DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor have any official association with Warehouse 13. No copyright infringement intended. No profit made.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Muppetmanda for the beta and assuring me it wasn't too icky sweet and to Lovesthesoundof for other reasons.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Racethewind10[at]gmail.com

A Merry Christmas
By Racethewind10


Myka woke slowly and reluctantly. Senses fogged with sleep, the agent could still tell without opening her eyes it was yet dark; the night deep and quiet. She was nestled on her side, the bed so deliciously warm, in no small part due to Helena's slim form pressed close to her back. Myka could feel her wife's breath just brushing her neck and one slender arm was draped around the agent's waist, elegant fingers resting protectively – even in sleep – over the swell of Myka's belly. At not quite five months along, the daughter they had already agreed to name Alexandria Christina was the reason Myka was awake.

Despite the general ease of her first pregnancy, much to Myka's frustration, her body still seemed like it was no longer under her control at times. Like now, when despite how comfortable she was, her bladder was telling her she really had to go.

With a sigh of regret, the agent eased carefully out of bed, shoving her feet into the fuzzy slippers Helena always insisted on putting next to the bed (instead of Myka's usual habit of just kicking them off somewhere) and made her way to the bathroom.

After washing her hands and splashing warm water on her face, however, Myka found herself awake. Too awake to head back to bed, even though the thought of curling up in Helena's arms was tempting.

It was Christmas Eve though, and as a little girl, Myka had always been the one to try and sneak downstairs early to try and catch Santa in the act. The time for childish beliefs might be long gone, all the presents under the tree stating clearly who they came from, but there was still something just a little magical about the deep hush of the night before Christmas. Clicking off the bathroom light and making her way downstairs, Myka tucked her hands into the pocket of her oversized sweatshirt, still marveling at the feeling her child… their child, growing inside her.

The giant spruce tree stood in the corner of the living room beside the large picture window that looked out to the back yard of the B & B. The small star at the top actually brushed the ceiling and Myka smiled to remember the effort it took to get the thing inside. They had all – Pete, Artie, Leena, Myka, Helena, Claudia, Steve and Trailer – gone out to pick the tree out. It had taken hours. Looking at it now, lit by row upon row of colored lights and crowded with baubles and candy canes, Myka knew it had been worth every aggravated yell by Artie and Pete's strained shoulder. Even Steve's calm had been tested, but the quiet awe when they'd finally finished decorating it had been beautiful.

Below the tree was a chaotic pile of presents (it had been hell trying to keep Dickens out of them) which tomorrow morning would turn, Myka knew, into an even more chaotic pile of wrapping debris. Despite the fact Myka, Pete, Claudia and Artie had family elsewhere, Christmas day had become their day: the day they celebrated the family they had made, not been born too. Five years after the destruction and resurrection of the Warehouse, there was a closeness and bond between the residents of Leena's B & B that outsiders simply could never understand. So while most of them would be leaving to visit relatives in a few days, Christmas was spent with the Warehouse family, with their own traditions. Since one of those was Claudia bounding out of bed to wake them all up at a ridiculously early hour (though she had been known to sleep in a bit later these days) Myka figured she might as well enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted.

And it was quiet.

Settling on the sofa in front of the window, Myka curled into a corner of the plush couch and simply gazed outside.

The lights of the tree were blurred points of color in the window. Beyond the cold glass, the world was lost in a swirling mass of fluffy white flakes. The only sound was the low hiss of the snow outside and the occasional creak of the B & B as the house settled.

Well, almost the only sound.

Myka smiled as she recognized Helena's quiet footsteps on the hardwood floor. The older woman could move with utter silence if she chose. She was making just enough noise to alert Myka to her presence, not enough to disturb her thoughts should she need solitude.

Without moving, Myka smiled. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly, finally turning as Helena came around the couch.

The author shook her head. "You didn't," and gestured for Myka to scoot forward.

"Liar," Myka grinned as she obliged, waiting for Helena to settle into the corner of the couch and then moving back to rest against her wife's chest. Helena drew the blanket off the back of the couch and pulled it over the two of them, creating a warm little nest. Soft lips pressed a tender kiss to the top of Myka's head and the agent sighed gently. Under the blanket, Helena's fingers intertwined with her own, resting atop her belly.

For a time neither woman spoke, content simply to be close to one another and watch the weather outside.

