"Think, Helena!" Myka pleaded.

Helena could hear the emotion in every word the other woman spoke, but
did her best to block it out. "Stay away from me," she demanded when
Myka reached for her. She hadn't come this far just to fail now. The
world needed this, whether it knew it or not.

"Alright," Myka said, sounding resigned, "if I am wrong, then kill me."

H.G. was sure she'd heard the agent wrong.

"Do it!" Myka pushed, forcing the gun into the English woman's hand
before pressing the muzzle to her own head, "Kill me now. I mean, we're
all going to die anyways, right? So what's the difference?"

Helena couldn't believe it. Surely Agent Bering didn't mean it. But the expression on her face was serious.

"So shoot me," Myka continued, "Shoot me now. Kill me. But not like
that. Not like a coward. I want you to look me in the eyes, and take my
life."

Helena tightened her grip on the handle.

"Come on," the agent pushed again, "Do it."

Helena couldn't remember ever seeing the woman so angry. Then again, no
one had ever broken Myka's heart and betrayed her like she was about to.
Her finger twitched on the trigger in anticipation.

Helena snapped awake and slammed into an upright position. Sweat
drenched her entire being. Instinct made her reach for the other side of
the bed, for the warmth of a body beside hers. When her hand hit
nothing but air, then the cold empty, she remembered.

Myka was dead. And Helena had been the one cause it.

She'd never forget that day. The small explosion the gun made. The look
of betrayal on Myka's face. Myka's body hitting the ground.

Helena curled in on her self in the center of the bed as sobs racked her
body. She curled up even tighter, as if hoping to take up so little
space she'd seize to exist.

To this day she doesn't remember actually pulling the trigger. But it
changed nothing. It was still her fault that the best thing to ever
happen to her, save Christina, was gone.

Helena didn't know how long she'd been in that spot when she heard, what sounded like whispering, coming from across the room.

A white light started forming, and it took the inventor no time to recognize the shape.

"Myka," she breathed, fresh tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

A fully formed Myka smiled brilliantly, and her heart skipped several
beats. "But I... But you..." she started but couldn't get the words out.

Myka smiled again. "Shh, Helena," she comforted, "It's okay now, my love. I have you."

Helena met her lover's eyes and forced the words out. "No it won't.
It'll never be okay again," she got out, breaking down again, "You're
dead. I killed you."

Myka's smile still didn't waver. "Come back to me, my love," she called,
"I've got you. You're safe." Myka stretched her hand out towards the
distraught woman. "Come back to me," she whispered again.

Helena pushed herself off the bed and ran into Myka's awaiting arms.

Helena's eyes opened slowly. The first thing she noticed was a familiar voice. "Come back to me, Helena," it coaxed.

The next thing she noticed was a familiar body, fit against her own like a puzzle.

Finally she noticed her true love's eyes gazing at her intently.

"Bad dream?" Myka asked as she brushed hair off the author's face gently, concern lacing her words.

Helena knew that Myka was leaving her the opportunity to talk, if she wanted. She didn't. "Very," was all she said.

Myka pulled her impossibly close. "You're safe now," she whispered
lovingly, "It was just a dream, whatever it was. Try and get some
sleep."

"I can't," Helena said hesitantly. The dream had gotten to her, and she
wasn't ready for it to come back. She couldn't handle it.

Myka gave a wicked grin. "Well," her suddenly husky tone rasped as she
straddled Helena's waist, "we'll just have to find a way to keep you
up." She leaned forward and kissed the shorter woman's lips roughly.

True to Myka's word, neither of them slept another wink all night.