We've all got ideas about what's coming in the season 4 opener, but, of course, we don't really know til July. I just know that, whatever route the writers choose, there'll be a fic to write so the girls are taken care of.

I figure there's time later to hash out the details of how, exactly, things will work out with Myka and HG. Until then, here's a little one-fic-fits-all-of-the-possible-endings: the moment of resolution at the end of the journey.

Totally rated K+, sad to say. The other stuff has to come later.

All the standard disclaimers: Warehouse 13 peeps and places are not my characters, not my world, not my property. (No matter that I would do nice things with them if they were. Sad fish.)

No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be made, no artifacts will be used for personal gain. My promise to Mrs. Frederic.

Aftermath

After all that had passed, they found comfort in each others' company.

Myka perched wearily on the bottom steps of the staircase, a smile curving her lips as she absorbed the sight of her teammates, exhausted, but at ease at long last. Her eyes rested briefly on each.

Claudia, legs draped comfortably across the table in front of her, arms dangling bonelessly, chair tipping as her head leaned back beyond the horizontal.

Pete, leaning against the brick wall that edged the room, eyes lidded and head nodding in time as he crooned yet another chorus of Queen's "We Are the Champions" under his breath.

Artie, his jacket rumpled as ever, eyebrows scorched and glasses slightly askew, but otherwise intact.

Almost, she was content.

Almost.

Her eyes strayed back to the doorway, the portal that, she hoped, would open very soon, admitting one more. Myka was almost certain that she would arrive safely.

Almost.

Until then, they would wait.

It was with a quiet clang that the door finally swung open; the sound brought all of them back to alertness. But all was as it should be: Only one form stood framed in the doorway. Restless eyes cast about until they locked on Myka, who rose from her seat on the staircase. The last member of their party had arrived.

Later, Myka would ask Helena to tell her the whole story. She knew that the tale would be worthy of the great H.G. Wells, full of perilous twists and turns, devilish plot points, and harrowing escape plans.

Later.

Not now.

Now was a moment for long, searching looks into each other's faces, for soft smiles, for throats tightening against grateful tears they both struggled to contain.

"Hey." Myka supposed she should have more to say, but given the circumstances, it seemed like enough. Certainly, it was about all her battered psyche felt capable of verbalizing.

A familiar half-smile twisted Helena's lips, and she released her breath in a long exhale. "Time to go home?" Home, Myka thought gratefully.

It was Artie who answered. "Time to go home."

Gathering up the items they had with them would be the work of only a few moments. As the others stirred, Myka, unencumbered, crossed the room toward Helena. There was much to be said, much to be done; but for now, she would be content with this.

She fumbled for a moment with the locket, disentangling it, pulling it carefully free of the strands of hair that swirled untidily about her face. Her eyes were focused on the locket as she worked, and, in her weariness, words were halting. "Here… I wanted to… I'm… I'm sorry that I couldn't… before…" Locket extracted, she held it in both hands and lifted her eyes to Helena's.

Her breath caught, then, as she lost herself for a moment, nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of emotion that swirled in the depthless pools of Helena's eyes.

But Helena saved her then, releasing her, redirecting her gaze to the locket Myka held. It was Helena's turn, then, to feel overwhelmed, and she gave a slight cry as she reached for the beloved ornament. Myka's hands cupped Helena's as trembling fingers closed on the trinket, gently prying it open. Helena gave a great inhale. Tears shone in her eyes as her thumbs caressed the portraits displayed in the tiny windows before her. "Thank you… thank you…" she chanted softly, and Myka's fingers pressed gently against hers.

Helena had hung the locket back in its accustomed place around her neck, and one hand clutched it there, but her other hand still held Myka's. Pete drove; Artie rode in the passenger seat beside him. Claudia had wedged herself into the cargo area in the rear, leaving the back seat for Myka and Helena. They sat facing one another, each nestled in her corner, oddly shy of physical contact. Darkness enveloped the landscape that surrounded them, and only the light jibes of Pete and Claudia broke the stillness of the night.

"Yeah, well, maybe you've been possessed by Freddy Mercury's thumbnail polish."

"No way, Claude, nobody's done my nails in ages."

Myka smiled wearily at that, her eyes drifting closed, her breath deepening as her body pulled her toward sleep. She felt Helena's grip, then, her hand squeezing gently, and Myka returned the pressure, content.

