DISCLAIMER: The characters herein are used without permission. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
SPOILERS: Assumes some events of season 2.
FEEDBACK: To winter156[at]gmail.com
Watchman, What of the Night?
Myka glanced at her clock. She flopped on her back and released a frustrated breath. Sleep eluded her; she had tossed and turned all night. Eyes closed, breathing regulated, she attempted to clear her mind. Her brow furrowed in impatience as her thoughts scattered and refused to be reigned in. "Well, it was certainly worth a try," she scoffed as she opened her eyes.
Shadows danced along her bedroom ceiling in an intricate pattern as the wind gently blew across the leaves of the tree outside her window. She studied the shadows for a moment as her mind drifted. The enormity of what they were undertaking come morning was beginning to wear on her. She could not shake the sense of dread and foreboding. Walking into an ancient Warehouse that held artifacts that could wreak mass destruction was at the forefront of that dread.
But, despite the imminent and very real danger of their mission, there was something indefinable that niggled at the back of her mind. Something not related at all with artifacts and destruction, but dangerous nonetheless. Something that was preventing her from sleeping. Something that sent a chill down her spine. Something that made her palms sweaty. Something that caused her breathing to hitch and become erratic. Something that made her heart beat faster.
"Helena," she breathed out reverently. Her mind flashed enticing images of Helena: Helena's predatory smile; Helena undressing; Helena's very naked, very exquisite curves; Helena stalking toward her; Helena's face and body in the throes of passion. And to this amalgam of images rolling before her eyes, Myka's memory provided sensory accompaniment. She could feel Helena's heat as if she was physically near; she could hear the husky timbre of her bedroom voice caressing her ear; she could smell Helena's unique scent and arousal.
Myka turned her head and groaned when she noticed it was only three minutes since she had last checked the time. Tossing aside the covers- in the suddenly too hot room- she sat up, her sock-clad feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. She hesitated a moment, biting her lip unconsciously, as she decided where exactly she was intent on heading.
Helena stood staring out of her bedroom window into the quiet night the full moon bathing her features in a soft, pale light. Looking out into the area surrounding the grounds, Helena marveled that only a mere century had transpired between her past and this present. At times, it seemed that nothing of her world remained. Nothing except herself. And she was nothing more than a remnant of an archaic time: an artifact waiting to be shelved.
She ran a frustrated hand through her hair as her thoughts evaded her self control. Acclimating to this time, this place, was not as simple a task as she portrayed. With the grace and ware withal garnered from her upbringing, she did manage to flow seamlessly into things she only ever thought possible in her imagination. Solely on the strength of her character and enigmatic personality, she stood unflinchingly erect against the onslaught of sensation and the erratically rapid pace of life in a world seemingly millennia away from her own.
Yet, due to her insatiable curiosity, she maintained a childlike innocence despite the leprous stains on her heart and soul. She stared with wonder at the technologies and knowledge accumulated in her slumber from the flow of time. But, minute hesitation was present in almost everything she did. It was a as if expecting a reprimand for her forthrightness as a female in a world where men ruled. It showed so much of her character that she did not balk at facing the world even though she expected to be corrected at every turn.
She was headstrong and stubborn. She moved with lithe grace and a certain confidence given to her, not only from her upbringing, but by the very virtue of her character. Had she grown up a peasant she would still walk and conduct herself with utmost confidence. Her exuberance and innocence were most readily seen when she experienced a new marvel in the world upon which she had been thrust. Excitement filled her at the prospect of such discovery and she saw wonder in everything. She even sometimes believed there was nothing that she could not do.
That, while all being true, served to cover the fact that she was grievously injured. The grace and confidence that allowed her to face the world unflinchingly only covered the fact that she was walking wounded. She carried a festering wound upon her soul that she covered with wit and intrigue and inventiveness and confidence and the whole force of her personality. But, when night fell, and she retired to the privacy of her chambers, the wound festered with anger, bitterness, regret, and blame. The cracks visible only in the darkness of her isolation, deepened as time wore on.
Unconsciously twisting the ring she wore on her right hand, Helena's thoughts turned to her anchor: Myka Bering. Leaning her forehead against the cool glass of her window, Helena released a deep sigh. Her thoughts ran in so many different directions concerning the woman that she had to physically shake herself from getting too caught up in memories of a green gaze that had followed and haunted her through a century of time.
Pushing off the window, she turned and quietly made her way from her room. At the threshold she paused and considered where she was going.
Myka stepped into the library where the only light source was a fire was burning brightly in the fireplace. Silhouetted against the armchair near the flames was the woman who haunted her waking and sleeping moments. Heart beating in excitement, she made her way to the chair opposite the woman who was obviously lost in her troubled thoughts.
Myka watched Helena for a while attempting to gauge what the other woman needed. She knew some of her thoughts probably revolved around what they would face in Warehouse 2. Myka did not know how to reassure Helena concerning that. Myka, herself, was still worried about what they might encounter at the ancient Warehouse. But she inherently knew what was bothering Helena was not the mission they had to face tomorrow. If pressed to guess, Myka would assume what was troubling Helena was something much closer to her heart.