It was Helena who finally broke the soft silence, her crisp tones gentled in the darkness. "Where are you darling? I can almost hear your mind spinning."

Myka smiled, squeezing the hand she held.

"I was thinking about the year Pete went and got himself erased from history. About what I was like in that world. How I never met you. Never fell in love…Sometimes it just seems so big, like our lives are some crazy story. Some days I'm still afraid I'll wake up and it won't be real," Myka breathed, her voice trailing away.

Helena's only response for a moment was a tightening of her arms and a cheek pressed against sleep tousled hair. When she did speak, the artificer's voice was laden with emotions even Myka – as adept at reading her love as she was – had to struggle to decipher.

"You know better than anyone I put little stock in the idea of God as he has been constructed by Man, but when….when I died with the Warehouse…" Helena paused for a moment, gathering herself, and Myka held absolutely still. They had talked about that horrible time, but only briefly. And Helena had never truly spoken of what happened after the digital counter reached '0'.

"I don't think I will ever understand all of what I saw then, but I remember feeling an utter certainty that things, that we were more connected to each other, and to the Warehouse, then any of us guessed. I don't know if there is 'a' Higher Power, but I am certain there are forces at work in this world – for good and ill – that our puny mortal minds cannot comprehend. And I believe the Warehouse is one of those forces and that perhaps….we…were meant to be." The artificer trailed off and Myka felt Helena shrug behind her.

Now the younger woman shifted, sitting up slightly to look at familiar dark eyes, fathomless in the low light.

Helena met Myka's stare unflinchingly. "How else can I possibly explain losing everything that mattered to me, being so consumed with grief and hate and anger that I was willing to kill millions…And yet you stopped me Myka. You saved me, because even then, my heart knew what my mind did not. And now here we are, and I have a family once again. I have you."

And as if to underscore her words, there was a fluttering inside Myka and both women stilled as they felt their daughter move for the first time.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats, they just stared in awe, then slowly Myka grinned. "Well, no need to wonder whose kid she is. She's got your sense of impeccable timing."

Helena's laughter was rich and warm. "I hope not for your sake, or she'll be fashionably late to enter the world."

Myka sobered and reached up to stroke Helena's cheek, watching the way dark pupils reflected the lights of the tree.

"You saved me too you know."

Helena's look was tender, until it melted into a devilish grin. "And to think, there were times I wondered if we would ever have a conversation without you pointing a gun at me."

Myka merely rolled her eyes and huffed.

The weight of earlier words was laid aside but not forgotten as the agent snuggled back into Helena's embrace and pulled the blanket around them. She could feel each breath her wife took and knew that Helena could feel her heart beat beneath her hand.

To be alive, and together, it was the greatest gift of all.

But it also made Myka wonder about the course of her life and just how wrong she had been in that other timeline Pete had told her about. Lonely, afraid to reach out to others, isolated and probably so damn sure she was happy because she spent every single second of every day telling herself she was…

Myka wasn't much of a believer in things she couldn't see or measure, but as she sat there in front of the giant Christmas tree, watching the snow build up outside the window of her home, held close in the arms of the woman she loved; the woman who had been willing to die to save her…she was willing to admit maybe Helena was right. Maybe there was something larger at work here.

There were some mysteries, however, that not even Warehouse agents were privy to. A fact which Myka had come to admit only grudgingly. What she did know, was that every moment was a gift, and one she would always treasure.

In a few hours Claudia would come tromping down the stairs, yelling for them all to wake up, mostly likely followed by a bouncing Trailer and hungry Pete. Leena would make scones and coffee and hot chocolate. Artie would grumble and grump until Vanessa gave him that look, and Steve would saunter in, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile as Claudia tugged him over to the presents.

They would open gifts and eat and Pete would probably end up trying to put some ridiculous bow on Dickens until Helena rescued him and when they were all done, they would make Christmas dinner.

It would be loud and obnoxious and exhausting and they'd all eat too much and Trailer would probably trip someone before the night was over.

It would be perfect.

But that was in a few hours. For now, Myka was content to just be, wrapped in Helena's arms with their daughter and send a quiet thank you to the Warehouse, or fate, or the Universe or whoever happened to be listening for her life, her love, and her family.

It was Christmas, and Myka Bering had everything she'd never known she'd ever wanted.

The End

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