Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or the awesome world in which they live.

A/N: Moving right along. Sorry this one ends in the middle of a flashback, but it just begged to be broken up. Thanks for the kind reviews so far!

Aftermath

Chapter Three: History Repeating

Myka felt as if she was being tugged through a wormhole by a tether around her ribcage. She could see nothing but blinding light, invading her vision from all sides. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation subsided and Myka slammed into her own body with such force that it threw her against the wall of the Regent sanctum, knocking the wind out of her.

"Pete," she choked out, as soon as she could manage.

"Hey partner, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a time like this?"

Myka almost laughed, but caught herself upon hearing the voices of three people arguing just around the corner. She motioned for Pete to be silent. Just as they turned to catch a glimpse of the current course of events, there came the sound of clanking metal. Myka knew that sound and winced at the inevitable conclusion of the turning gears. There was a sickeningly wet shiiiick sound as the blade from the chess key dropped, slicing through the air and the first hapless victim of their journey to the past.

This was an unfortunate price to pay, this senseless sacrifice. Myka knew that even though Tyler's death was not technically at Helena's hand, the Brit would add him to her personal body count to agonize over during the bouts of guilt that plagued her. His death was unavoidable at this point, and Myka could not dwell on the lives they couldn't save.

It was all part of the plan.

Artie had stated that while the watch would send them back, it would only make allowances for small changes. If they altered the course of events too much, their previous timeline would interfere and drive them each into their own personal spiral of madness trying to reconcile the actual events of these few restless hours. The inevitable downside. They had orchestrated their concurrent plans, making allowances for what could and could not afford to stay the same, the necessary changes would be made. They all agreed that though the warehouse and Helena had been lost those were two major changes they had each agreed to enact, downside be damned. They were, otherwise, to follow the same path, have the same dialogue and reach the same end until the time for change was necessary. With the exception of Artie, whose sole worry was over the warehouse and the lives of his agents, each of their small brigade had made a secret pact with him or herself to deviate in whatever way possible to achieve their own goals while keeping to the main plan. She mulled over her own course of actions for a moment, but was ripped from her reverie by a voice that involuntarily caused her heart rate to elevate.

"First show's over, Lattimer and Bering, come on down!" Walter Syke's voice reverberated off the chamber walls and Myka's blood began to boil. Pete shot her a look expressing empathy and begged her to focus on their task at hand.

They turned the corner in tandem, guns blazing. They walked through the motions of the previous hours, setting their guns on the floor where Myka knew they would retrieve them later. She kicked her service weapon to the side and heard it skid across the dirt to tap silently against the sanctum wall.

Myka's breath had caught momentarily and she was careful to control the tempo of her heart upon seeing Helena again. She almost had to numb herself as she dodged that initial bullet. She could see the power of Sykes threats against her reflect in the dilated widening of the raven-haired woman's dark eyes.

They played along, so familiar, trying not to tip their hands and alert Sykes that they knew what was coming. He thought himself so clever; Myka almost had to grin at the fate she knew would befall him. She almost felt sorry for him. That is, until Helena grabbed her by the hair and, holding a gun to her head, thrust her into the cold, stone throne seated before the chessboard at Sykes command. She could feel the heat of Helena's fear radiate from her as she held Myka before stepping away, unwillingly pushing a gun to her temple. Sykes had pushed Helena to extremes by placing Myka's life and death in her hands.

Myka had played this scene before, but this time, when she felt the sting of tears, it was not for fear of death, but rather in the realization that she could, indeed, save this woman; this beautiful woman, displaced in time. Myka, could save her from her guilt, from herself, and from a death not yet necessary.

She coaxed Helena onward as she faltered through the first and second moves across the chessboard. Her words were strong and forceful, capturing Helena's eyes and attempting to convey all the emotion she felt with words that would reassure her that not only would Myka survive, but that her survival would signal Helena's triumph over guilt and this ever-mounting pressure.

"...take a breath... and save my life." Myka saw Helena nod almost imperceptibly, and watched the older woman slip into a memory that would lead her to the solution she sought. It was a look Myka had come to recognize over the course of the last two years, one often accompanied by confessions, heartache and, ultimately, comfort. Myka, too, took a breath and allowed herself to think back on earlier times, better times, she's shared with Helena...

Months earlier:

"Myka, this is a terrible idea," Pete followed Myka as she walked up the stairs of the Bed and Breakfast. "Sure, she may have saved our tails the last time she was here, but, Myka," Pete caught her by the arm and she looked down into his eyes, pleading with her to reconsider. "Don't let her in. She took you away, Myka. Away from the warehouse, your happiest place; away from us. Don't let her in." Pete pointed to his chest, over his heart to emphasize his point.

Myka nodded. She understood his apprehension. "Pete, I asked Mrs. Frederic for this time and she wouldn't have said yes if she didn't think I could handle it." Myka paused and shifted the black sphere from one hand to the other, still in Pete's grasp. She motioned to it and continued, "I want to help HG, Pete. I want her to be able to help us in the future and she can't if she stays broken and tucked away in some limbo state, alone." Pete pursed his lips, "And I want some answers." She stepped down, closer to him, letting the sincerity she felt, the love for Pete, the warehouse and the others seep and saturate into her words. "You don't have to worry, I know where I belong. No one can take me away from here; away from my family. When I left, it was my decision. It was the wrong choice." She covered his hand with her own trying to comfort him, "and it will never happen again."

Pete opened his mouth to protest once more, but thought better of it. He nodded to Myka and she turned to continue up the stairs.

"Be careful Mykes."

She turned back to look at Pete; he looked so small, standing there with hurt in his eyes. "I will. I promise." My walked down the hall and with one last lingering look at Pete, she turned the handle and pushed open the door to her room.

Myka curled herself into the worn upholstered chair in the corner between her desk and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Since moving into Leena's, she'd managed to occupy every corner of her room with books. The walls were covered and the perimeter of the room was row after row, shelf after shelf of books, making small gaps to allow for her bed, dresser, desk, door, window. It was a Morse code of literature lining her walls. There was nothing in the world that made her feel more at home, put her more at ease. Which is why she chose her own room, rather than the neutral warehouse for whatever catharsis or confrontation awaited her inside the polished black orb resting on her bed.

She leaned toward the bed and grasped the top of the sphere. Lift, rotate, release. Light filled the room and the blue shimmer of Helena's form materializing danced before her eyes. The Victorian agent held her hands clasped and left a smile creep across her face as she took in the view of Myka and her surroundings.

"Myka," Helena breathed the woman's name as a sigh, "I had hoped it would be you."

Myka shifted in the chair, unfolding her legs one at a time, like a doe preparing to stand. "Helena. We need to talk."