost those memories? That I'm not that woman any longer?"
Helena turned over to face Myka, but that just let her hold Helena in her arms. "You're the woman I love, then and now. What matters is that you picked me in the end."
"What if I didn't? What if I'm not that woman either?"
Myka sighed. "You're you, okay!? Now tell me what's wrong. I may love you, but you don't get to freak me out like this without an explanation."
Helena looked into Myka's eyes like she was trying to press the answer into her mind. Her look was no longer teary, or blank, or broken. It was accepting. For some reason, that scared Myka worse than anything else.
Helena kissed her, slowly, meticulously, the same way she approached all her work. And Myka let herself relax into it. She let herself moan, deep in her throat, and let her arm wind around Helena. She didn't even feel how damp Helena's hand was when it was laid on her shoulder.
"I got you something," Helena said, her eyes shining again, mischievous.
"Is it a puppy? Cuz I don't know if we're ready for that kind of pressure. Maybe we should have the baby first and see how that works out."
"No, not a puppy. Something you'll find much more lovable." Reaching under the bed, Helena came up with a gorgeously leatherbound book. Myka took it and thumbed through, not yet scanning the words, just taking in the craftsmanship. The book had clearly been made by hand, the leather cover handsome, the pages crisp and new. "I apologize for the verse. Poetry was never my strong suit. Perhaps it was just too expected of me in my own time. Or perhaps I just lacked the proper inspiration."
Myka was yawning just at that moment, and it took her a second after for the comment to land. "Me?"
Helena nodded, overcome. "You. And us. And her." She laid a hand on Myka's belly. This time Myka realized how wet her hand was, saw the purple glove she was wearing.
"What's that?" she asked, yawning.
"Promise me you'll show it to our baby. Hate me if you will, but at least let her know my words."
"Sure. Whatever." Myka yawned. "Sorry, I'm just so tired…"
"That would be the ale," Helena explained, stripping her glove off, "from Rip Van Winkle's jug. Don't worry, I measured out the amount six times. It's only enough to put you in stasis for a few weeks. Just long enough to be out of harm's way."
"What harm?" Myka insisted, fighting to keep her eyes open. It felt like there were two-ton weights attached to each eyelid.
Helena didn't answer. She'd hear enough about it as soon as she woke up. For now, Helena could kiss her. She did, imprinting her lips on Myka's brow and both cheeks. "Remember me like this. I think this is who I really was. I just have to be someone else now. And you can't see me like that. You just can't."
"I saw you at Yellowstone. I still… loved…" Myka's eyes closed, but her head stayed stubbornly level.
"What I tried there was meant as a mercy. What I do to the Regents won't be. They took my daughter, Myka. They took her from me." Helena lowered Myka to the bed. She kissed the baby in Myka's belly. Contented herself that that would be the only time she did.
