Author's Note: This story is set after Myka returns to the Warehouse in season 3. It was inspired by a comment someone on tumblr made about a picture of Myka from season 3: "I wonder if everyone else at the Warehouse notices this very HG change of wardrobe." They do.
When Myka returned to the Warehouse, after Yellowstone, after Helena, after Bering and Sons, after everything, she was different. Everyone had noticed (except maybe Artie); they had tried to keep their questions to themselves, not wanting to pry, not wanting to upset her. Leena checked her aura every day, hoping each time that she would see a little less turmoil, a little less guilt. But that day hadn't come yet. Pete tried to cheer her up, even going so far as to buy a giant economy-sized tub of Twizzlers, but Myka had just thanked him politely and left it in a cabinet in the kitchen. She didn't even bother to insist that she didn't eat sugar; she just left the tub in the cabinet, untouched. Pete checked.
Each of them had started, at one time or another, to ask her about it, about how she forced Helena's gun to her head, about how she begged her to take her life that way instead of killing her along with the rest of civilization, about how that was what had saved the entire planet. But each time they began, they saw something in Myka's eyes snap shut. Every time they tried to ask, her face took on a hardness that scared them, and she looked away, not meeting their questioning gazes.
Steve, of course, didn't know that the Myka he was seeing had ever been anything other than withdrawn and tired. He didn't know that the deep lines he saw on her forehead hadn't been there only a few short months ago. He did notice, however, the way Myka sometimes struggled to make eye contact with people, especially Artie, and he wondered, for the thousandth time, what exactly had happened at the Yellowstone caldera.
And every time she said, "I'm fine," he felt the lie weigh heavy and hard in his gut. But every time she lied, he looked away from her and said nothing. It wasn't any of his business.
Everyone had noticed.
Early one morning, a few weeks after her return, Myka was going through her usual morning routine when her hair straightener began to spark and let off the distinct smell of burning plastic.
"Damnit!" she cursed, shaking the straightener, as if that would cause whatever was malfunctioning to miraculously fix itself. Then, the power light on the handle went out, and she knew that the straightener was probably broken for good. Unplugging it from the wall, she held on to the dim hope that maybe Claud could work her technical magic on it.
Walking out of her room and into the hallway, she rapped gently on Claudia's door. "Hey, Claud? Uh, I think I might've broken my hair straightener…" she said, sheepishly. "Could you take a look at it?"
Ugh, Myka gets up so frakkin' early. Pushing her covers back and sitting up, Claudia stumbled out of bed and popped her head out into the hallway where Myka was standing. She was holding her straightener in one hand and her nose was scrunched up against the awful smell that was still radiating from it.
"Lemme see it," Claudia mumbled, grabbing it from Myka and opening her door wider, silently inviting her to follow her inside the room.
"Um, if you can't fix it, it's not a big deal…" Myka knew that it was silly to be so worried about a hair straightener, but she couldn't help it. "I can just run into town a little later and pick up a new one." She perched on the edge of Claudia's bed as Claudia rummaged around on her desk, trying to find her set of miniature screwdrivers.
Claudia glanced away from the stuff on her desk and over at Myka. Apparently, she had only gotten through straightening half of her naturally curly hair before the straightener had given out, making her look bedraggled and a little crazy.
"Nah, I should be able to make it work," Claudia shrugged. "It might not last a lot longer, but it'll be fine for you to finish your hair." She paused, wondering if this was a good time to ask about something that had been on everyone's minds since Myka had returned.
She guessed now was as good a time as any, when she had Myka alone, and when she herself hadn't woken up enough to fully talk herself out of bringing it up.
"Uh, Myka?" Claudia inhaled deeply through her nose, and then, almost without breathing, babbled, "We've, uh, noticed lately, well, uh, ever since you got back, really, that you've kinda started dressing a little different, and you dyed your hair, and you started straightening it, and, well, we just wanted to know if, ya know, if you're okay, I mean, you know you can talk to Pete and Leena and me about anything, right? Cuz, well, you kinda started dressing like HG. And, uh, not that that's bad, or good, or, well, just, anything, really. We're just, totally here for you if you want to, I don't know, rant about H.G. or something, I mean, if you want to, okay?"
The whole time Claudia had been rambling, she kept her eyes and her hands on the straightener, fiddling with the wiring. She hadn't dared glance at Myka, who was perched silently on the end of her bed. But once she finished, she took a peek through her bangs at Myka's face.
The expression she found made her stomach sink. Myka sat there, her arms grasped tightly around herself, fighting back the tears that she never once shed after Helena's betrayal.
"I just… I just miss her, Claud," Myka whispered, eyes unfocused, letting the tears finally stream unchecked down her cheeks. "I just miss her so much."