DISCLAIMER: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in these works, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As these works are an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, they constitute fair use. References to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
SPOILERS: Set sometime during Season 3, before the finale.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To author18[at]live.com
Myka wandered away from the bed and breakfast with an old, expedition style pack slung over one shoulder, looking as if she were simply out for a late evening walk through the impending twilight. She had a flashlight in her right hand, unlit and unused as she didn't need it yet, and the fingers of her left hand were wrapped protectively around the fabric draped over her shoulder. Even though she was alone in the night, she held onto that canvas strap so tightly that her knuckles were white, every protective instinct in her body honed to a razor-sharp point. She carried her heart upon her back, and she'd be damned if she'd let anyone take it from her again.
The South Dakota summer night wrapped around her as she walked, moist and warm, smelling of wildflowers and dusty earth. The nearly invisible path under her feet was lit only by the full moon that hung low in the sky and the sporadic flash from a lightning bug. She came to a stop in a small clearing surrounded by a copse of trees that hid it from unwanted, prying eyes, and sighed as she gently, tenderly lowered the khaki colored canvas sack to the dry wild grass that bent under her feet. She set her flashlight beside the bag and opened the top flap, her hands trembling with anticipation much in the same way one would tremble ever so slightly when undressing a lover for the first time.
From the large central compartment she withdrew a medium-sized woolen blanket and she spread it carefully over the ground, bending pliant blades under woven thread as she prepared for her love. She sighed as she lowered herself to the blanket, automatically crossing her legs and tucking her feet under herself as she reached into the rucksack for the final, most important item she had brought with her. The orb was surprisingly light in her hand, smooth and cool, much like the façade the woman whose consciousness it held showed to the world, but which stood in such sharp contrast to the warmth of the woman she knew hid under the that placid surface.
As she set the orb at the edge of the blanket the old idiom, still waters run deep, flashed across her mind, and she couldn't help but think that such words had never been more true than when they were applied to one Helena G. Wells. H.G. was smooth, so terribly, terribly smooth and before even she could realize exactly how deep the older woman's troubled waters ran it had been too late. Too late to protect her. Too late to save her.
But not now.
While she was still working on a way to figure out where Helena was being kept prisoner and why, exactly, her consciousness had been so viciously torn from her body, she could give her this. A moment's peace. A brief respite from her dark prison. It wasn't much, but until she learned where the Regents were keeping Helena, it was all she could do. She had failed to protect her once, she would do her damndest to try and protect her now.
She waited patiently as the last vestiges of twilight faded into the all-encompassing darkness of night, and only then, when the world was dark and the heavens above glittered with twinkling light, did she cradle the cool metallic orb in her hands and twist it open. She smiled sadly, her eyes stinging with tears, as Helena appeared before her. Humbled. Sorrowful. And in pain. Like always, she tried to put on a brave front and, unlike in the past, she failed miserably at it.
"Hello, my darling," Helena whispered as she stood before her love, all of her swagger and arrogance born of excellence gone, stripped from her much like the body she used to possess.
Myka tried to smile as she patted the blanket beside her in invitation. "Hi, Helena."
Helena's answering smile was equally pained as she accepted Myka's invitation and lowered herself to the blanket beside the younger woman, stretching her legs out in front of her onto the grass she could not feel. Normally when Myka released her it was within the confines of the agent's room at the bed and breakfast, or when she needed help with a case, but this was an unexpected surprise. "This is a new location," she murmured conversationally.
"Do you approve?" Myka asked softly.
Helena's features softened as the older woman looked up at the night sky. "I do," she whispered. "What made you think of this?"
Myka blushed and looked down at her lap. "I was rereading one of your books, and a particular line struck me as being significant."
Helena smiled that shy, proud smile she always got when somebody mentioned her work. "Which story were you reading, darling?"
"Moreau," Myka answered softly.
"Ah," Helena sighed, understanding dawning across her features as she looked back up at the sky above them. "There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven," she quoted her own words from memory. "Yes, indeed. It's as relevant today as the day I penned it so many years ago."
"I thought you could use some peace "
"And protection, indeed." Helena nodded. "You give me that, you know."
"Peace," Helena sighed. "Protection," she elaborated as she leaned back onto the blanket, lacing her fingers behind her head as she gazed at the stars.
Myka swallowed thickly as she laid down beside the older woman, ignoring the stars above them as she turned onto her side to watch Helena intently. "I would like to," she whispered, her heart clenching in her chest as she watched the great inventor draw a ragged breath.
"You do, darling. Please don't doubt that," Helena murmured as she rolled onto her side to gaze longingly at her companion. She lifted her right hand and reached toward Myka, her fingers hovering millimeters above the younger woman's cheek, her eyes growing sad and distant as she refused to close that final distance separating them, not wanting to be reminded of the vast distance that actually kept them apart.
Myka closed her eyes. "I miss you."
