A/N: Thanks for the reviews and alerts! Makes me happy :) This story is stretching out, since there are more gaps to fill regarding Helena's story in season 3. I hope the change of pace is not too weird. Quotes in italics are still by the real H.G. Wells. Oh, and I do believe our ladies will meet again in the next chapter.

CHAPTER 4

xxxxxx

"At times I suffer from the strangest sense of detachment from myself and the world about me; I seem to watch it all from the outside, from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of the stress and tragedy of it all."

xxxxxx

Emily Lake

I was in an accident, a car accident to be precise, and lost my memory. That was all I knew at first. Well, I knew how the world works, the names of things and how to have a conversation but I did not know my purpose, my place, or what kind of person I was. They told me of course, but it was as if they talked about someone else, someone I did not know, someone I could not find inside of me. So I grasped onto the only knowledge that rang true. I had an accident. I lost my memory. I would move from there.

They are a man called Mr Kosan, the one who took me to an apartment – my apartment – from the facility where I was cared for after the accident, and two other people, one man and one woman that accompanied him on his visits but rarely spoke. Apparently, the facility was a private clinic specialised on patients with severe memory loss. They said I was there for three months.

Mr Kosan arranged for me to start a new job to avoid the difficulties in coming back as a stranger to my old one. He also made sure I got a thorough introduction to the job, seeing as I had technically lost my teacher's education in the accident. I felt calm before the prospect of teaching, but found myself having very few frames of reference regarding the educational system itself. So I memorised everything in scrupulous detail, eager to hold on this new knowledge.

Every day after work, I walked through the apartment and looked at things, touched things, trying to awaken memories of a past that eluded me. In the kitchen I made tea, watching my hands perform the task with ease. They knew the right amount of leaves to put in the teapot, how much milk to add, and that one tablespoon of sugar was just enough.

Then I used to sit on the couch, sipping the tea, sometimes absently flipping through the TV channels in the hopes of finding one that I liked. But none of them ever captured me, and I always felt relieved when I pressed the red button and the sound died down. I usually picked up a book instead, relishing in the solidness of the pages, getting lost in the story of a life that I wished were mine.

But now, as days have turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I have started to feel more and more at home in my life. I have found friends among my colleagues, even got to know a few of the neighbours, and as people started to recognise me, greet me, rely on me, the feeling of being someone surrounded me like a long lost friend. My old cat that kept his distance when I first came back has become a cherished companion, often curling up beside me on the couch in the evenings and protesting loudly the few times I come home too late for his evening meal.

Still, I do not feel complete. Even though I have a purpose, a place to be and things to do, there is something lacking. Something I cannot put my finger on, and I assume it has something to do with thoughts and actions that my body and brain were used to performing but that is now denied them. I find that the few things that can fill this emptiness are immersing myself in books or in the essays of my students. I have also started drawing, abstract forms that flow from my pencil without thought. Occasionally, I find myself drawing more concrete images – cogwheels, molecules, circuits. I know nothing about those things, and these drawings equally scare and fascinate me. I save them all in a box under the bed, sometimes taking them out, trying to grasp after the truth that I am convinced lies within them.

xxxxxx

"You have learned something. That always feels at first as if you had lost something."

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Helena

I have lost count of the number of conversations I have had with Mrs Frederic, for they resemble one long conversation more than anything else. The only thing marking the transition from one to the next is finding myself in a slightly different place in the room, the time in between conversations seemingly not longer than the blink of an eye. A few times, though, I am left with a sense of wonder as I am projected anew. I retain the tiniest shadow-like memory of something infinite; something as dark and inviting as the glittering vacuum of space. But it is as insubstantial as it is alluring and I suspect I will never understand is meaning.

Though I never say, I do appreciate these discussions. Not in the sense that they help me deal with the things I need to deal with, which I reluctantly admit to myself that they also do, but rather because I found out quickly that Mrs Frederic's argumentative skills rival mine. She is highly logical, and she understands the need for considering the greater scheme of things. I have mostly spoken about the world and its faults. She has mostly spoken about its wonders.

Today is no different; after I have stated calmly that man's greatest flaw appears to be his selfishness and that I doubt that there will ever be a time when he lets that go, she says,

"You say that man has not become more, but look around you. Here are things you dreamed about, wonderful things. We can speak to each other, face to face, across nations. We can travel across the world in a few hours. We can cure diseases that were fatal in your time. And on top of all that you have travelled through time, Helena! In more ways than I think you thought possible."

She pauses, studying my expression. It is blank, I hope.

"And if you allowed yourself to, you would see that there is so much love in this world. Unconditional, beautiful love. Isn't that the very manifestation of unselfishness? You could see that when you were back at the Warehouse, when you were part of that family, couldn't you? Yes, there are terrible things going on everyday still, but the Earth is not only that darkness. Can't you see all the light?"

I sigh and wish for the strange relief that comes with sitting down. But that I cannot have, for in this holographic state sitting and standing feels the same – nothing. Chasing that thought away, I consider her words. Of course there is light, or else we would not see the threatening darkness. But to me the light was never as strong, never as powerful. I could not feel its residual warmth during the night, and later not even during the day when it was right in front of me.

"I think we should agree to disagree on this subject", I say with somewhat less superiority than I intended. Honestly, that little speech was only a variant of her previous ones and should not make me feel, however slightly, defeated.

