Sequel: A Kind of Blindness: Chapter One
A Kind of Blindness
Fewthistle
Warehouse 13
Myka/H.G.
Disclaimer: Property of Syfy and other foolish souls who squandered the wonder that is Helena and Myka. I would never have been so unwise.
Rating: R, eventually
Chapter 1/?
Words: 1,411
Author’s Note: This is a sequel to By the Pricking of My Thumbs. While it is not absolutely necessary for you to have read it, I would suggest you take a gander, if only to know what in the world is going on, since I veered completely away from canon into my own much happier world. Besides, my greedy little Muse insists on pointing out that it’s not too bad and who doesn’t enjoy a good read? *bg*
Unbeta’d for this part, so all errors mine.
Chapter One
Millville, California
The flames rose up against the winter sky, the brilliant orange glow reducing the light of myriad stars to little more than the faint flicker of fireflies, small and insignificant beside the conflagration of fire. The wind rushed through the streets, now chasing the flames, now fleeing in front of them. Trees were reduced to charred stumps, houses and buildings to nothing more than skeletal remains, the outline of chimneys and toppled walls dark against the pale effulgence.
Wide, ferocious streams of water sent steam wafting into the air, the shouts of men and the blare of sirens echoing into the night, drowning out the soft, barely decipherable sound of music; the notes weaving around and between the flames, urging them higher, sending them burning ever brighter, ever hotter, until there was little left of the town but the dull gray of ashes.
Only then did the music cease.
Leena’s Bed and Breakfast, Univille, South Dakota
The room was dark. A slender ribbon of light curved across the carpet and climbed the side of the bed to lie, pale and evanescent as stardust, against the bare skin of Myka’s leg. Even approaching thirty, the young woman still slept as her Christina had: as unrestrained in slumber as in wakefulness. Myka’s body lay sprawled with trusting recklessness in the middle of the mattress, the covers thrown back to reveal the pale blue of her silk nightshirt. The long line of legs and the subtle curve of hip and breast belied the childish abandon of the pose. Not that Helena was under any misapprehension about that.
Helena stood unmoving at the end of the bed, dark eyes narrowed against the gloom, head canted to one side in silent contemplation of the sleeping figure. She knew she shouldn’t be here; even being her lover, she had no business invading Myka’s privacy without an invitation. Still, after what seemed long, futile hours waiting for sleep to overtake her, she had risen from her own bed and padded softly across the hall to Myka’s room, pulled by some invisible thread to watch the slow, steady rise and fall of Myka’s chest, irrationally needing to make sure the other woman was all right. It had been an arduous week and Helena still worried that the younger woman had not fully recovered from her ordeal with Frigg’s spindle.
Myka had insisted on going back to work within a few days, arguing that she needed to be busy, needed to be out in the light, away from the shadows of the nightmare that still seemed, at moments, to haunt her. The flight back from Georgia had been unrelentingly long. Myka had slept the entire way, her head resting on Helena’s shoulder, her body twisted awkwardly in the seat, long legs at an odd angle, one arm wrapped tightly around Helena’s waist. They’d finally arrived home, Pickett’s spurs in hand, to find that somehow, the dodge ball had gotten loose in the warehouse and multiplied. And multiplied. And multiplied. It had taken Myka, Pete, Helena, and Claudia the better part of five hours to round them all up again.
Helena had insisted that Myka go to bed as soon as they returned to Leena’s. Alone. Myka had protested that she slept better with Helena there, but the Englishwoman had been quite adamant, maintaining that Myka needed an undisturbed rest. She had, of course, neglected to voice the insidious fear that had been creeping unbidden into her mind at random moments of late: that she’d begun to be unable to distinguish where Myka ended and she began; that her whole reason for existence now rested in changeable green eyes and slender arms that assured her that the world was not as chaotic and cruel a place as she knew it to be. Myka had seamlessly fit into the slot at the center of Helena’s heart, at the center of her life. The last person to hold that most unenviable of positions had been ruthlessly, brutally taken from her and deep in the recesses of her battered psyche, Helena trembled at the thought of what losing Myka might do to her
So now, here she stood, pondering the thought that never once, in all those hundred years of waking sleep had she dreamt that she would ever stand, arms wrapped around her body, shivering in the drafty air of an old house, watching the woman she loved sleep. The Fates indeed were capricious old hags, not a little prone to malice.
The sheets on the bed rustled and Myka stirred, her body moving restlessly. She turned onto her back, toes curling downward as she stretched her limbs, a soft sound, part whimper, part contented sigh, breaking the silence of the room. “Helena?” Myka’s voice was rough with sleep and exhaustion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, darling. Nothing’s wrong. I’m so sorry to have woken you,” Helena quickly reassured, crossing the short distance to the edge of the bed and taking Myka’s hand. “I just…I wanted to check on you. Make certain that you were all right.”
“I’d be better if you’d just get in bed,” Myka answered drowsily, throwing back the thick comforter and scooting over to make room. “I told you that before. Then you wouldn’t have had to get up. You could have just rolled over and checked on me.”
