A Book, A Rose, & A Pack of Twizzlers
In response to the rather lovely prompt by my buddy, I give you....*drum roll* THIS rather anticlimactic introduction lol
Title: A Book, A Rose, & A Pack of Twizzlers
Author: Yours truly, RoseSama35
Fandom: Warehosue 13
Pairing: Myka/HG
Word count: 3,336
Recommended Mood Music: Traveling Company and People of The North Pole from the Final Fantasy X Piano Collection
Fic-Petite
A Book, A Rose, & A Pack of Twizzlers
It was amazing to Myka how three words had moved her so deeply, nearly brought her tears, and altered the course of what she was sure would be a final decision.
“We need you.”
That was all it took. Well, not all it took. Claudia spent more sleepless nights than she cared to recall trying to locate where she had gone. Pete went combing around every city he went to when investigating an artifact, hoping that he'd catch a glimpse of her by luck. Even Artie broke the rules, risking the wrath of Ms. Fredrick and possibly the Regents, and used an artifact to finally locate the rock which Myka had hidden herself under. Then they found her, and made their plea. Myka spent most of it in heartfelt tears. And in three final words, the family was back together again, after H.G. Wells had tried to tear it apart.
It was like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning when Myka returned to her room at the Bed & Breakfast. It felt like the best Christmas every 5-year-old dreams of when she stepped into the halls of the Warehouse. Everyone was right; this was home and nothing could ever change that. Even still, Myka couldn't allow herself to possibly do any harm to her home again. She wasn't ready to trust herself so completely the way everyone else did.
It was a month before she even allowed herself back into the field. Pete and Claudia both protested, assuring that she was being way too hard on herself. Even Artie had to agree, if only because trying to keep Pete AND Claudia out of trouble was running up his blood pressure. Leena ended up being the voice of reason to the Warehouse gang, letting everyone know that Myka had boundaries she had to cross again before she could be the woman she knew she was inside. Pete didn't get it all the way. Claudia hardly got it herself. Artie just didn't want to believe it, sure that shoving her out the door would get her back in gear. But everyone listened anyways, and gave Myka her space on the matter. It was good enough just having her home. If she needed some time before she could be fully functional, that was perfectly fine.
Myka worked hard, engrossed herself in her work, and became the Iron Fist of The Warehouse, as Claudia liked to put it. All the while, Claudia was getting all the field experience that she could have ever hoped for. Even Artie had to admit she was pretty good, even if Pete and Claudia found themselves distracted by every movie poster, comic book shop, pretty girl, or cute boy that they passed. In a few months things in the Warehouse were all but back to normal and Myka was back in the field, hunting down artifacts wherever Artie detected them.
Winter was setting in with a firm brisk chill, and Myka decided to retire early after an eventless day. She said goodnight to Leena whom she was enjoying a warm cup of tea with before heading upstairs. She walked in her room and closed the door behind her before she noticed the ribbon-tied book that sat squarely in the center of her bed. Adorned with a white ribbon tied in a small elegant bow, the book's hardback cover caught a gleam from the lamplight as Myka approached her bed. What was first a frown turned into a small smile, as she realized someone had given her a gift. It was a sweet gesture, even though she didn't recognize the title or the author.
She picked up the firm book, and turned it over in her hands. It was a primarily black cover with a few faint red designs along the bottom, and a flame red dragon-like bird engrained on the spine. It was titled in quick-flowing script, Basilisk. Myka sat down with the book in her hands, already smiling in excitement. She loved a good book just about more than any gift anyone could give her. She opened the cover and felt the book creak from lack of use. She scrolled through a few pages and they flipped with a crisp response. The book was warm, as though it had just come off the printing line. By the time Myka realized it, she was grinning from ear to ear at her new toy. She hadn't even read anything and already like it. She didn't know why it stirred such a happy cord in her chest but it did, and she couldn't wait to start reading it.
The next day she inquired to the entire Inn, but nobody knew who was responsible for placing the book in Myka's room. She was sure that they were all just messing with her and if she kept at it, one of them would crack sooner or later. But after a full day of bagging an artifact near Niagara Falls and no confessions, Myka found herself really baffled. Artie worried that it was an artifact that may have found its way into her room as Houdini's handkerchief had one her first day in the Warehouse. Myka practically screamed at the suggestion of ruining her book by dropping it in the purple goo. To Artie's dismay, they used the small baggy instead. No reaction. Myka's book wasn't an artifact.
