The Thinning of the Veil
Wearehouse 13
Pairing: Myka/Helena
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Assumes events through season 3
Disclaimer: Not my characters
Summary: All Hallow's Eve after the events of the season finale
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It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents-except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
"I know things aren't so great," Claudia's voice pulled her from the passage she was reading, "but not to the point where you should be reading Paul Clifford."
Myka turned to face the young woman, trying to smile at Claudia's first attempt at humor since they had found Steve. But the smile and the desire to instill levity into the atmosphere faded from her face when her eyes met Claudia's. Reflected in the young woman's eyes were the same heartbroken sadness, unrelenting weariness and inescapable loneliness that she could not hide in her own eyes.
"It seemed fitting," Myka finally supplied, looking out the window into the raging storm that had appeared without warning earlier that evening. The revelry for the Halloween night was halted at the unexpected downpour. Though Leena had made an effort by decorating and stocking on candy for any Trick-or-Treaters that found their way to the B&B, none of the occupants minded the apparent halt to the night's celebration. No one was in the mood to commemorate a holiday in dedication to the dead.
The topic was too recently associated with bad memories for any of them to be in a mind to enjoy the celebrations. Too many had died: Steve, Mrs. Frederic, Helena.
"Steve and I were going to be Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson tonight," Claudia divulged her voice cracking as she placed a hand on Myka's shoulder trying to find some source of solace. Myka put the book down and placed her hand on top of Claudia's in an attempt to give comfort she did not feel.
"It will get better," Myka gave assurance she did not have, looking out into the night unable to look Claudia in the face at the blatant lie.
Giving a final squeeze before slipping her hand out of Myka's, Claudia cleared her throat so she could bid Myka good night. "I'm going to bed," at Myka's nod of acknowledgement Claudia made her way out of the room. Pausing at the threshold, she looked back at Myka, "Try not to stay out too late. It's pretty nasty out there tonight."
Myka nodded to an empty room before she stood. Stretching her long limbs to work out the stiffness that had settled after sitting for so long, she made her way to the backdoor of the B&B picking up her jacket on the way.
Stepping out into the night she carefully walked a path she knew by memory in darkness and amidst the midnight storm. Myka hugged the jacket closer to her body as the wind and rain cut through her and chilled her to the bone. By the time she reached the meadow behind the B&B, she was soaked and shivering. Stumbling the final steps, she fell to her knees on the muddy grass. Reaching out a cold-numbed hand, she began tracing what her eyes could not see in the darkness.
The epitaph read Helena G. Wells, 2011, "The past is the beginning of the beginning and all that is and has been is but the twilight of the dawn." The simple tombstone was placed above an empty grave. There was nothing left to bury after the explosion, only memories and dreams.
Enshrouded in darkness, rain beating down on her, wind whipping through the meadow, Myka wept quietly; allowing the elements to cover the traces of her grief. Her heart ached. It felt heavy and weighed down with the pain of loss.
The pelting rain finally abating as the wind blew the thunderstorm west. The full moon shone through the quickly moving clouds illuminating the lonely figure atop an empty grave. Emotionally exhausted and physically numb, Myka finally stood.
"I miss you so much," her voice echoing loudly in the absence of the storm. Myka sighed heavily staring down at the tombstone, traces of tears drying on her cheeks.
The wind blew softly, rustling the leaves of the surrounding trees. "Darling, you should not talk to yourself. People may get the wrong impression," came a very familiar voice, amusement ringing in the tone.
Myka did not react to the voice. Instead, she closed her eyes and willed the renewed sting of tears away. "You're not real," her voice sounded so terribly lonely, "you've haunted me every moment since that day. I think I'm beginning to go crazy. You've consumed my every thought."
Helena approached the other woman. "I would like to think I have always consumed your every thought," she rejoined playfully, before stepping closer to Myka and looking down at the grave. "I do not suppose you could have put the year of my birth," she said inspecting the epitaph, "it would have raised too many questions."
"H.G. Wells 1866-2011 would have been a little too hard to explain, yes," Myka finally responded, refusing to look at the origin of the voice she was certain was just in her head.
Helena openly studied the weary woman. "I visited a Celtic Samhain once. It was quite something. Like Mardi Gras except honoring the dead instead of indulging in decidedly more carnal activities before the beginning of Lent. Of course, being a good English Anglican I did not believe the practice to be real. Silly considering how much myth ends up being true. I was foolish to be so narrow-minded."
"Are you really here?" Myka asked, fear and hope warring within her.
"I am here Myka. The veil is thinnest on this night between our worlds. I stepped through at the first opportunity." Helena stepped closer and bumped her shoulder against Myka's.
"I don't believe in ghosts," Myka protested but shivered at the contact.
"Whether you believe in ghosts or not is irrelevant, I am here," she said with a finality that brooked no argument. "Deal with it."
"God, still so bossy," Myka exhaled, a smile pulling at the sides of her mouth at Helena's jargon.
"I am dead, I think I deserve to be a little bossy," Helena said, shrugging nonchalantly.
Myka mentally recoiled at the fact. Finally, curiosity getting the better of her, she glanced over at the woman she simultaneously feared and hoped to see. And there stood Helena bathed in moonlight looking at if she had never left the world of the living. Gasping her shock, Myka lifted her hand to touch the older woman to make sure she was not just a very vivid figment of her imagination. Her hand softly touched a warm check.
Myka's heart trembled. "How?" she mumbled, turning fully to face Helena and bringing her other hand to cup the older woman's face between her hands.
"The veil separating the visible and invisible world is thinnest and traversable on All Hallow's Eve," she stated leaning into Myka's touch.
"How can I touch you?" Myka asked closing the distance between their bodies. Sighing in aching pleasure when familiar curves molded to her body.
"I do not know," Helena whispered as she wrapped her arms around Myka's waist, "I should not have a corporeal body."
"How long?" green eyes search brown depths.
"Until dawn," Helena said sadly.
Myka looked up at the sky. She could see pink hues starting to tinge the eastern sky. Her mind tried to grapple with how time could have flown so quickly. She squeezed Helena, not wanting to let her go so soon. "Can't you stay?"
"I want to stay forever, but I can already see the veil closing," Helena said forlornly.
Not wasting any more time, Myka slipped her hands into Helena's hair and pulled her desperately into a kiss. She needed to feel the other woman as close as possible before she was gone. Helena did not protest, but returned the kiss just as fiercely. Tears tracked down two sets of cheeks as twin souls clung urgently to one another. The kiss tasted of tears, sadness and loneliness. It made the ache in Myka's heart pulse in pain. But she could no more have stopped herself from falling into it than she could stop the sun from rising.
The first rays of the sun split the eastern sky and lit the rain soaked ground. The light of dawn dispelled the shadows of the night, but a cold north wind whistled through the meadow bringing a bite of frost that the sun's heat did not touch. Myka stood alone atop an empty grave, the light of dawn illuminating tear stained cheeks and lost eyes.
The sun at her back, biting wind cutting through her, and cold heart in her chest, Myka slowly walked from that place. She absently noted the final leaves clinging to the trees had been ripped off by the wind. The thunderstorm had ushered in a different season, leaving the world a colder place than the previous night. Turning at the top of the steps of the B&B, she noticed the barren landscape. Autumn was over.
And winter came.