DISCLAIMER: I do not own Warehouse 13. All I own is a deep and abiding affection for it.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Takes place after the Season 3 finale.
FEEDBACK: To howlingturtle[at]hotmail.com

No More a Ghost
By SilverTurtle


Myka felt the bed at her side dip as another weight settled onto it. She felt soft fingers push the hair from her forehead.

"You aren't here," she whispered, "you can't be."

Even softer lips kissed just above her brow. Myka squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

"This isn't real," her voice was weak and cracking, tears welled behind her eyes, "You're dead."

A warm hand took her own, laced their fingers together, "Open your eyes, darling."

Myka sucked in a shaky breath at the sound of that voice. Months she'd been dreaming of it and each morning she'd wake just a little more broken than before when her dreams remained just that. She shook her head. If she didn't open her eyes she couldn't be disappointed when Helena wasn't there. If she didn't open her eyes then maybe this phantom would stay, it was better than having nothing of her at all.

"Please, Myka," soft and pleading, full of warmth and coaxing and everything Helena's voice always held when she was trying to reach Myka.

Myka couldn't resist, not wanting to hear hurt edge into that beautiful voice, and opened her eyes.

She was there.

Really there.

She hadn't disappeared when Myka opened her eyes.

She was still there. Still looking at Myka like she'd hung the moon and gifted it to her. The smile on her face bright even as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Myka sat up and threw her arms around Helena. The feel of her, the warmth, the scent, the hitched breath as Myka pressed her lips to the skin of her neck...God, it was all real. She was real. And back. And alive.

Myka sobbed and Helena's arms held her fiercely and she echoed Myka's cries.


Helena shook her head, the movement rubbing the skin of their cheeks together, "Does it matter?"

Myka pulled back to stare into Helena's eyes so full of love. She moved her hands up to thread through Helena's hair. "No," she breathed and pulled Helena to her, kissing her like she'd never get the chance again.

They fell back on the bed with Helena's body pressing reassuringly against Myka's solid and there and real.

When they parted for air Helena nuzzled down into Myka, "I smell apples."

Myka made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, held Helena close with every part of her she could, and said right against Helena's ear, "Welcome home."

The End

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