Though the mystery remained unsolved, Myka really didn't mind. Whoever had found a way to sneak into the Inn and give her this gift was alright in her mind. At any rate, the book was amazing. She was sad that it took a mystery admirer to bring her attention to it. She wasn't usually one for fantasy unless it involved some sort of ancient mythology, but the story was so wonderfully woven and enthralling that Myka was devouring the pages. Even still, she couldn't read it as quickly as she would have liked because working in Warehouse 13 always kept you busy.
Two days went by, and Myka was trotting upstairs to her room after a long day. She was exhausted, and her arm still ached from where she had fallen on it that morning after wrestling with a man dressed in a bear suit. That report is definitely going to be a long story, she mused. She got to her room and was about to check on Little Pete when a second gift caught her eye. Sitting in the same place she had found her book was a red rose with a white ribbon tied loosely around the bottom of the stem in a bow. Either her secret admirer had returned, or something seriously strange was going on. Immediately she checked in every corner and dark shadow of her room. She was alone. But instinct told her to remain cautious.
She called Pete. When his search of her room came up empty, they called Artie. He hunted the room for anything that looked like an artifact with a funky looking device that looked like a TV antenna attached to a toaster. Her room was clean, and so was the Rose. But nobody could deny the fact that something strange was going on: it just wasn't artifact strange.
Pete and Artie finally left when neither could see any more reason to stick around, leaving Myka to her thoughts. She picked up the rose for the first time, letting the white ribbon slide off and lay on the bed. The stalk was still firm, and smelled of rain and fresh potting soil. The rose had such an elegant look to it, just as the bow tied around it, and the bow that once was tied around her book. When she pressed the amazingly soft petals to her face and breathed in, she took in the familiar scent of the rose. But there was something else there too. Someone had sprayed it ever so lightly with a perfume. It was a familiar scent, one that sent a warm feeling flowing through her body that eased every muscle. She was so sure she'd smelt something like it before, but couldn't quite place it.
Myka placed the rose in a small vase on her nightstand and set the ribbon next to the first on her bookshelf. For the next four days, Myka would fall asleep staring at her rose. Every now and then she would stroke the firm stem, or take in a guilty whiff of that fragrant perfume. She would close her eyes and breathe it in deeply, letting it work her memory awake. She would feel it come creeping closer to her, have her hanging just on the cusp. Her mouth would hang open just slightly, a shiver would run down her spine, and her heart would race. She would be so close, the sweet tingling emotion almost unbearable. But then she would have to exhale, and the epiphany would leave her.
This night found Myka lying in bed on her stomach, the only light coming from the window that had the curtains pulled open to let in the moon and stars. Myka's finger gently traced around the tops of the fragile petals as she again contemplated the origins of her amazing gifts. But they were more than amazing: they were perfect. All she had to do was glance at them, and there was a smile locked in place on her lips. The thought of them made her grin throughout the day. The smell of that rose did things to her that she could barely comprehend and yet just vaguely remember in some distant and wonderful dream. Who in the would could have possibly delivered them to her?
Slowly the most absurd of ideas found a back door and slid into the crevasses of Myka's mound. It was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh scornfully at the thought.
Helena G. Wells.
Truth be told, not a single day went by where she didn't think of the woman, or that fateful day. It was hard not to. Myka felt like H.G had taken a chunk of her soul with her when she was taken from the Warehouse in handcuffs, and it still hadn't healed. On the days where the past seemed to weigh more heavily on her than usual, Leena always made sure to send her to bed with a warm cup of tea in her belly. Tonight would have been one of those nights if she had run into her. But Myka had retreated to her room quickly - as she often did after first receiving her book - and now let the events of that horrifying day play out in her mind again. After Helena was taken away by Adwin Kossan, Myka was sure that she hated herself for trusting her, and for still not hating that woman. She didn't hate her, and Myka didn't know if she ever could.
It seemed like H.G defined her in some way. Before Myka had returned to Warehouse 13, and for a while after, she thought of it as the legacy of her life, her worst possible failure. But as time went on and the bitterness and self-doubt slowly eroded, Myka wasn't quite sure anymore. She knew now that Helena was a bad guy, and was probably planning her grand event even when they had locked eyes for the very first time in London. But Myka was also well past denying it when she missed the former British agent. Trying to pinpoint just one reason usually ended up failing. Everything about her was enchanting in a flowing and ancient sort of way. She was one the most amazing authors that Myka had ever read, and by far the most amazing woman she'd ever known.
