A/N: My first attempt at a Bering and Wells (Melena Bells) fic. The main section of this is all fluffy goodness, but the second part is my emotional break-down seeping out in reaction to the season three finale. HOWEVER this can be interpreted as being set at the end of season two, thus not as depressing. Props to Aureliamonte for the plotbunny. Okay, a disclaimer and I'll shut up. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, and have nothing to do with anything involving them other than my uncreative, hopefully original and not disappointing stories.

Inventions and Memories

An exasperated sigh filled a small room of Leena's B 'n' B as a head of curls bounced defiantly against a strange metallic device. Again, slender fingers guided the object through their owner's brunette locks, but to no avail. With a huff, the woman set down the more recent invention of a certain too-smart-for-her-own-good Victorian – designed to straighten one's hair within seconds – and moved to grab her shirt. Her mind wandered, images of said inventor and her flowing, glossy hair permeating her usual thoughts of the day's tasks. As she pushed the last buttons through, her minds eye saw the other woman's skilled fingers unbuttoning her shirt, that mischievous look never leaving her striking features. She tried to shake the notion, closing her eyes tight, but still that smug grin remained ingrained in her mind. Glancing in the mirror once more, she tousled her seemingly forever-curly hair before making her way downstairs.

Myka Bering had never been partial to specific hair styles or specific looks, only rarely indulging in the hour long effort to eliminate her curls. Perhaps it was because most of her role models growing up had been authors known for their skill with the written word, rather than people whose worth was determined by physical appeal. Since discovering that one of those authors – H.G. Wells – thought to be a man was actually a woman and a stunning one at that, Myka had started to take more of an interest in her appearance. It was trivial, she knew, but that media-influenced concept of valuing beauty had started to infect her own beliefs. In the past, whenever she had liked someone, she would unconsciously adapt similar traits of that person. After already developing an affinity toward straight hair and a propensity to adorn the same dashing fashion ensembles that her current crush Helena G. Wells clearly found desirable, it took all of Myka's self control to not mimic the smooth British accent which enchanted her so.

There was a level of certainty Myka had that suggested the beautiful Victorian-era inventor would never take an interest in her outside of her ability to understand and appreciate great literature. People had always respected her intelligence, but rarely had intentions to pursue her romantically, thus embedding a poisonous streak of self-doubt in her. Even so, nobody (including herself) could ignore the lingering touches and romantic gestures that Helena seemed to be so fond of inflicting on her, each one affirming her overwhelming desire for the woman. This instilled a sense of hope, which had slowly started to chip away at the dark, doubtful image in Myka's mind. Helena had crafted gifts, written and read her poetry… In many regards she had acted more as a lover than any of her partners had ever even attempted. The most recent creation – a new and improved (though currently faulty) hair straightener had been Helena's initiative to assist Myka's recent desire to straighten her curls every morning. Myka still had dreams of how close the British woman had stood as she twirled her fingers though the bouncy locks, voicing her confusion on why anyone would want to 'do away with such beautiful ringlets'.

Somewhere in the midst of descending the stairs, entering the kitchen and preparing coffee Myka had become lost in yet another daydream concerning Helena and inappropriate proximity, and failed to notice the woman of her unspoken affections sitting at the kitchen counter.

"Good morning, darling," the inventor called after a moment, wondering why the brunette hadn't so much as acknowledged her.

Myka jumped, spinning in her place to find a perplexed H.G. staring at her, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there. Morning, Helena," the brunette responded sheepishly. She couldn't help the smile and slight blush that graced her features as she looked at the raven-haired woman.

"Everything alright, love?" Helena asked; the warmth in her voice uncharacteristically like the usual tone she employed with everyone else. She could tell that the taller woman had feelings for her. It was a prominent reason as to why she insisted on the playful teasing that went on between them.

"Yes. Perfectly fine," Myka affirmed. She knew how to communicate with this woman without acting like a nervous teenager mumbling in embarrassment at the thought of talking to her crush. Her smile widened as she found her confidence at last. She turned back to the coffee machine, adjusting the settings slightly.

At this Helena stood, making her way over to her friend. She grabbed the other woman's wrist gently and spun her back around. As usual, she stood close enough to invade Myka's personal space and extended a pale hand to caress a soft cheek faintly before she began twisting Myka's tresses around her fingers. "You decided to keep your beautiful curls in place today, I see," she commented gingerly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Myka took a breath and exhaled shakily. She was still not used to having Helena so close despite the intrinsically familiar position. Her heartbeat quickened slightly as she gazed into Helena's dark eyes, the familiar scent of vanilla adding to her lightheadedness. "Uhm… well, it's your fault, really. That avant-garde device of yours has decided to stop working," she commented, trying desperately to conceal her feelings of intense longing.

