Sitting on the window ledge, the pale moonlight cast a silvery haze over the pages of her book. She had read it so many times, she wasn't really reading, her eyes just followed the practised movement whilst her brain supplied the images in her head. She wasn't really focusing properly on that either, her mind was far away from her room in the Bed and Breakfast. Myka Bering should have been tired; she had spent the whole day chasing down a particularly challenging artefact, and had only gotten back a few hours previously. Secretly, she longed for more work; she wanted to drown herself in the Warehouse, to stop her from thinking about… At times like this, early evening or early morning, when everyone else was still in the void between dreams and reality, her thoughts would drift to what she tried so hard to avoid. Outwardly, she was fine. True, she laughed less, and was a little more serious, but that was to be expected after what had happened. The others had assured her it wasn't her fault, but it was no use. If she had been paying more attention, Helena wouldn't have had to save her from the gunman. It would seem she was forever cursed to be just too late, she thought sourly.

Sighing heavily, she leaned forwards and rested her forehead against the pages of her well-worn copy of The Time Machine, inhaling the scent that reminded her of Helena. Tears pricked at her eyes again. It surprised her that she had any left, after the last few weeks. Three weeks and four days, to be exact, not that she had been counting. Forcing them back, she got to her feet, knowing that it was pointless to even attempt to sleep. Her brain simply wouldn't let her be still, lest she be plagued with memories. Shoving on her boots and slinging on her jacket, she swung her long hair over her shoulder as she stepped out into the hall quietly, sneaking down the stairs and to the door. Passing the clock, she discovered the time was twenty six minutes past three. She should be tired. She had been reading for hours, ever since Claudia had fallen asleep on her shoulder in the young tech's room halfway through a movie marathon. Myka had discovered that Claudia had taken the loss of her mentor harder than she had previously thought. The redhead had been occupying herself late at night with projects she and Helena had started but not finished, until Myka had found her last week and they had ended up falling asleep, Claudia resting on Myka's lap, Myka half hugging her pseudo sister. Because that's what they were here. They were a family. Which is why she had made the decision to keep her pain from them, for their sakes. There was nothing they could do about it, why worry them? She knew Leena could tell there was something wrong with her though. Pete too, could tell. Claudia probably could too. Even Artie had eased off a little, a little less gruff, the occasional concerned look directed her way. But no one mentioned it. And she was glad.

Striding over to her car, she paused for a moment, breathing in the cool air and allowing it to momentarily clear her mind; the only feeling was the cold surrounding her, enveloping her. A small breeze played gently with her hair. Then, the moment was broken, and she opened her car door, starting up the engine and drove mindlessly to the Warehouse. She switched on the radio for the journey, jabbing the buttons a little more aggressively than she necessarily had to when a sappy song about heartbreak came on. Driving helped her, she had discovered, as she settled on a station and relaxed a little. It was a task that required her concentration, but she did not need to exert herself much, other than swearing at some people's terrible driving skills. After a period of time had elapsed – Myka wasn't sure how much – she climbed out of her car and slammed the door shut, gazing up with a sigh at the Warehouse. The sky was clear, and the building stood dark against the glow of the moon behind it and the stars dotting the black canvas around it.

Entering the office, she tossed her keys onto the desk and walked straight through the office, passing the drawer with the purple gloves in it, straight to the stairs to the Warehouse floor, and trod the twisting path to the artefact she wanted. She had memorised the directions from her first journey to find it, but she couldn't use it then. Now, however, she was ready, she had to. Her logical side was dead now, her sorrow and longing driving her forwards. Her footsteps echoed darkly throughout the empty building as she walked steadily, her mind fixed on her goal. She would not back out, not again. She had been so close, but she was afraid. Of what, she wasn't sure, or able to admit, but she simply could not face it then, the wound was too raw. Now, she had had time to heal, at least partially, not a single day passed when she hadn't excused herself from the others and cried for five minutes; however, the pain in her heart had dulled from a constant stabbing to an ache, that was not any more bearable, but it was progress nonetheless. At long last, after absent-mindedly trekking through the many aisles, she came to her destination. In front of her on the third shelf was a black wallet with a small tag on it. Picking up the old tag, she read it over again. Harry Houdini's wallet. Attributes: Charonic Transfer. It was dangerous. It was foolish. It was reckless.

Myka reached out and gripped the leather wallet, taking it from its place and inspected it. She wasn't entirely sure how it worked, it seemed to have an affinity for her the last time when it showed her Sam, and that time it had been stored in her bag. Now she held it in her hands, it didn't seem all that powerful. Then again, not much in the Warehouse could be judged by looks. Turning the wallet over and over in her hands, she began to wonder if it would work. Maybe it only worked once. Maybe it would show her Sam again –

"Hello, Myka." The soft British accent drifted over her shoulder, making her spine tingle and tears well in her eyes. She turned, almost afraid of what she would see. Her eyes finally fell on the lithe form of Helena, looking exactly the way she had the morning before she…

"Helena," she replied, or rather, gasped, wrenching her thoughts back to the present. She had known what would happen, she had prepared herself. But it still did no good, no matter how many times she told herself to hold it together, no matter how hard she dug her nails into her sleeves, she couldn't stem the flood of emotion coursing through her as she took in the figure of Helena, corporeal and whole, standing in front of her, as if nothing had happened. Myka remembered seeing the small, slightly apologetic but infinitely warm smile on Helena's face, just before she hit the floor, dropping to her knees and leaning forwards, sobbing so much she could barely breathe, just like she used to ever so recently. However, this time was different. This time, there were warm hands wrapped around her, soft words murmured in her ear, gentle fingers nestling in her hair. The emptiness she felt was erased temporarily by Helena's presence, and she pushed the thought that the temporary relief could not last for much longer from her mind. They sat on the Warehouse floor, Myka wrapped in Helena's embrace, for over half an hour. Forty three minutes, to be exact, not that she was counting.