Other times, it would be a single thing that would haunt Myka's waking mind. Sometimes her smile, be it the devious one or an eager and innocent one. Other times, and Myka still didn't know why, she'd think of her hands, and the way the twirled as she spoke, danced as she wrote, froze Myka stiff when they'd reach to brush away the mop she called hair out of her eyes. Tonight, it was Helena's dark mysterious eyes that threatened to keep her from sleep.
Myka sighed as she folded her pillow beneath her and closed her eyes. She toyed with the impossible idea of Helena being the one who had been delivering her these secretly intimate gifts. There was just no way that could happen. The Regents had her. She was surely sitting in some mysterious dark hole that Adwin Kossan thought best to leave out the details of. At any rate, what purpose would it serve H.G to send Myka a gift? She doubted that Helena was simply being affectionate in her gift giving, though the idea did tickle her and stirred a smile on her face. Would they have been part of some nefarious plot that not even Myka could comprehend? Helena, what could you be planning?
That was enough. Enough thinking. Myka shook her head as she realized she had almost convinced herself that her secret admirer was in fact H.G. Wells. That was impossible. Period.
Pulling the sheets a little closer to her shoulders, Myka settled in to try and fall asleep as memories of Helena played in her mind like a slide show. She didn't mind the thought of H.G anymore, after a month or so of self therapy. She even enjoyed it many times, like the memory of the happy smile H.G would give Myka whenever the two made eye contact. But now Myka found herself missing the other woman, missing knowing that she was safe right in the next room, missing talking to her and watching her get along with everyone (except Artie.) But Myka didn't want to miss her. She didn't want to think about her, and her magnificent ways, and her painful betrayal every single day. She wanted to move forward from the past and keep living her life without that piece of her soul missing. Even still, Myka mused, it would have been nice...as she slowly trailed off towards sleep.
“I'm sorry,” came the whisper, with lips so close to Myka's ear that they brushed against it. Had it not been for the warm push of breath against her, Myka would have thought she was dreaming. But when Myka opened her eyes, there knelt the culmination of her nightmares for the past four months right in front of her bed, with dark eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Myka froze, was hardly able to move her mouth. Was this real or was she just seeing a phantom of her mind? Was Helena really there in her room, really in front of her, saying she was sorry?
Sure that she was dreaming, Myka blinked and started rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the specter. But H.G made a small low chuckle as she gently pulled Myka's hands from her eyes. “You're not dreaming, Myka. I promise.” The feel of H.G taking hold of Myka's hand was shocking, soft, and a thousand other words she couldn't possibly think of at the moment. Myka needed to sit up and as she did, H.G released her gentle grip and took a few steps back from Myka's bed. Myka thought she'd be fine sitting up in bed, but quickly realized she'd rather be on her feet, too anxious and nervous and unsure to just be sitting.
“What...how...but...?” Myka sputtered, completely failing to even complete a full sentence. Helena smiled sweetly at Myka's dumbfounded look, thinking how adorable she looked wearing it.
“Oh, a woman has her ways,” H.G answered. “Though arranging all of this was much more difficult that I had originally thought.” H.G eyed the book and rose that sat neatly on Myka's night stand. She changed the water in the vase every night. And a bookmark was quickly making its way towards the end of the book. “I'm really glad you liked them, Myka,” she said softly, almost shyly.
“The...it was you?” Myka asked. Even as she continued to stand in stupefaction, the alarms in Myka's head were still going off. Holy crap, it was her! She was really there, right in front of her! She needed to call for Pete, dive for her gun, get on the Farnsworth, do something. But Myka was frozen, completely stuck in place before H.G. Wells.
“A lady should never visit without bringing gifts,” Helena answered, still smiling a little.
“What are you doing here?” Myka asked, finding her voice. “Did...did you think you could just drop in after...” She didn't need to finish her sentence. They both knew what she referred to.
“Well I thought this might help,” Helena said with a small sneaky grin as she brandished a pack of Twizzlers. Myka was so...surprised by the pack of strawberry Twizzlers (she recognized the flavor instantly, even in the dark) that she actually laughed.
“Wow...really? That was your plan? Win me over with Twizzlers?” she asked in disbelief, though she did eye the Twizzlers a bit greedily.
