DISCLAIMER: Warehouse 13 and it's characters belongs to Jack Kenny and Syfy.This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: 1. This is NOT a finale fix-it. I wish it was... It would be less angsty that way. 2. The first and last lines are from the song "Dancing On My Own" by Robyn. 3. Other than my own review, this has not been beta'd. Please me know if there are any glaring errors, they are unintentional.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Season 2 through the Season 3 finale.
FEEDBACK: To atsammy[at]gmail.com

One Thousand Good-byes in the Beat of a Heart
By atsammy


So far away but still so near (the lights go on, the music dies). But you don't see me standing here (I just came to say goodbye).

They'd been saying good-bye from the moment they'd met. Myka realized this now, standing shielded from the blast as the British Parliament bomb counted down the last remaining seconds. Around her, she could hear Artie and Pete's voices, and could feel Pete take her hand, but she didn't care. All she saw, all she wanted to see, was Helena, as she whispered 'Thank you,' or maybe 'I love you.' Pete could probably have told her, but to her, the words looked the same. She never had the chance to say them back.

In a way, they were the classic, tragic love story. The star-crossed lovers, destined to always be apart. The Victorian author, a century out of her time, determined to destroy the world, and the secret service agent who refused to see the danger she posed. 

She shivered, just once, though she held her gun steady, as H.G. Wells raked her eyes up and down Myka's body, her lips quirking into a brief smile. She forgot about Pete, about the Tesla, for a moment as their eyes met once more.

The callous manner in which H.G. had killed MacPherson, and the remorseless way she'd shrugged it off in California should have been enough to warn Myka away from her. Artie's determination to find her and re-bronze her, if not outright kill her, should have been enough. Myka trusted him with her life, but she could not follow his lead when it came to H.G. Not when the woman saved her life, saved Claudia's life. That had to mean something.

Even as she was pulled up into the air by nothing more than a wire rope and a hook, all she could focus on was the feeling of H.G.'s arm wrapped securely around her, her own breasts pressed against H.G.'s side. When it was over, and they were safely back on the ground, she fumbled to find something remotely intelligent to say.

The few, short weeks that Helena (by that time she was... she was Helena) was with them at the Warehouse were the best weeks Myka would ever remember. With Helena, she didn't have to be perfect, she didn't have to be a role model, she didn't have to be right. She could just... be. She could talk about books with someone who understood what they meant to her. She could hold Helena's hand and not wonder if Helena was feeling the same thing she was. Even if it meant facing Artie's distrust and outright anger at having Helena there. It was worth it.

"I do hope that you can forgive me."

"For what?"


Until it wasn't.

After Mrs. Frederic left, Myka abandoned the folio she had been reading and fled upstairs. Her parents were in bed already, and so she curled up on the couch and stared at the empty fireplace as though it had all the answers. For four months, she'd refused Mrs. Frederic's offers, Artie's pleas, Claudia's hacking into her computer, even Pete's badly typed text messages, but one brief visit from the woman who'd broken her heart and destroyed her faith in... in everything, and she was ready to go back? It wasn't right, it wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to go back like this. She shouldn't have had to leave.

Returning to the Warehouse was the right thing to do. It was. She knew that. But it was different; there was a new agent, and it was awkward because no one ever filled him in on what had happened, why she'd left. Claudia she knew had given away small things, because she was chattier than Myka'd ever seen her when Steve was around, but the details? The details were sacred. So to was the threat that if Claudia ever mentioned to anyone that the night Myka returned, she'd found Myka in her room sobbing into her pillow, Myka would let it slip one day just how much Claudia had blushed when they were investigating the wrestling team. They agreed it was a fair deal, and never mentioned it again.

Late into the night in Pittsburgh, Myka threw off the blanket on the hotel bed and sat up. She couldn't sleep. The device that held Helena's... consciousness was taunting her from inside her purse, as the tell-tale heart tortured its murderer. She knew she shouldn't do it, but she had to. She couldn't let this opportunity pass by, with Helena so close, as it were. She needed to know if it had all been real, or if everything that happened had been a lie. She had to know. 

Steve was too curious for his own good. He'd seen right away when he came back that there was something going on that no one would tell him. After two weeks of stilted answers to his questions about the investigation he'd missed, she told Claudia she could fill him in if she wanted. Myka trusted her to know what to leave out, but however much Claudia actually passed on, Myka avoided Steve's sympathetic gaze for another week before they went to Atlanta. 

The only thing that prevented her from holding onto Helena and never letting her go was the knowledge that there was nothing for her to hold on to. She couldn't bear it, standing there while Helena agreed with Pete that killing her was the best course of action. This was not how they should have said good-bye, in the middle of a forest. Even if they found Emily Lake, it would be too little, too late. Helena would be gone, and she couldn't watch her go again.

There was too much pain, too many dangers, too many unknowns ahead of them, and the only thing Myka could think about was Helena. Fifteen hours on a plane, and she was praying that Helena was alright, that Sykes hadn't put her back in her own body only to... dispose of her as he'd done Steve. There was no sanity left for her to cling to, if they found her broken body in Hong Kong. She understood then, perhaps truly for the first time, how Helen must have felt in Paris, returning to find her daughter murdered.

The barrier to the Warehouse closed before them, as they pulled themselves up from the floor. Myka stared at it in disbelief, until the warm touch of fingers closed around her wrist, and she realized that for the first time in nearly a year, Helena was there, in front of her. The terror of the last twenty minutes hit her then, as the adrenaline rush of not being dead began to fade, and she pulled Helena into her arms and clung to her. 

"I'm sorry," Helena whispered, her voice filled with pain as she pulled back and pressed her hand to Myka's face. "I'm so, so sorry."

Myka kissed her, wanting nothing more at that moment than to never have to let her go again.

In the confusion and the rush to disarm the bomb, Myka lost track of Helena. Later, she would never forgive herself for letting her out of her sight, because it was only when the seconds ticked closer to zero and she turned to take her hand, that she realized what Helena had done. Her image wavered as the shield settled into place, but Helena's gaze never left her. Not even when Myka squeezed her eyes shut at the explosion. 

When the chaos settled, Myka was on her knees, her gaze locked on the ground where Helena had stood. She was out of time. She'd always been out of time, the clocks just hadn't caught up to her until then. 

I'm right over here, why can't you see me? I'm giving it my all, but I'm not the girl you're taking home. I keep dancing on my own.

The End

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