Leena met them at the door, ever the gracious hostess, and accepted Helena's presence without a moment's hesitation. Practicing that particular domestic magic that was her second gift, she produced tea and milk and, at Pete's urging, a loaf of warm, fragrant bread. They sat around the table together, answering questions, sharing pieces of the story, learning what Leena had experienced, too. But it was not long before need for sleep overcame curiosity. First Pete, then Artie, then Claudia, excused themselves.

Myka and Helena sat next to one another, fingers entwined on the tabletop; Leena sat across from them, elbows on the table, head propped wearily in her hands. She smiled softly as she watched the colors that shone about the pair as they sat together, auras mingling. Gone were the lurid streaks that had once tainted HG's aura; and gone, too, were the deep blue pockets of sorrow that had stained Myka's. No, Leena saw only hopefulness and promise dancing about them, now.

"Well." She stretched as she stood, gathering the last of the dishes and piling them on the counter. She would clean them in the morning, she decided. But she had one last duty to discharge before she, too, made her way to bed. A small smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. Certain of the answer, she asked her question anyway. "HG, the guest room is available, if you want me to…?" She left the question dangling as Helena glanced toward Myka. A slight shake of her head, coupled with a soft noise of objection, were enough to reassure the author.

"No, Leena. Thank you. I don't think that will be necessary."

Leena smiled kindly as she gave the table one final swipe."I didn't think it would be. Well. Good night." And she disappeared toward the rear of the house, leaving Helena and Myka alone.

"You ready?" Myka stood first, and Helena trailed behind as she slowly made her way up the stairs.

There were a lot of things that were great about being a Warehouse agent, Pete reflected. But one of the best was Leena's kitchen. He was tired, yeah, but saving the world gave a guy a hell of an appetite. And he did love him some midnight snacking. Moving quietly to keep from disturbing the others, he crept toward his door and started to crack it open. He paused, though, when he heard footsteps pause near Myka's door.

"I'll just get the lamp…" That was Myka, swinging her own door open softly. He heard her take the few short steps to her bedside, turn, and pause before returning to her doorway.

Now, Pete was not one for eavesdropping, and he would have closed his door right then, but, he had to admit to himself, he was still a little – uncertain – about HG. Not so much believing she was going to try to blow up the planet or anything again; but, well, Myka was his partner. And Pete just wasn't sure about… you know… that part.

He couldn't really see anything in the near-darkness of the landing, mostly because he wasn't really trying. It couldn't hurt to listen, though, just this once: nothing weird, just watching his partner's back.

He realized that it'd been a few seconds since Myka had last spoken, that the silence had stretched on maybe longer than was typical. A few heartbeats later, Myka spoke again.

Now, Pete knew his partner, knew her really well, had been with her through so many kinds of unbelievable mess that he'd be lucky if he could remember all of them by the time he retired. But he was absolutely sure he had never, in all the time he'd spent with her, heard this particular tone in her voice before. Myka's voice was filled with a… a softness, a tenderness, kind of like somebody's breath across your skin.

"Helena. You okay?"

Pete pictured them standing there, HG just outside Myka's room, leaning on the wall beside the doorway; Myka inside the room, leaning on the doorframe, facing HG. With Myka, he waited for HG's reply.

"Just… suddenly, feeling very frightened." He could hear a sort of a low ripple in the Englishwoman's voice: almost a laugh; except, like she said, tense and scared. Not what he'd expected from HG.

"Yeah." He could almost see the expression on Myka's face as she said that: her sad smile, the one that reminded him of his mom's face, when she was talking about Dad.

"Myka, are you certain? Certain that this is what you want?"

A pause. Then,

"Certain of me?" There it was. The money question.

Pete couldn't resist just a little peek at that point. He watched, and was surprised at the way a few moments seemed to stretch longer. Myka reached out with one hand and touched HG's face. At the contact, so soft, so – Feminine? Isn't that Myka over there? – Myka spoke again.

"I am. Even if you're not, yet." Myka's voice, still velvet soft, was full of understanding and certainty. That was good enough for Pete. HG's hand lifted up, then, covered Myka's where it pressed against her face, and Myka stepped further inside her room, kind of trailing her hand out behind her.

"You coming?"

Satisfied, Pete closed his door softly as HG took one long, shuddering breath and followed Myka inside.