“Indeed, I could have. I just thought you’d sleep better with the whole bed to yourself,” Helena replied drolly, unable, as ever, to resist the innocent charms of her sleepy lover. She slipped off her robe and slid into the bed, pulling the covers tightly around both of them. As was often the case, the warmth of the bed reminded her body just how cold she had been, sending a fresh round of shivers through her limbs.
“God, Helena, you’re freezing. Your feet are like ice. Come here,” Myka chastised, voice slightly alarmed. As she spoke, she pulled Helena against her, her hands rubbing swiftly along her back and arms. “How long have you been standing there and why the hell didn’t you just get in bed?”
“A few minutes, I suppose. Well, perhaps a bit longer,” Helena admitted, allowing herself to sink into the protective warmth of Myka’s arms. “I merely came in to make sure you were sleeping and then…well, I must admit, I do love watching you sleep.”
“Something that is much easier, and much less likely to cause frostbite from the comfort of our own bed,” Myka murmured, the lateness of the hour and the feeling of absolute rightness now that Helena was where she belonged---in her bed, in her arms---leaving her drowsy. “Go to sleep, honey.”
Myka’s choice of words, intentional or not, was not lost on Helena. Our bed. Helena fought the terrifying wave of panic that threatened to overtake her, monstrous walls of water washing away everything in their path. Helena had lost count of the number of people to whom she had given over momentary control of her body, the number inconsequential: nameless faces now, lost to time and the fog of indifference. There had been only two souls to whom she had ever ceded power over her heart and losing the last one had nearly killed her.
She must have tensed, for Myka gently said her name, the hand on her arm moving to slip beneath the thick fall of hair at her neck. “Helena? You okay?”
Tilting her head back and looking up into Myka’s face, the lines of high cheekbones and full lips softened in the faint light, the love in her eyes glowing like an ember in the darkness, Helena knew she was already lost. There was no hope of fleeing now, no chance of removing herself from this ‘ever fix’d mark’. There hadn’t been for a long time now, perhaps from that first moment, over the barrel of a gun.
“I’m fine, my darling. All warmed up,” Helena answered, a soft smile curving her lips. “Let’s go to sleep. You were right. This is infinitely better.”
It seemed that she was well and truly in love and all she could see clear to do was wrap her arm a little tighter around Myka’s slender frame, close her eyes, and pray to a God she had long ago determined could not possibly exist that He would not be so cruel as to demand another sacrifice from her.
That would be one more than she could bear.
TBC
Fewthistle
Warehouse 13
Myka/H.G.
Disclaimer: Property of Syfy and other foolish souls who squandered the wonder that is Helena and Myka. I would never have been so unwise.
Rating: R, eventually
Chapter 1/?
Words: 1,411
Author’s Note: This is a sequel to By the Pricking of My Thumbs. While it is not absolutely necessary for you to have read it, I would suggest you take a gander, if only to know what in the world is going on, since I veered completely away from canon into my own much happier world. Besides, my greedy little Muse insists on pointing out that it’s not too bad and who doesn’t enjoy a good read? *bg*
Unbeta’d for this part, so all errors mine.
Chapter One
Millville, California
The flames rose up against the winter sky, the brilliant orange glow reducing the light of myriad stars to little more than the faint flicker of fireflies, small and insignificant beside the conflagration of fire. The wind rushed through the streets, now chasing the flames, now fleeing in front of them. Trees were reduced to charred stumps, houses and buildings to nothing more than skeletal remains, the outline of chimneys and toppled walls dark against the pale effulgence.
Wide, ferocious streams of water sent steam wafting into the air, the shouts of men and the blare of sirens echoing into the night, drowning out the soft, barely decipherable sound of music; the notes weaving around and between the flames, urging them higher, sending them burning ever brighter, ever hotter, until there was little left of the town but the dull gray of ashes.
Only then did the music cease.
Leena’s Bed and Breakfast, Univille, South Dakota
The room was dark. A slender ribbon of light curved across the carpet and climbed the side of the bed to lie, pale and evanescent as stardust, against the bare skin of Myka’s leg. Even approaching thirty, the young woman still slept as her Christina had: as unrestrained in slumber as in wakefulness. Myka’s body lay sprawled with trusting recklessness in the middle of the mattress, the covers thrown back to reveal the pale blue of her silk nightshirt. The long line of legs and the subtle curve of hip and breast belied the childish abandon of the pose. Not that Helena was under any misapprehension about that.
Helena stood unmoving at the end of the bed, dark eyes narrowed against the gloom, head canted to one side in silent contemplation of the sleeping figure. She knew she shouldn’t be here; even being her lover, she had no business invading Myka’s privacy without an invitation. Still, after what seemed long, futile hours waiting for sleep to overtake her, she had risen from her own bed and padded softly across the hall to Myka’s room, pulled by some invisible thread to watch the slow, steady rise and fall of Myka’s chest, irrationally needing to make sure the other woman was all right. It had been an arduous week and Helena still worried that the younger woman had not fully recovered from her ordeal with Frigg’s spindle.
