A/N: This is based on an imagine your OTP prompt on tumblr. Imagine Person A of your OTP being a writer and after Person B dies, they write a romance inspired by none other than themselves.
Helena lies in her bed, their bed, and counts away the minutes and hours since they found her and she was so cold, so pale, and she wasn't breathing, just lying in a hospital bed, not going out with a bang like she said she would, said they would. They would go out together; there was no other way.
"The doctors say I'll be fine, Helena," she says, her lovely lips forming the patient smile she reserves for Helena. "There's no reason to worry."
"I know," Helena replies, returning her smile and seeing, as she studies her lover's face, already bright with the anticipation of all of this being over soon. "I just don't know what I'd do without you."
"Let's never find out," Myka replies and leans in to kiss her.
The doctors were wrong. Helena blames them. For all the advancements in technology in the last century, they still couldn't save the one thing she truly loves. But Myka taught her not to blame, so Helena can't even drown her sorrows in anger. She can't feel anything but the gaping hole and numerous empty spaces, but she won't indulge herself with blaming and anger and hatred because that would be failing Myka, and that, above all things, is something she cannot do.
She reaches for the small box, cleverly concealed in her jacket and opens it, hardly seeing the stunning beauty of the ring she bought to signify their future together. She saw it in a shop window before complications and cold waiting rooms and colder green eyes that just stare right through her. She wanted something that would show them moving past betrayal and cancer and death and so many goodbyes, but now they never will, and Helena throws the box across the room in her frustration.
There's a crashing noise as the box hits the wall and the ring falls out, but the ring doesn't break. Helena would never buy Myka something that could be shattered so easily; she understands the perils of their job better than most. As the B&B fades into silence once more, the tears that hadn't come earlier begin making fast tracks down her cheeks. She lets out a strangled cry as she buries her face in a pillow. No one tries to comfort her because they're all trying to deal, and none of them can because Myka is the one person that none of them can lose.
Helena cries until the tears will no longer come, then lies on her bed as the empty spots consume her thoughts. (Even the bed itself has a very obvious empty spot where she always lies beside her.) She longs for Myka's simple touch, to be able to see her smile again. She can already feel the memories slipping away, just out of her grasp.
Helena stands shakily, unsure if her legs will hold. She walks carefully over to their bookshelf and kneels down. She grasps the leather-bound book that Myka had given her for her birthday, an empty journal in which she can write anything she pleases. "To collect your thoughts," it reads, written in Myka's neat scrawl. It brings a smile to Helena's lips as she runs her fingers over the text.
She turns the page. She has to document as much of their brief happiness as she can, or Myka will truly be gone. The words come to her as easily as they did all those years ago, and she begins to write. "Once two souls who reached the top and then fell to the bottom found that together, they could fix each other, and in each other's arms, they could become complete once more."