“Truthfully,” Helena started, the smile still lingering on her face for just a bit longer, “nothing could really make this as easy as I'd like it to be. But...but I had to come.”
“For what?” Myka asked without any anger. She was genuinely curious. Of all the other questions that Myka could have asked, like how she'd gotten there, how she'd snuck in, how she'd broken away from the Regents, why she had gone crazy, why she had lied and betrayed her, they were all irrelevant in Myka's mind. She just wanted to know what unfinished business H.G could have possibly had with her as she desperately fought away her earlier feelings of missing this very woman.
“To tell you, Myka...,” Helena faltered for a moment, closing her mouth and searching Myka's eyes a bit woefully. Those eyes worked deep into Myka's chest, and nearly unraveled her. She couldn't stand up to those dark magical eyes; she'd never stand a chance. Myka wanted to chastise herself for being so weak, but was lost in the moment, hanging on what Helena had to say. What she received was two words.
“I'm sorry.”
Myka was ready to not believe her, scoff at the words, tell her it didn't matter and slap a pair of cuffs on her before checking her for weapons. But in that moment, instead of meeting Myka's tough gaze, H.G shifted from one foot to the other, and wrung her hands as she averted her eyes. They looked pained, with just barely a hint of hope in them.
Oh god. Myka's heart skipped a beat. Her fists clenched and unclenched. In that moment, she knew. Helena was sorry. Her heart skipped once more before it raced for the other woman. Myka was decided. She took a hesitant step closer and Helena looked up at her, unsure of how her apology was received. Seeing Helena on the verge of tears, Myka didn't waste any more time. She swept the author into her arms and held her close.
“It's okay,” she said softly, just next to Helena's ear. She ran her hand through the other woman's hair, which was just as silky and smooth as she had always imagined it. Myka was certain she'd never let H.G go, not for as long as she could feel her so close to her heart.
Helena took in a deep breath as Myka held onto her tightly, savoring every bit of her embrace. “I'm so sorry, Myka,” she whispered again, managing to fight off her tears. With her face buried into Myka's neck, she likewise wrapped her arms around Myka. Timidly after first but then squeezing tightly, falling deeper into Myka's comforting touch, Helena let Myka's forgiveness wash over her.
(End)
Title: A Book, A Rose, & A Pack of Twizzlers
Author: Yours truly, RoseSama35
Fandom: Warehosue 13
Pairing: Myka/HG
Word count: 3,336
Recommended Mood Music: Traveling Company and People of The North Pole from the Final Fantasy X Piano Collection
Fic-Petite
A Book, A Rose, & A Pack of Twizzlers
It was amazing to Myka how three words had moved her so deeply, nearly brought her tears, and altered the course of what she was sure would be a final decision.
“We need you.”
That was all it took. Well, not all it took. Claudia spent more sleepless nights than she cared to recall trying to locate where she had gone. Pete went combing around every city he went to when investigating an artifact, hoping that he'd catch a glimpse of her by luck. Even Artie broke the rules, risking the wrath of Ms. Fredrick and possibly the Regents, and used an artifact to finally locate the rock which Myka had hidden herself under. Then they found her, and made their plea. Myka spent most of it in heartfelt tears. And in three final words, the family was back together again, after H.G. Wells had tried to tear it apart.
It was like a breath of fresh air after nearly drowning when Myka returned to her room at the Bed & Breakfast. It felt like the best Christmas every 5-year-old dreams of when she stepped into the halls of the Warehouse. Everyone was right; this was home and nothing could ever change that. Even still, Myka couldn't allow herself to possibly do any harm to her home again. She wasn't ready to trust herself so completely the way everyone else did.
It was a month before she even allowed herself back into the field. Pete and Claudia both protested, assuring that she was being way too hard on herself. Even Artie had to agree, if only because trying to keep Pete AND Claudia out of trouble was running up his blood pressure. Leena ended up being the voice of reason to the Warehouse gang, letting everyone know that Myka had boundaries she had to cross again before she could be the woman she knew she was inside. Pete didn't get it all the way. Claudia hardly got it herself. Artie just didn't want to believe it, sure that shoving her out the door would get her back in gear. But everyone listened anyways, and gave Myka her space on the matter. It was good enough just having her home. If she needed some time before she could be fully functional, that was perfectly fine.
