Death Is A Door

Warehouse 13

Myka/Helena

Rating: G

Spoilers: Season 3 finale

Disclaimer: Not my characters

Summary: The day the world ended for Myka Bering

A/N: I know this has been hashed and rehashed to death by now. But, I beg your indulgence since a very dear friend of mine passed this last week and it seems this is the only thing that wanted to get written. I will get back to my other story as soon as I can.

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Sitting in the only church in Univille, I stare at the slip of paper that is almost crushed between my hands. The eulogy reads like a dry biography, doing no justice to the once vibrant woman it spoke of. It details her great accomplishments and the heights of her genius, but cannot touch on the strength of her character or the depth of her passion. Only one sentence connects her to me, and that sentence does not begin to describe what we were to each other: Helena Grace Wells survived by Myka Ophelia Bering.

Trying to assuage the hurt in my heart I rub the middle of my chest as I stand and slowly walk out of the church. I know the clichéd, trite and hackneyed versions of everybody's definition of loss, of grief, of pain. I've heard people say the world stops spinning; the center of the universe implodes; the world ends.

Stepping out into the unusually busy streets of Univille and looking at the pace of the world marching on, however, makes me wonder if perhaps it is just me that died. Maybe I am an insubstantial being stuck in a world that does not realize somebody extremely important died today.

Ignoring the thought that Helena only mattered to me, I slip into the SUV Pete left behind for me. Turning on the ignition, I stop for a moment and grip the steering wheel as a wave of sadness washes over me. It hurts. The pain is deep. It's almost inexplicable. It hurts deep in a place where I did not even realize I had any receptors to hurt. And it hurts constantly, with no threshold that marks a point where it is too much. It simply increases and increases, weighing deeper and deeper on my heart.

A person I love (loved?) dearly died today. My lover died today. She is survived by her partner, her lover, her future wife (maybe? I am not sure). My brain has stopped working. The pain is so great. We knew the dangers of this job. We talked about the possibility of it happening one day. We were ready, but not prepared. How can anyone be ready for death?

Laying my head back on the headrest, I recall when I last visited Brazil. I attended a funeral. It was moving. I only met the man who died briefly on his death bed. He was an exceptional man; the pillar of his family. And, while I did not know him, I grieved with the family. They moved me to compassion. I did not understand their pain, but I sympathized. The situation moved me.

This. This feels so different. This feels like my heart has been carved out of my chest with dull instruments , no anesthetic, and no ability to black out, pass out, or otherwise escape the dreadful pain radiating from the center of my soul to the very tips of my extremities. I feel heavy and exhausted. I feel drained.

I cannot sleep, however. I am too wired for that. I see the memories of a life that has been extinguished. I see everything. I do not sleep. I am blown away at the ability of the others to sleep; the ability to move on. How do I move on from this?

Rubbing my chest in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of pain, I think that for all the overuse of the phrase, I feel it more fitting than any other phrase I can think to encompass all that I am feeling: My world ended today…and I don't think it will get better tomorrow.