The shorter of the two leaned impossibly closer, letting a small giggle slip from her lips as the corners of her mouth turned up into that infamous smirk. "Agent Bering, do you honestly believe my inventions would just suddenly become useless? If I was one to make guesses, I'd say your hair is somewhat curlier than usual, do you not agree?" Helena asked knowingly, letting her left hand meet Myka's waist while the other continued it's twirling.

By now, Myka was almost certain she was dreaming, unable to believe the scene unfolding before her. She could feel Helena's breath on her lips as her back connected with the counter. "I suppose you are… very… knowledgeable… in your… uhh…" she tried. Helena was mesmerizing – beyond beautiful. All coherent thoughts and responses had disappeared from her mind.

Helena leaned in, bringing her mouth to her friend's ear. "My dear Myka. Your beauty transcends time itself. Simply looking at you settles my soul and warms my heart. My love, holding you this close provides a certain sense of wonderment that not even my most vivid dreams could accurately portray. I…" Her voice was soft as she trailed off – words intended for only a lover to hear. She pulled back, looking into dazzling, dark green orbs that glistened with emotion.

Myka's arms circled Helena's waist, pulling her body flush against her own. The gap between them was closed as Helena's lips brushed softly against Myka's in a sweet, chaste kiss. Myka's heart soared and her lips tingled as her mind celebrated (quite literally) a dream come true. She looked at her newfound lover, a smile that illuminated the room displayed on her face. "Miss Wells, if I was one to make guesses, I would say in all honesty, that I'm in love with you," Myka confessed as her fingers traced patterns on the small of Helena's back.

"That wouldn't be a guess, my love. You are as in love with me as I am with you," Helena countered with conviction, that same smirk appearing on her lips yet again.

"I suppose you're right," Myka answered, still grinning. She leaned in to kiss her raven-haired beauty before stopping just short, pulling back slightly. "Oh, when you get a chance, could you please change that straightener back?"

"I guess that can be arranged, but you must do something for me first," the shorter woman spoke seriously.

"Oh? And what would that be?" The brunette asked, only slightly concerned.

"Kiss me, my darling," Helena answered with a mischievous smile.

Too happy to agree to the terms, Myka leaned in, delighting in the feel of H.G. Wells – her Helena – pressed firmly against her. It was a perfect moment, with her perfect partner. If there was one feeling, one moment she would remember forever, it was this.

This particular memory was one Myka would become lost in time and time again. With Helena gone, she survived on memories and feelings. Each day without the brilliant woman seemed as though a light had been dimmed in her world. That smile that sent a wave of happiness through her; those tempting lips that delivered amazing kisses, joyous laughter and perfectly worded phrases; those hands that knew what every part of Myka's body felt like and knew exactly where to touch; those eyes that held such love for her… Her reason to smile had been taken from her.

She went through the motions of losing a loved one. First, there was denial. Myka believed whole-heartedly that Helena was still out there, somewhere. There was no possible way she could still be alive if her love was gone. A few days passed and her emotions and mood were thrown on an unrelenting rollercoaster of insanity. All of that faded however and before long one specific emotion had taken over her. She felt anger – it consumed her in such a way that her friends were nervous around her, not knowing when she'd finally just snap. Books would be thrown across the room, wine glasses would smash in the dead of the night, but soon that disappeared too and there was only pain.

Every morning Myka would wake up as that pain hit her chest with excruciating force. She would shower in silence, pulling at her curls in the running water, willing them to straighten out. Her hair sprung up in ringlets without fail under the stream, until she dried off and pulled Helena's invention through it, banishing the curls for another day. She'd pull on clothes so similar to Helena's unique style that they might as well have been her lover's clothes. Some days, they would be.

It had started as a crush, an imitation of a highly regarded friend. Now, the straight hair and familiar clothes were the reminders of moments she and Helena had shared. There were days when getting out of bed seemed like the most difficult task in the world. Sometimes she needed to stay in the safe cocoon of her blankets and pillows for another hour, reliving every detail of an experience with her love. Even with the memories Helena was not completely with her, so most days the straight hair and clothes were the only thing tethering her to the world. After all, her real world was gone.

End