Myka continued her silent study of the other woman. Her eyes caressed every plane of Helena's face, yet the woman had not turned to acknowledge Myka's presence. Myka did not mind, however, she was content to let her eyes drink the woman in for now. She wanted to erase the frown off her face and banish the weariness from her eyes. Her heart ached to see Helena happy.
"Didn't you have servants start the fires in your home?" Myka asked after an interminable amount of time had passed (a smile in her voice and on her face to let Helena know she was just teasing). "How do you even know how to build a fire?"
Cocking her head in thought, while still staring into the fire, Helena waited a moment to answer. "I suppose being a Warehouse agent taught me more than I thought." She finally turned her intense gaze to Myka. The emotion swirling in her dark eyes gave Myka pause.
She kept her eyes locked on Helena's as she moved to the edge of the armchair until her knees touched Helena's. She needed the physical connection to bolster her courage for what she was about to say. "Helena, I know that we haven't really talked about this," she waved her hand, vaguely indicating the space between them, "thing we're doing. I mean, if it's even a thing at all considering we only did it once and " She shook her head at the inadequacy of that statement and the fact that she was rambling. She hated to ramble. She blew out a breath and pulled her thoughts together. "What I'm trying to say is that I am here for you. And, trust me, I know my timing is lousy. We are heading into a dangerous situation tomorrow, and I should have done this long before now," she glanced up to look Helena in the eye as she spoke her next words. "But I want you to know that I'm here for more than just sex. I want to be the person you turn to, if you want me to be."
Helena broke eye contact and shifted her gaze back to the fire burning in the hearth. Myka had spoken words that could not be retracted. With a few simple sentences, she had left the decision of how to proceed entirely in the hands of Helena. Silence stretched between them.
"Why did you leave that night?" Helena asked a hint of hurt in her voice.
Dumbfounded, Myka furrowed her brow and tried to explain her reasoning, "Honestly, I didn't know you wanted me to stay. I actually thought you wanted me to leave. After, when you cried," Myka rubbed the back of her neck and shifted her eyes away from the intense look being directed her way, "I thought," a slight blush crept up her neck as she cleared her throat, "I thought I had done something wrong and that you didn't want me there." She licked her dry lips, "Why didn't you ask me to stay?"
Myka surreptitiously watched Helena's guarded expression. She looked pained for a moment before her face became impassive and unreadable. "I did not realize I had to ask," came the whispered answer that caused Myka's heart to clench. Helena sounded so hurt and lost, Myka wanted to reach out and comfort the other woman, but she did not know if it would be a welcome gesture.
"I'm so sorry, Helena," she whispered back, sincerity lacing her voice as she hesitatingly took one of Helena's hands in her own and squeezed gently. Myka waited Helena's reaction with baited breath.
Helena did not let go of Myka's hand. "I feel myself slipping sometimes. Slipping into anger. Into madness," she reached for the locket around her neck with her free hand. "Sometimes, I do not know what is real anymore. I do not know what to think at times. I feel so lost." She turned and stared at the flames dancing along the log in the fireplace while simultaneously consuming and destroying it. Turning it to ash. "I fear the whispers that convince me that perhaps I am too broken, too damaged, too stained with darkness and blood to love." A gentle hand turned her face back to look at Myka. "Perhaps, I deserved to remain bronzed. Perhaps, I am as wicked and evil as MacPherson thought me. Perhaps, I" Myka pressed a finger to Helena's lips to stay her words.
"Perhaps, Helena, you are just a woman who lived through a horrible situation and are now being given a second chance. For redemption. For peace. For love." Myka moved in slowly, allowing Helena every chance to stop her if she wished. When Helena made no move to dissuade her, Myka peppered her face with kisses. Each kiss lingering longer than the one before. Myka finally rested her forehead against Helena's and gazed into the eyes of the woman who had so effortlessly stolen her heart, long before their night of passion. Myka silently swore to herself that whatever happened tomorrow, they would get through Warehouse 2 in tact so that she and Helena could begin to mend their relationship.
From an old, long-loved passage Myka whispered softly, reverently, trying not to break the moment, "If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together, there is something you must always remember." She closed the gap between them and chastely pressed her lips to Helena's. "You are braver than you believe," Myka breathed as her hands cupped Helena's face. "Stronger than you seem," she smiled as she dropped a kiss on Helena's nose. "And smarter than you think," at that Helena smirked, eliciting a chuckle from Myka. "But the most important thing is," Myka took a deep breath and her eyes connected with Helena's, "even if we are apart, I will always be with you."
Moisture gathered in Helena's eyes. She had to fight the sting in her eyes and the constriction of her throat to thickly whisper, "In a different world, and another time, you promised me the same thing, my love."
Not quite understanding Helena's meaning, Myka's heart nonetheless skipped a beat at the inventor's endearment. Looking deeply into a dark gaze, Myka let everything she felt for the enigmatic woman show in her eyes. She hoped it told the other woman everything words could not as her lips descended on Helena's sealing the promise (both spoken and unspoken); and, of her own volition, Myka intertwined her fate with that of Helena's.
Return to Warehouse 13 Fiction
Return to Main Page