Helena sighed heavily. "I miss you too, darling. More than I have any right to." The words were barely more than a whisper, but she knew Myka had heard her by the way the younger woman's eyes flashed open to look at her. "I dream of touching you again," she murmured as she finally, finally lowered her fingers to ghost along the curve of Myka's cheek.
Myka sighed and forced herself to remain still. She wanted to turn into that touch, to feel the warmth of Helena's palm wrapped around her cheek, but she knew she couldn't. Knew that this fleeting touch, this ghost of a presence slipping like cool electrical pulses across her skin was all that she could have. So she remained as she was, eyes focused on her onetime lover's face, desperate to see the glimmer of hope she used to occasionally catch sight of before everything went so horribly off track. "I dream of you too," she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly at the end.
"My Myka," Helena breathed.
"My Helena," Myka murmured, one corner of her mouth quirking up in a sad smile. "Lay back, love. Look at the stars."
Helena nodded and did as she was told; settling back onto the blanket Myka had spread out for them and lacing her fingers behind her head once more. "They are peaceful, aren't they?"
"They are," Myka agreed as she laid down beside Helena.
They fell into a companionable silence then, each woman buoyed and simultaneously deflated by their close proximity. Like every night they were together like this, they were reminded once again that Fate is a fickle bitch, to have given them to each other despite the years separating their births only to tear them apart before they could truly understand exactly how magical they could be together. How long they spent there, lying on the blanket looking at the stars, neither knew, or particularly cared. It was a balm to both their souls, a band-aid to cover the gaping wounds of their broken hearts, and they cherished it. Cherished each and every moment they were allowed to be together again.
"Do you think the Regents know I do this?" Myka asked after a while.
"I believe they do, yes," Helena answered softly. "I think that's why they allowed you to keep my orb."
"Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die," Helena murmured.
"Tennyson. Well, kind of."
"Indeed. Pompous bastard, he was. So bloody proud of being named the Poet Laureate. Loved to hold it over everybody's head."
Myka chuckled. "Yes, my love, but you created an entire branch of fiction."
"And my brother got all the credit," Helena replied, turning her head to smile, really smile at her companion. "Thank you for this, Myka. Truly. But it's getting late, darling, and you need to go to bed."
"I don't want to leave you."
Helena's smile softened. "You won't. I'll be leaving you."
Myka watched as Helena climbed gracefully to her feet. "I will find you," she said as she, too, stood.
"I know you will, darling," Helena murmured.
Myka sucked her lower lip between her teeth as she reached out to trace Helena's face with her fingertips, like the older woman had done to her earlier in the evening. Her heart clenched in her chest as she ghosted her fingers over the smaller woman's mouth and watched those perfectly kissable lips part invitingly for her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she wished to feel, really feel those lips again, to feel Helena's breath sweeping across her skin. Her hand dropped heavily to her side and she smiled sadly as she leaned in and brushed her lips across her love's, wishing for the umpteenth time for those lips to wrap around her own. "Tomorrow?" she asked softly as she pulled away.
Helena tipped her head in a small nod. "So long as the Regents allow it, I shall always be available whenever you call."
"As am I, darling. As am I."
Myka nodded and drew a shaky breath as she reached down for the orb. She cradled it in her hands and looked up into dark, understanding eyes. "I love you."
Helena smiled softly. "I love you too, Myka. It's okay, darling. Send me back."
"I don't want to," Myka whispered, tears slipping over her cheeks.
Helena's heart broke at the sight of her love's tears. "I know you don't, darling. I know. But you must."
"Why? Why can't I keep you here with me forever?"
Tears spilled from Helena's eyes at the utter anguish in Myka's voice. "I wish I could, darling. I truly do. But-" she took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening as if the influx of air had solidified her resolve "-you must send me back. This isn't how we are supposed to be together."
"I don't want to, Helena," Myka whispered brokenly. "I just want you to stay with me."
Helena nodded understandingly. "I wish for that too, darling. Believe me, I do. Send me back, Myka," she whispered gently. "It's okay, my darling," she said, her hands reaching for her prison. If she could do it herself she would, but she couldn't, and it was a fate worse than death to know that she was the cause of Myka's anguish. She ghosted her hands over Myka's, hoping to gently encourage the younger woman into motion. "I love you."
Myka closed her eyes and nodded, unwilling to watch Helena disappear. "I love you too, Helena," she breathed as she activated the orb and re-imprisoned her love.
There was no great whoosh of movement, no sound marking Helena's disappearance. The night around her felt cooler, emptier, but that was about it. She remained where she was, her eyes closed, not wanting to open them knowing that she would once again be alone. When she did, fresh tears spilled from her eyes and she tilted her head up to the sky to try and slow their progress. Glittering lights steadfastly glowed above her and she smiled as H.G. Wells' words, spoken in Helena G. Wells' smoky sweet voice, echoed inside her mind, warming her heart, and soothing her battered soul. There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven.
"Indeed there is," she whispered. "I love you, Helena."
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