Myka worked hard, engrossed herself in her work, and became the Iron Fist of The Warehouse, as Claudia liked to put it. All the while, Claudia was getting all the field experience that she could have ever hoped for. Even Artie had to admit she was pretty good, even if Pete and Claudia found themselves distracted by every movie poster, comic book shop, pretty girl, or cute boy that they passed. In a few months things in the Warehouse were all but back to normal and Myka was back in the field, hunting down artifacts wherever Artie detected them.
Winter was setting in with a firm brisk chill, and Myka decided to retire early after an eventless day. She said goodnight to Leena whom she was enjoying a warm cup of tea with before heading upstairs. She walked in her room and closed the door behind her before she noticed the ribbon-tied book that sat squarely in the center of her bed. Adorned with a white ribbon tied in a small elegant bow, the book's hardback cover caught a gleam from the lamplight as Myka approached her bed. What was first a frown turned into a small smile, as she realized someone had given her a gift. It was a sweet gesture, even though she didn't recognize the title or the author.
She picked up the firm book, and turned it over in her hands. It was a primarily black cover with a few faint red designs along the bottom, and a flame red dragon-like bird engrained on the spine. It was titled in quick-flowing script, Basilisk. Myka sat down with the book in her hands, already smiling in excitement. She loved a good book just about more than any gift anyone could give her. She opened the cover and felt the book creak from lack of use. She scrolled through a few pages and they flipped with a crisp response. The book was warm, as though it had just come off the printing line. By the time Myka realized it, she was grinning from ear to ear at her new toy. She hadn't even read anything and already like it. She didn't know why it stirred such a happy cord in her chest but it did, and she couldn't wait to start reading it.
The next day she inquired to the entire Inn, but nobody knew who was responsible for placing the book in Myka's room. She was sure that they were all just messing with her and if she kept at it, one of them would crack sooner or later. But after a full day of bagging an artifact near Niagara Falls and no confessions, Myka found herself really baffled. Artie worried that it was an artifact that may have found its way into her room as Houdini's handkerchief had one her first day in the Warehouse. Myka practically screamed at the suggestion of ruining her book by dropping it in the purple goo. To Artie's dismay, they used the small baggy instead. No reaction. Myka's book wasn't an artifact.
Though the mystery remained unsolved, Myka really didn't mind. Whoever had found a way to sneak into the Inn and give her this gift was alright in her mind. At any rate, the book was amazing. She was sad that it took a mystery admirer to bring her attention to it. She wasn't usually one for fantasy unless it involved some sort of ancient mythology, but the story was so wonderfully woven and enthralling that Myka was devouring the pages. Even still, she couldn't read it as quickly as she would have liked because working in Warehouse 13 always kept you busy.
Two days went by, and Myka was trotting upstairs to her room after a long day. She was exhausted, and her arm still ached from where she had fallen on it that morning after wrestling with a man dressed in a bear suit. That report is definitely going to be a long story, she mused. She got to her room and was about to check on Little Pete when a second gift caught her eye. Sitting in the same place she had found her book was a red rose with a white ribbon tied loosely around the bottom of the stem in a bow. Either her secret admirer had returned, or something seriously strange was going on. Immediately she checked in every corner and dark shadow of her room. She was alone. But instinct told her to remain cautious.
She called Pete. When his search of her room came up empty, they called Artie. He hunted the room for anything that looked like an artifact with a funky looking device that looked like a TV antenna attached to a toaster. Her room was clean, and so was the Rose. But nobody could deny the fact that something strange was going on: it just wasn't artifact strange.
Pete and Artie finally left when neither could see any more reason to stick around, leaving Myka to her thoughts. She picked up the rose for the first time, letting the white ribbon slide off and lay on the bed. The stalk was still firm, and smelled of rain and fresh potting soil. The rose had such an elegant look to it, just as the bow tied around it, and the bow that once was tied around her book. When she pressed the amazingly soft petals to her face and breathed in, she took in the familiar scent of the rose. But there was something else there too. Someone had sprayed it ever so lightly with a perfume. It was a familiar scent, one that sent a warm feeling flowing through her body that eased every muscle. She was so sure she'd smelt something like it before, but couldn't quite place it.
