DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor have any official association with Warehouse 13. No copyright infringement intended. No profit made.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is (was) intended as part of a (loose) series that lovesthesoundof and I came up with one day. It assumes that despite all the ridiculous UST between Helena and Myka in the show, they were never actually lovers (which as much as I hate to admit it, is my own personal head!canon). The idea is the evolution of a kiss throughout Myka and Helena's relationship. This part is set post-Season 3. Spoilers and a touch of angst.
THANK YOU: To the delightful lovesthesoundof for correcting me when I wander off the grammar path. Any mistakes are my own.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To Racethewind10[at]gmail.com
A Kiss in Sunlight
By Racethewind10
Myka Bering woke to sunlight. Thick and warm and golden, it poured through the lacy white curtains like molten amber, dust motes dancing gently in its embrace. Blinking the last vestiges of sleep from shaded-forest eyes, the agent had no need to look at the digital clock by her bed to confirm it was late morning and she had slept well past the hour when she usually started her day. Myka was generally not one to tarry in bed but at that moment there was not a single part of the normally driven woman that wanted to move.
Where in the past, Myka would have woken to the empty expanse of her bed, today, she was not alone.
Next to her, Helena slept on, unaware of the gentle scrutiny. Their bodies were pressed close together, legs entwined and hair merely shading from raven black to espresso where it tangled in silken strands on the pillows. Helena lay on her back and Myka had woken to find that during the night her hand had made its way to just below the smaller woman's breast. It still rested there and the agent could feel the slow, steady beat of Helena's heart and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drew breath.
Proof that the sleeping woman was alive.
Proof Myka still desperately needed.
Head propped on one fist, the agent felt her breath catch. Her eyes closed as memory assaulted her in a wave of fleeting images: The barrier rising, Helena's explanation, the look in dark eyes as she whispered 'Thank you'…the brightness behind Myka's eyelids because she could not bear to watch as Helena was taken by fire…the utter, impossible desolation of what had been her home covered in ash. Images of destruction flickered like shadows cast by the artifact-driven flames and each brought with it a stab of pain, no less visceral for being now a memory.
Fear's icy fingers gripped Myka's heart and her eyes flew open. Despite everything her senses told her, the pain was still too close, too raw and she needed to see. Indeed, even sight wasn't enough…Despite the other memories that now played in Myka's mind - memories of the Warehouse standing whole again, of Helena in front of her, expression of confusion melting into awe and then joy, of Helena in her arms as Myka clung to her so tightly and Helena held on just as tight - fear had yet to relinquish its hold on the younger woman. It was hard to believe even now that all this was real.
They hadn't strayed from each other's side all day. Yet even as the others celebrated the restoration of the Warehouse and Helena along with it (Pete had swooped H.G. into another bone crushing hug, Claudia had tried – and failed – not to cry as she welcomed the artificer back and even Artie had seemed relieved) Myka herself had held back, as if afraid that the gift of Helena's life they had been given would be snatched away at any moment, taking her heart with it once again.
It seemed, if the way Helena's gaze kept finding its way back to Myka was any indication, that the artificer felt the same. At one point during the day, Artie sent them through the Warehouse to do an inventory of certain items – just to make sure that they truly had been successful – and Myka had reached out unthinkingly to take Helena's hand. It was only some while later, as they walked through the stacks that she realized she still held it, slender fingers entwined with her own. Helena showed no signs of wanting to let go, and so Myka had not.
They didn't even speak much that day. It was all too big, somehow, mere words utterly inadequate in the face of such miracles.
Myka Bering had thought that the Warehouse was a place of wonder. She'd thought she understood just what that meant. Looking down at Helena's face, relaxed and soft in sleep, feeling the slow, steady beat of her heart…Myka realized she had only just begun to scratch the surface of that wonder.
This was not, however, the time for further musings. There would be time for such explorations tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. In this instant, Myka allowed herself a rare moment to simply feel. And in that tiny, fragile, span of time when her mind quieted and her heart spoke clearly, she bent her head and brushed her lips across Helena's.
So light was the contact – like the touch of a butterfly's wings – it could hardly be called a kiss. It was not intended as such. Not yet anyway. It was merely the yielding to a long-held desire, not meant to disturb the sleeping woman.
A soft, swift intake of breath though parted lips, however, told of the failure of those intentions.
Dark eyes blinked open and Myka watched as Helena shook off the grip of sleep. Sunlight poured across them, lighting the dark woman's eyes, making clear their mahogany depths. A slender hand, careless with sleep, came up to rest atop Myka's, holding it. The other reached up and cupped the younger woman's face, brushing a thumb across Myka's cheek.
Once again, there were no words. They didn't need them. Curiosity, uncertainty, discovery, attraction, betrayal, forgiveness, love, loss, reunion…all these and more stood between them and behind them; not forgotten but utterly unheeded as Myka once again bent her head and kissed Helena.
There are kisses, and there are kisses. This was the latter. There was no hesitation this time. And why should there be? This had been long in coming. Helena yielded, her mouth opening beneath Myka's as lips sought and tongues explored. Helena's hand slipped to the back of Myka's neck, encouraging her and one of them moaned softly. Myka pressed closer against Helena, her own hand moving to tangle in tangled raven hair as she lost herself in the silken heat of Helena's mouth.
Outside, the sun rose higher unnoticed as inside Myka's room, two hearts finally beat in rhythm, two mouths sought and teased and explored and two souls slowly began to accept that this day, this time, this chance was real.
The End