DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to Warehouse 13, as sad as that makes me.
SPOILERS: Major spoilers for the season 3 finale. Though, I like mine better since it's f/f and the actual episode wasn't. Fft. The title comes from one of my favorite poems, which I've included at the end. I hope you enjoy! I also hope you take the time to send feedback, since this is the first fanfic I've actually finished in years ;)
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
FEEDBACK: To megasmle[at]hotmail.com

World Enough, and Time
By CrimsonCat


Myka wanted to scream herself hoarse, but when she spoke her voice was soft. Hesitant. Afraid of what she already knew.

"Helena, what is this?"

Helena gave her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, it was the only way I could think to save you."

Myka wanted to bang her hands on the barrier. She wanted to claw and rage and throw herself at it until either the barrier fell or her body crumbled. Helena was saving Myka's physical form, but her heart would die here today. Helena could only smile sadly, on the other side of the flickering blue light.

Myka, we have to think rationally and not emotionally. And quickly before I remember that I'm not this noble.

Pete and Artie were begging, pleading with her to let them find another way. They might as well have been asking the tide to stop kissing the shore. Helena wasn't listening to them. She didn't even spare a glance in their direction. All her attention was focused on the woman that had stolen her heart.

They didn't need to say goodbye. They'd said goodbye so many times already. Myka and Helena knew the lines by heart, they could do this dance in their sleep. Words weren't necessary.

How do you say goodbye to the one person that knows you better than anyone else?

I wish I knew

Myka was barely holding herself together. She was fraying at the seams, and desperately trying not to crumble. Her eyes filled with tears that she furiously blinked away, not wanting her last view of Helena to be obscured.

A calm, happy smile spread across Helena's face. Her voice was full of wonder when she spoke.

"I smell apples."

Though her eyes were glassy with tears, Helena had a smile on her face. Myka wanted to wrap the older woman in her arms and never let go. Myka wanted to curl around Helena's body and try to protect her from the blast. she wanted to entangle herself with Helena, at the very least dying by her side.

Be brave. I need your strength.

Myka gave her lover a shaky smile, pressing her hand against the barrier that surrounded herself, Pete, and Artie. The energy from the barrier burned against her hand, but Myka couldn't feel it. Her entire world had narrowed to the woman standing just beyond her reach. And, for a moment, she felt like she would start laughing hysterically. Because this, right here, was the perfect metaphor for their relationship. Everything they wanted always just beyond their grasp.

Myka pushed her hysteria down into the furthest reaches of her mind. When Pete was getting ready to destroy the Janis coin, Myka had turned away. She hadn't been strong enough to watch him destroy the woman she loved. She turned her back on them, and walked away. But Myka refused to look away this time. She held Helena's gaze, trying to convey a lifetime's worth of love in the few seconds they had left. And when the bomb went off, when everything turned to roaring fire, ash, and destruction, Myka watched Helena get consumed.

The barrier fell once the danger had passed. After the nuclear explosion had reached the far ends of the warehouse, destroying everything in it's path before bouncing back off the barrier, burning itself into nothing, the barrier disappeared. Myka could feel her seams bursting with the amount of anguish she was trying to contain. But Helena was gone, and Myka didn't need to be brave anymore.

Myka would have crumbled to the charred ground, but Pete caught her before she could hit the earth. Eyes locked on the last place she'd seen Helena, Myka didn't hear a word Pete and Arite spoke to her. Myka absently wondered who was screaming, before realizing the sound was clawing it's way out of her throat. Without Helena needing her to be strong, Myka fell apart in her partner's arms. He whispered words of solace and comfort. Soothing sounds that tickled the shell of her ear, but could not penetrate the horror of the moment.

Pete clung to Myka desperately, trying to hold her together. The scream echoing around them tore at his heart. Even as he tightened his hold on her, his arms wrapped around her smaller frame, he could feel it happening. Myka was shattering into a million pieces and he was helpless to prevent it.

A few steps away, Artie stood watching them. Standing in the smoldering ruins of his life's work, Artie considered his options. The watch in his hand felt like ice. He didn't know exactly how it worked. He didn't know what the consequences would be, or what price he would pay for using it. But watching the woman he loved like a daughter crumble into nothing before his eyes, Arite knew there wasn't really any other choice. Artie knew Myka would not recover from this. She would be nothing more than a shadow of her former self. Restoring the warehouse and the artifacts was of utmost importance. He was obligated to do everything in his power to guard the warehouse and it's contents. But it was the sight of Myka, utterly demolished, that tipped the scale. His hand tightened around the watch as Artie made his decision. Consequences be damned.

Andrew Miller
To His Coy Mistress

Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day;
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood;
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.

Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball;
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.

The End

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