Myka placed the rose in a small vase on her nightstand and set the ribbon next to the first on her bookshelf. For the next four days, Myka would fall asleep staring at her rose. Every now and then she would stroke the firm stem, or take in a guilty whiff of that fragrant perfume. She would close her eyes and breathe it in deeply, letting it work her memory awake. She would feel it come creeping closer to her, have her hanging just on the cusp. Her mouth would hang open just slightly, a shiver would run down her spine, and her heart would race. She would be so close, the sweet tingling emotion almost unbearable. But then she would have to exhale, and the epiphany would leave her.
This night found Myka lying in bed on her stomach, the only light coming from the window that had the curtains pulled open to let in the moon and stars. Myka's finger gently traced around the tops of the fragile petals as she again contemplated the origins of her amazing gifts. But they were more than amazing: they were perfect. All she had to do was glance at them, and there was a smile locked in place on her lips. The thought of them made her grin throughout the day. The smell of that rose did things to her that she could barely comprehend and yet just vaguely remember in some distant and wonderful dream. Who in the would could have possibly delivered them to her?
Slowly the most absurd of ideas found a back door and slid into the crevasses of Myka's mound. It was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh scornfully at the thought.
Helena G. Wells.
Truth be told, not a single day went by where she didn't think of the woman, or that fateful day. It was hard not to. Myka felt like H.G had taken a chunk of her soul with her when she was taken from the Warehouse in handcuffs, and it still hadn't healed. On the days where the past seemed to weigh more heavily on her than usual, Leena always made sure to send her to bed with a warm cup of tea in her belly. Tonight would have been one of those nights if she had run into her. But Myka had retreated to her room quickly - as she often did after first receiving her book - and now let the events of that horrifying day play out in her mind again. After Helena was taken away by Adwin Kossan, Myka was sure that she hated herself for trusting her, and for still not hating that woman. She didn't hate her, and Myka didn't know if she ever could.
It seemed like H.G defined her in some way. Before Myka had returned to Warehouse 13, and for a while after, she thought of it as the legacy of her life, her worst possible failure. But as time went on and the bitterness and self-doubt slowly eroded, Myka wasn't quite sure anymore. She knew now that Helena was a bad guy, and was probably planning her grand event even when they had locked eyes for the very first time in London. But Myka was also well past denying it when she missed the former British agent. Trying to pinpoint just one reason usually ended up failing. Everything about her was enchanting in a flowing and ancient sort of way. She was one the most amazing authors that Myka had ever read, and by far the most amazing woman she'd ever known.
Other times, it would be a single thing that would haunt Myka's waking mind. Sometimes her smile, be it the devious one or an eager and innocent one. Other times, and Myka still didn't know why, she'd think of her hands, and the way the twirled as she spoke, danced as she wrote, froze Myka stiff when they'd reach to brush away the mop she called hair out of her eyes. Tonight, it was Helena's dark mysterious eyes that threatened to keep her from sleep.
Myka sighed as she folded her pillow beneath her and closed her eyes. She toyed with the impossible idea of Helena being the one who had been delivering her these secretly intimate gifts. There was just no way that could happen. The Regents had her. She was surely sitting in some mysterious dark hole that Adwin Kossan thought best to leave out the details of. At any rate, what purpose would it serve H.G to send Myka a gift? She doubted that Helena was simply being affectionate in her gift giving, though the idea did tickle her and stirred a smile on her face. Would they have been part of some nefarious plot that not even Myka could comprehend? Helena, what could you be planning?
That was enough. Enough thinking. Myka shook her head as she realized she had almost convinced herself that her secret admirer was in fact H.G. Wells. That was impossible. Period.
Pulling the sheets a little closer to her shoulders, Myka settled in to try and fall asleep as memories of Helena played in her mind like a slide show. She didn't mind the thought of H.G anymore, after a month or so of self therapy. She even enjoyed it many times, like the memory of the happy smile H.G would give Myka whenever the two made eye contact. But now Myka found herself missing the other woman, missing knowing that she was safe right in the next room, missing talking to her and watching her get along with everyone (except Artie.) But Myka didn't want to miss her. She didn't want to think about her, and her magnificent ways, and her painful betrayal every single day. She wanted to move forward from the past and keep living her life without that piece of her soul missing. Even still, Myka mused, it would have been nice...as she slowly trailed off towards sleep.
“I'm sorry,” came the whisper, with lips so close to Myka's ear that they brushed against it. Had it not been for the warm push of breath against her, Myka would have thought she was dreaming. But when Myka opened her eyes, there knelt the culmination of her nightmares for the past four months right in front of her bed, with dark eyes twinkling in the moonlight. Myka froze, was hardly able to move her mouth. Was this real or was she just seeing a phantom of her mind? Was Helena really there in her room, really in front of her, saying she was sorry?
