Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Unfortunately. I'm just borrowing them for a little fun and I promise to bring them back safe and sound, and maybe a little happy.
A/N: Another ficlet based on a manip (see story cover).
Myka had always kept her fencing up. First it was to stay fit after college, then she incorporated it into her Secret Service training routine. After Sam had died, fencing had become a way to keep even busier than she was anyway, and a way that allowed her to retreat into a world that she could control, that allowed her to simply be. Her weapons felt like extensions of her arm, no matter if it was sabre, epee, or foil, her personal favorite. Fencing felt as natural as reading to Myka.
These days, again, she was fencing a lot, either among the trees behind the B&B or in her little spot between shelves 36C and 37A, close to the Dark Vault and even closer to the HG Wells collection. Nobody bothered her here, not anymore. Pete had tried once and had gotten a painful bruise on his thigh courtesy of Myka's epee. She just hadn't managed to pull her weapon any more than that. As it was, he was lucky not to have been jabbed in the chest. After that incident, the only way any of the others made contact was via Farnsworth, and only if they absolutely had to. Somehow they all knew that fencing had become Myka's lifeline. It came, after all, as natural as breathing to her in its familiarity and effortlessness, and it kept her somewhat sane.
When Myka focused all her energy on fencing, her mind, without fail, wandered to Helena. She missed the woman with an intensity she had never experienced, and which she put down to not having any clue where the woman was or what was happening to her. It was driving Myka mad, slowly but surely. Hence the fencing, the tether to reality, the self-medication that allowed her to sleep at night, at least for a few hours before unnamed night terrors ripped her from her sleep. Fencing centered her and if she had the time and opportunity, she worked herself to exhaustion every night.
Her movements were fluid along the imaginary planche between the shelves filled with finite wonder. "Endless wonder" had long lost its glowing appeal and Myka had lost almost all her appreciation for wonders when Helena was dragged from the warehouse a second time.
She lunged at an imaginary foe, not all that surprised when it took on the form of Adwin Kosan in her mind, the main symbol of the power the Regents held. Right now, she hated him. Them. She aimed for his head and then drove her sabre right into the spot where his heart would be, if he had one.
Myka stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. Okay, today her mood was even darker than usual, she had to admit that, even if she only killed imaginary people. Which, she assumed, should feel wrong, but didn't.
Footsteps pulled her out of her dark musings and she wondered who had drawn the short straw to contact her, and why they hadn't used the Farnsworth, which was resting between two artifacts on a shelf behind her. The footsteps were tentative, unsure, and then they stopped somewhere not too far behind her.
"You can come closer, you know," she said without turning around, assuming it was Pete. Her voice was raspy from exertion and she realized that sweat was dripping off her forehead. "I'm not going to kill you … today, Pete."
The steps came closer and Myka stiffened. That almost sounded like … no, impossible. She took a deep breath and turned around, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her visitor stopped right in front of her and then she didn't need her eyes to tell her who was standing right there. She gasped.
"Not Peter, I'm afraid," the wonderfully cultured voice said quietly. "He seems afraid to come down here, and I gladly volunteered."
Myka refused to open her eyes, not eager to find out if Helena was really here or if her imagination had conjured her up.
"Myka," Helena coaxed, just above a whisper. "Look at me, please."
Myka felt a gentle hand under her chin. Corporeal then, she thought. She opened her eyes, blinking twice just to make sure they were actually working. Helena. She dropped her sabre and threw her arms around HG Wells. "I missed you so, so much," she breathed into long dark hair.
Arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her impossibly closer. "I missed you, too." There was a pause. "It felt like I was never whole, like a part was missing," Helena whispered. "And that part is you, Myka."
Myka pulled away from Helena to look into her eyes, hoping to see confirmation of what she thought she had heard. Dark eyes full of unshed tears and love met hers. "Oh God, Helena," Myka whispered back. "You're my missing part, too." She leaned in and pressed her lips against Helena's, softly, tenderly. When she heard Helena moan, she pulled back. "I love you."
Helena didn't say anything, didn't have to say anything. Her lips and hands did her talking for her. "Nobody is coming down here to look for you?" she husked as she began pulling Myka's shirt from her body.
Myka chuckled. "No, they're afraid of me and my weapons."
"And rightly so, I'm sure," Helena murmured. "You looked impossibly … dashing. Poetry in motion."
Myka shrugged shyly. "Fencing does come naturally to me," she murmured. "As naturally as breathing or reading … or loving you."
—-
"It's been two hours," Pete said. He was clearly bored. "You think HG got lost?"
Claudia snorted. "Yeah, un-huh," she muttered.
"Think I should go find them?"
"Hell, no!" Claudia and Leena exclaimed, sharing a look. "Not if you value your life, Petester."
"We'll see them at breakfast tomorrow, Pete," Leena added. "Let's go home. I'll make dinner."
Pete jumped up immediately. "Great, I'm starving!" With that he made his way to the umbilicus.
Claudia shared a look with Leena and quickly sent a text message to Myka's phone.
All off to Leena's. Take your time. Hug HG from me. But not when you're naked coz that would be weird.
Somewhere in the warehouse two agents laughed.
The End