When Myka finally pulled herself together enough to speak, she sat up slowly, instantly chilled when Helena's arms released her, missing the warmth from their absence already.

"I'm sorry," whispered Myka, wiping her cheeks dry.

"Whatever for?" asked Helena, shifting from behind Myka and knelt in front of her, a smile warm enough to melt the coldest ice playing on her lips. Myka's eyes drank in the mesmerising sight of the woman before her, her porcelain skin nearly glowing with happiness, her chocolate brown eyes exuding so much sympathy and compassion that Myka was surprised they hadn't melted and swirled around her, mixing with the vanilla of her skin. Her ebony hair shimmered in the light, like liquid coal, smouldering gently as Helena flipped it over her shoulder. Myka, quite unable to bridge the gap between thoughts and words, simply hung her head, trying to hide the fresh tear dripping from her eye.

"Myka, look at me," said Helena softly, angling Myka's head to face her, with one hand, using the other to wipe away her tear. "It is I who should apologise." Myka sighed quietly at the tender touch.

"You saved me."

"And subsequently left you in the process. Believe me, I'm not regretting my actions in the slightest, but the fact that I put you through that pain was unforgivable."

"I forgive you."

"And that's why you are so much better than I deserve." This statement made Myka chuckle half-heartedly. Helena's smile widened even more – if that were even possible – and gently stroked Myka's cheek.

"If anything, it was my fault," replied Myka, not meeting Helena's eye. "Why am I cursed to always be too late?" she asked, leaning her forehead against Helena's.

"It wasn't your fault. Never, ever think that. And I'm glad that I could die protecting the one I love." Myka, with her eyes closed, breathed in the familiar scent of Helena, one she had missed for so long, and enjoyed the warmth of her body around hers.

"I miss you," said Myka simply.

"I miss you too."

"How long can you stay?"

"I honestly don't know. As long as I possibly can."

Suddenly, a sharp cry echoed down the aisle, and Myka looked up, as did Helena, towards the source of the sound.

"MYKA!" yelled Pete from the end of the aisle.

Myka felt a strange sensation, a horrible pulling at her heart, and she turned to Helena, suddenly feeling cold. She gasped as Helena's previously solid form was fading fast. She could no longer feel the warm hand on her cheek, or the comforting warmth from her embrace. Shocked, Myka reached out for her, her hand passing right through her, bringing back melancholy memories from when Helena was a hologram. Helena was calm, watching her right hand disappear with a resigned look on her face.

"It seems that I'm leaving. I'm sorry, darling."

To Myka, this was the nature of their relationship. They were fine for a while, then something happened to split them up, but they always came back to each other. Hell, Helena had nearly blown up a volcano and plunged the world into another ice age, been locked up in a sphere and sacrificed herself to save the warehouse. Who's to say she won't come back again? But this was the thing. What if she didn't? Myka dismissed these thoughts, trying to think of something to say before Helena went, but she suddenly felt her breath catch in her lungs, her vision going black. She saw a nearly transparent Helena start towards her to try and catch her, but her incorporeal arms passed right through her, making her shiver. Myka flung her hands out behind her as she fell back into the shelves, scattering various artefacts and some falling to the floor. Nearly losing her balance completely, she was glad of the strong arms wrapping around her torso and, with a gentleness one would not associate with such a solid build, she was set back on her feet.

"Mykes? Mykes! Are you alright?" Pete asked, looking with immense concern at her.

"Yes," replied Myka, and Pete felt a horrible vibe hit him like a sledgehammer. Her tone was flat and emotionless.

"Are you sure? What the hell were you doing? Did I see HG-" he started.

"Pete, let go of me," she said, in a slightly harder voice, her eyes dreamy and unfocused. Pete refused, looking into her eyes, trying to work out what was wrong. He had heard her leave and felt an odd vibe, so he decided to follow her. He tracked her through the Warehouse and began to panic when his bad feeling skyrocketed suddenly, and finally found her sitting on the floor with a figure who looked an awful lot like HG.

"Myka, what have you done?" he asked urgently, shaking her shoulders to focus her.

"Get off me, Lattimer!" she yelled, punching him in the gut, making him double over and cough, falling to his knees.

"Mykes…" he wheezed as Myka glared at him, her eyes almost glowing red for a moment, her expression wild and animalistic.

"There's something I need to do. Stay out of my way," she said, walking away.

"What? Myka, where the hell are you going?" he asked, barely able to breathe.

"To pay someone a visit. Time for a little payback," she said in a chillingly menacing voice that sent shivers up and down his spine. That wasn't his Myka. Still winded, he could do nothing to stop her leave, but he grabbed his phone from his pocket where he lay and phoned the Bed and Breakfast.

"Leena! Myka's gone crazy, she just punched me!"

"Pete, that's not anything relatively new-"

"No, she meant it! And she left. There's something wrong with her, something's not right."