"You see, I don't think we really disagree. The difference is in how we choose to approach the world – in resentment of its faults or in awe of its beauty."

That is only a twisting of words. It is not that simple, is it? "Perhaps. And I choose to resent it."

"For what it did to you."

I ponder this. Yes, and no. I settle for saying, "I resent it for what it did to itself."

She does not respond. Silence stretches out between us as she resumes the seemingly fascinating activity of watching me, studying me, as if she believes she has the ability to read my mind simply by looking into my eyes. That prospect, however unlikely, makes me feel terribly vulnerable, and that is a feeling I cannot – will not – give in to. Two can play this game.

"Do you see anything you like, Irene?" I say with a smirk.

She does not even flinch. There is no apparent reaction whatsoever. I look away and roll my eyes, disappointed and slightly uncomfortable. When I look back at her she has that half-amused look on her face.

"That tactic worked on Myka, didn't it?"

Of all the things I had expected her to say, that was not among them. I flinch. Goddammit. My holographic chest suddenly expands as if I am taking a deep breath.

"I do not want to discuss Myka." My voice is strained but I keep my eyes firmly on hers, hoping that my glare is enough to discourage this line of questioning.

It is not, as she continues, "And why is that?"

I do not answer, well aware that the hint of vulnerability in my eyes betrays me even through that glare. How is she able to break my resolve with one simple question?

"That is how you made her trust you. You flirted with her, confided in her, made her feel special. But then something happened, didn't it? It wasn't just a game anymore."

I turn around, away from her, looking into a wall that I wish I could be a part of.

And then everything breaks.

"It was never just a game." My voice is small and I cannot even bother to resent the weakness it betrays.

"Are you sure about that?"

I close my eyes at the suddenly mocking wall as I say, "Perhaps…perhaps at the very first. I needed a way back into the Warehouse. Pete was too focused on right and wrong after he got over his initial fascination with me. In Myka I saw someone I could reach by being myself."

"And she fascinated you."

"She did."

"You became friends."

"Yes."

"And at some point, she fell in love with you."

I open my eyes and look down at my hands. They are shaking. Not knowing how to respond to her statement, I ask instead, "How is it that this body behaves as if it were real?"

"It behaves the way your mind tells it to."

xxxxxx

"There is, though I do not know how there is or why there is, a sense of infinite peace and protection in the glittering hosts of heaven."

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Emily Lake

Sometimes I catch myself looking for something with feverish intensity without knowing what it is I seek. It is beyond my grasp yet tantalisingly close, seductive at best and draining as a rule. And I keep forgetting these desires that come over me so that I am always surprised when they come again. Sometimes they come when I am alone in my apartment, reading a book and getting caught up in a particularly well-written passage. Sometimes I see an unknown person that triggers a longing, a desire that sets my body on fire without warning.

Such intensity fills this moment, as I stand at the edge of a forest gazing at the stars. I hear the laughter of my friends close by, I see the dancing shadows cast from the campfire. But I do not feel close to any of that. I feel close to the stars, to their mysterious twinkling in the black void they live in. I do not feel small under this vastness, I feel excited, filled with anticipation. I know not why or how, but I feel like I can reach them if I only try hard enough. There is something about them that seems barely out of reach. Something so close…

"Emily, we're eating all the s'mores!"

I reluctantly turn away from the stars and head back to the warmth of the fire. I would give anything to know who I really was before. To remember the parents I lost as a young girl. To know if that girl also had gazed at the stars, enthralled by their infinite beauty. But as the first tunes of a guitar fill the night, I let myself be swept up in the magic of this little circle of light and once again forget the longing that has nothing to do with this life.

Helena

It is a strange thing, love. We know it can capture us, ensnare our souls, and yet we long for it. In the face of it I am frightened, for it has the power to shape new reasons and change paths supposedly set in stone. To whisper about another kind of future. Love makes me weak and vulnerable. She made me vulnerable. And I could do nothing but let her. And now, love has stripped away my self-control, and I cannot help asking Mrs Frederic a question that I know speaks of that love.

"Did she…did she tell you that she fell in love with me?"

I hear Mrs Frederic smile behind my back, "She didn't have to. It was clear from her actions. And yours."

"Mine?"

Instead of answering, she asks a question of her own, "Why is it that Myka could stop you at Yellowstone? There seems to have been a serious flaw in your plan if one person could stop you from seeing it through."

I sigh. "It appears as if you already have the answer to that."

"I would like to hear it from you."

I realise that in this moment of time I have nothing to lose and, perhaps, everything to gain in letting go of my defences. In letting the speaking-while-thinking go on, in leaving myself in the hands of this woman who appears to have no ulterior motive other than making me able to help her, the Warehouse, the world, in the future. Gathering my thoughts but without planning what to say, I turn to face her and let my words flow freely, unedited, truthful.

"She made me realise that I cared for many people in a way I thought I no longer could. And that, as you said, there is an abundance of love in the world still. That…that knowing there is such love could be a reason to continue fighting the darkness instead of doing what I was about to do." I hesitate briefly before continuing, "But I do not think anyone else could have convinced me of that. To me she was the symbol of that love, because she was the one that reminded me…that made me see I still had something to give." The next words come as naturally as breathing, "I loved her too. And falling in love was never part of my plan." Smiling sadly, I let the last words flow quietly from my lips, "So it would seem that this time light did conquer dark after all."