Myka had insisted on going back to work within a few days, arguing that she needed to be busy, needed to be out in the light, away from the shadows of the nightmare that still seemed, at moments, to haunt her. The flight back from Georgia had been unrelentingly long. Myka had slept the entire way, her head resting on Helena’s shoulder, her body twisted awkwardly in the seat, long legs at an odd angle, one arm wrapped tightly around Helena’s waist. They’d finally arrived home, Pickett’s spurs in hand, to find that somehow, the dodge ball had gotten loose in the warehouse and multiplied. And multiplied. And multiplied. It had taken Myka, Pete, Helena, and Claudia the better part of five hours to round them all up again.
Helena had insisted that Myka go to bed as soon as they returned to Leena’s. Alone. Myka had protested that she slept better with Helena there, but the Englishwoman had been quite adamant, maintaining that Myka needed an undisturbed rest. She had, of course, neglected to voice the insidious fear that had been creeping unbidden into her mind at random moments of late: that she’d begun to be unable to distinguish where Myka ended and she began; that her whole reason for existence now rested in changeable green eyes and slender arms that assured her that the world was not as chaotic and cruel a place as she knew it to be. Myka had seamlessly fit into the slot at the center of Helena’s heart, at the center of her life. The last person to hold that most unenviable of positions had been ruthlessly, brutally taken from her and deep in the recesses of her battered psyche, Helena trembled at the thought of what losing Myka might do to her
So now, here she stood, pondering the thought that never once, in all those hundred years of waking sleep had she dreamt that she would ever stand, arms wrapped around her body, shivering in the drafty air of an old house, watching the woman she loved sleep. The Fates indeed were capricious old hags, not a little prone to malice.
The sheets on the bed rustled and Myka stirred, her body moving restlessly. She turned onto her back, toes curling downward as she stretched her limbs, a soft sound, part whimper, part contented sigh, breaking the silence of the room. “Helena?” Myka’s voice was rough with sleep and exhaustion. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, darling. Nothing’s wrong. I’m so sorry to have woken you,” Helena quickly reassured, crossing the short distance to the edge of the bed and taking Myka’s hand. “I just…I wanted to check on you. Make certain that you were all right.”
“I’d be better if you’d just get in bed,” Myka answered drowsily, throwing back the thick comforter and scooting over to make room. “I told you that before. Then you wouldn’t have had to get up. You could have just rolled over and checked on me.”
“Indeed, I could have. I just thought you’d sleep better with the whole bed to yourself,” Helena replied drolly, unable, as ever, to resist the innocent charms of her sleepy lover. She slipped off her robe and slid into the bed, pulling the covers tightly around both of them. As was often the case, the warmth of the bed reminded her body just how cold she had been, sending a fresh round of shivers through her limbs.
“God, Helena, you’re freezing. Your feet are like ice. Come here,” Myka chastised, voice slightly alarmed. As she spoke, she pulled Helena against her, her hands rubbing swiftly along her back and arms. “How long have you been standing there and why the hell didn’t you just get in bed?”
“A few minutes, I suppose. Well, perhaps a bit longer,” Helena admitted, allowing herself to sink into the protective warmth of Myka’s arms. “I merely came in to make sure you were sleeping and then…well, I must admit, I do love watching you sleep.”
“Something that is much easier, and much less likely to cause frostbite from the comfort of our own bed,” Myka murmured, the lateness of the hour and the feeling of absolute rightness now that Helena was where she belonged---in her bed, in her arms---leaving her drowsy. “Go to sleep, honey.”
Myka’s choice of words, intentional or not, was not lost on Helena. Our bed. Helena fought the terrifying wave of panic that threatened to overtake her, monstrous walls of water washing away everything in their path. Helena had lost count of the number of people to whom she had given over momentary control of her body, the number inconsequential: nameless faces now, lost to time and the fog of indifference. There had been only two souls to whom she had ever ceded power over her heart and losing the last one had nearly killed her.
She must have tensed, for Myka gently said her name, the hand on her arm moving to slip beneath the thick fall of hair at her neck. “Helena? You okay?”
Tilting her head back and looking up into Myka’s face, the lines of high cheekbones and full lips softened in the faint light, the love in her eyes glowing like an ember in the darkness, Helena knew she was already lost. There was no hope of fleeing now, no chance of removing herself from this ‘ever fix’d mark’. There hadn’t been for a long time now, perhaps from that first moment, over the barrel of a gun.
“I’m fine, my darling. All warmed up,” Helena answered, a soft smile curving her lips. “Let’s go to sleep. You were right. This is infinitely better.”
It seemed that she was well and truly in love and all she could see clear to do was wrap her arm a little tighter around Myka’s slender frame, close her eyes, and pray to a God she had long ago determined could not possibly exist that He would not be so cruel as to demand another sacrifice from her.
That would be one more than she could bear.
TBC