Sure that she was dreaming, Myka blinked and started rubbing her eyes to rid herself of the specter. But H.G made a small low chuckle as she gently pulled Myka's hands from her eyes. “You're not dreaming, Myka. I promise.” The feel of H.G taking hold of Myka's hand was shocking, soft, and a thousand other words she couldn't possibly think of at the moment. Myka needed to sit up and as she did, H.G released her gentle grip and took a few steps back from Myka's bed. Myka thought she'd be fine sitting up in bed, but quickly realized she'd rather be on her feet, too anxious and nervous and unsure to just be sitting.
“What...how...but...?” Myka sputtered, completely failing to even complete a full sentence. Helena smiled sweetly at Myka's dumbfounded look, thinking how adorable she looked wearing it.
“Oh, a woman has her ways,” H.G answered. “Though arranging all of this was much more difficult that I had originally thought.” H.G eyed the book and rose that sat neatly on Myka's night stand. She changed the water in the vase every night. And a bookmark was quickly making its way towards the end of the book. “I'm really glad you liked them, Myka,” she said softly, almost shyly.
“The...it was you?” Myka asked. Even as she continued to stand in stupefaction, the alarms in Myka's head were still going off. Holy crap, it was her! She was really there, right in front of her! She needed to call for Pete, dive for her gun, get on the Farnsworth, do something. But Myka was frozen, completely stuck in place before H.G. Wells.
“A lady should never visit without bringing gifts,” Helena answered, still smiling a little.
“What are you doing here?” Myka asked, finding her voice. “Did...did you think you could just drop in after...” She didn't need to finish her sentence. They both knew what she referred to.
“Well I thought this might help,” Helena said with a small sneaky grin as she brandished a pack of Twizzlers. Myka was so...surprised by the pack of strawberry Twizzlers (she recognized the flavor instantly, even in the dark) that she actually laughed.
“Wow...really? That was your plan? Win me over with Twizzlers?” she asked in disbelief, though she did eye the Twizzlers a bit greedily.
“Truthfully,” Helena started, the smile still lingering on her face for just a bit longer, “nothing could really make this as easy as I'd like it to be. But...but I had to come.”
“For what?” Myka asked without any anger. She was genuinely curious. Of all the other questions that Myka could have asked, like how she'd gotten there, how she'd snuck in, how she'd broken away from the Regents, why she had gone crazy, why she had lied and betrayed her, they were all irrelevant in Myka's mind. She just wanted to know what unfinished business H.G could have possibly had with her as she desperately fought away her earlier feelings of missing this very woman.
“To tell you, Myka...,” Helena faltered for a moment, closing her mouth and searching Myka's eyes a bit woefully. Those eyes worked deep into Myka's chest, and nearly unraveled her. She couldn't stand up to those dark magical eyes; she'd never stand a chance. Myka wanted to chastise herself for being so weak, but was lost in the moment, hanging on what Helena had to say. What she received was two words.
“I'm sorry.”
Myka was ready to not believe her, scoff at the words, tell her it didn't matter and slap a pair of cuffs on her before checking her for weapons. But in that moment, instead of meeting Myka's tough gaze, H.G shifted from one foot to the other, and wrung her hands as she averted her eyes. They looked pained, with just barely a hint of hope in them.
Oh god. Myka's heart skipped a beat. Her fists clenched and unclenched. In that moment, she knew. Helena was sorry. Her heart skipped once more before it raced for the other woman. Myka was decided. She took a hesitant step closer and Helena looked up at her, unsure of how her apology was received. Seeing Helena on the verge of tears, Myka didn't waste any more time. She swept the author into her arms and held her close.
“It's okay,” she said softly, just next to Helena's ear. She ran her hand through the other woman's hair, which was just as silky and smooth as she had always imagined it. Myka was certain she'd never let H.G go, not for as long as she could feel her so close to her heart.
Helena took in a deep breath as Myka held onto her tightly, savoring every bit of her embrace. “I'm so sorry, Myka,” she whispered again, managing to fight off her tears. With her face buried into Myka's neck, she likewise wrapped her arms around Myka. Timidly after first but then squeezing tightly, falling deeper into Myka's comforting touch, Helena let Myka's forgiveness wash over her.
(End)