"Good morning, Leena," she chimed warmly, flashing the girl a smile that was returned in kind.
"Morning, Myka. Sleep alright?"
"Never better."
The agent slipped in beside her, reaching for the seemingly bottomless coffee pot and nabbing a mug from the cabinet. Leena was busy with her pancake batter as Myka poured the cup and allowed herself the guilty pleasure of closing her eyes whilst inhaling the rich smell of the freshly brewed roast. Milk and (a little bit) of sugar followed and then she was off again, heading for the table where she anticipated the presence of the one who was always awake first in the house. Helena sat in her usual spot, which, incidentally, was right next to Myka; though she was thoroughly engrossed in the newspaper laid before her, the sight of the taller woman clutching her caffeine close, still a little sleepy and hair still a little messy, never failed to lift her head and coax out a smile.
"Morning, darling. Up a bit later than usual, are we not?" Although the Victorian's tone was schooled innocently enough, the glint in her eye and quirk of her lips hinted otherwise.
Myka shot her a look but felt a grin cracking in spite of herself. "Well, we know who's to blame for that, hmm?"
A shortlived but altogether devilishly delighted laugh was the response, and Helena turned back to her reading with a smile that was slow to fade. Seeing her with the paper, lit radiantly by the morning sun filtering in the french doors, had more or less become one of the treasured few staples of life in the unpredictable and demanding world of the Warehouse. Ever since the author had been brought back along with the building itself almost a year ago now, she had become particularly preoccupied with current events, as well as catching up on everything she had missed in a hundred years of bronze. This routine of waking to coffee and H.G. Wells had become just that, and if there was anything Myka was a sucker for, it was doing things by the book.
The prize of starting the day with a few precious moments alone together didn't hurt, either.
Pulling the mug in carefully so as not to spill, Myka blew across the surface and took a tentative sip. She settled back in her chair and relished the feel of that scalding liquid flowing down her throat and the heat blossoming in her stomach, a welcome contrast to the air that always seemed a little too chilly in comparison to the warmth of the bed she had only just rolled out of.
A year. Had it really been that long already? She supposed it had. In a way it felt like only yesterday she stood amidst the ashes and burnt cinders floating lazily down around her, Artie and Pete, but it also felt like it had been so much longer. Another lifetime entirely. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine and Myka brought the coffee to her lips again, suddenly all the more grateful for something solid to grip and ground her away from that memory.
Beside her came the sound of wrinkling paper as Helena turned a page, still scouring the tiny black print, and Myka stole a glance over the top of her cup. Even after a year, she found her heart swelled a bit to see the author in her natural state, lips pursed and brows ever so slightly drawn together in focus, a look that was so quintessentially her and, to the agent, incredibly endearing. Not for the first time she wondered how it had taken her so long to realize just how deeply she cared for the other woman, and she wondered how much longer she would have stayed stubbornly blind to it if Sykes' plan had never come to fruition. The thought of being without the Victorian now, of never having her there to patiently wait for Myka to open her eyes and see what had been there (if she was being honest with herself) all along turned her stomach.
By now the tantalizing aromas of Leena's cooking had drifted to the two women and-sure as clockwork-came the thudding of Pete and Claudia racing one another down the stairs to breakfast.
Their quiet little sanctuary of a picturesque morning would shortly be broken, and although Myka wouldn't have it any other way, she felt a flutter in her chest and a mounting sense of urgency that always came along with the memory of nearly having lost the author, her best friend, her girlfriend, a second time.
"Helena?" Her voice was small and hushed, hesitant, but the woman sitting beside her still caught it.
"Mm?"
"I love you."
Her attention lifted from the paper, brows arched now, but one look at Myka's face told her what was on her mind and everything else in the world took second seat. Helena reached out and layed a warm hand upon the agent's, fingers curling and clasping tight, an unbridled smile as broad as it was genuine dawning upon her features. Then she leaned forward and gave reply by way of soft lips pressed against Myka's, a reassurance that needed no words, only barely managing to slip back into her seat and adopt a perfectly nonchalant air as the rest of the team burst in with plates piled high.
Pete and Claudia were already taking good-natured jabs at one another, Leena trailed behind them grinning at the performance, and even Artie seemed to be in not quite so gruff a mood that morning. Myka ducked her head to hide the glowing smile she was sure she would never be able to get rid of.
This was her family, as eclectic as they may be. She loved and she was loved. In her humble opinion, no one could be happier.