Helena caught up with Alan at breakfast the next morning. She had no sooner managed to get some sleep than her alarm had jerked her awake. She had a feeling she looked terrible, but Alan didn't let on.

"Do you have a minute?" she asked him, pulling up a chair across from him.

"For you?" Alan grinned at her. "Always."

Helena hesitated, suddenly, then swallowed a gulp of coffee and forged ahead. "Did you mean what you said yesterday – about John?"

"Helena, I wouldn't make that up."

She nodded. "No, I don't suppose you would. I just…I want to be sure."

"You'll have to ask him, then. I'm just his mate. What he says when we're flying or having a beer isn't the same as what he tells you."

"Obviously," she muttered. She sighed, suddenly, rubbing her forehead. "He doesn't tell me anything."

Alan shrugged. "Look, what you said yesterday was true. It's none of my business. So I think I'll stay out of it, if you don't mind."

She nodded. "You're right. Sorry. I just…."

"Do you want one last opinion before I retire forever from my job as Ann Landers?" He grinned at her as she nodded. "I think that when you get home, you should talk to him. That's all. You might be surprised."

Helena nodded once, reaching to squeeze Alan's hand. "Maybe," she said. She looked up as Tim sat down beside her, and the way he looked at her made her wonder if he could read her mind.

"You aren't supposed to be upset about leaving this place," Tim said on her last afternoon, watching her pack her books in a box. "You're supposed to be thrilled at the idea of getting back to civilization."

Helena smiled at him ruefully. "I know. But I don't know what civilization holds for me."

"Well, I can guarantee you it won't be anything with tentacles."

"I hope you're right, but you never know." She sat down on the edge of the bed, her shoulders drooping a little, and he sat down beside her, his hand covering hers. She looked at their fingers, entwined on the blanket, thinking that they had been right to end it before she left. They both knew exactly where they stood now.

"Did you figure out where you're going to stay?" he asked, after a minute.

She shrugged. "John's away for a week or so…so until he gets back I'll stay at our house. And then after that…Clara said there's room with her, if I want it."

Tim gave her fingers a squeeze. "I hope it works out."

"It will." She smiled at him, suddenly. "Are you going to miss me?"

"I'm not allowed to miss you. That's the deal, remember?"

"Oh, come on. Not even a little?"

He shook his head. "Not even a little." He reached up to touch her cheek. "Besides, once you're gone I can start smoking again."

By the time Alan landed the Eagle back at the main settlement, Helena was glad John was on a trip south. She couldn't imagine what she'd say to him if the craft had landed and he'd been there waiting for her. Or even worse, if he hadn't.

As the hatch opened, she saw Clara and Maya waiting for her in the spring sunshine. She smiled and waved at them, picking up her bags.

"Looks like the welcoming committee's here," Alan commented.

Helena laughed. "I guess. What do you want me to do with my things?"

Alan looked around. "You don't have much. We'll get it back to you. Do you want me to take the books to Medical?" She nodded. "And the rest? Your house?"

Helena bit her lip. "For now. I guess."

Alan nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "Go hook up with the girls. We're late – they've probably been waiting a while."

Later that evening she sat in her living room, curled up on the sofa with a glass of wine. Alone. Everyone she'd met had invited her for dinner, but she'd taken a rain-check and gone home to shower and unpack. She'd catch up with Bob the next day at Medical, Maya at lunch, Clara at dinner.

The house looked just the same. She could see that the rosebush they'd planted last year had survived the winter – there were tiny yellow buds on some of the branches. Otherwise, nothing had changed. Her books and music were still mixed with John's. A picture of the two of them still sat on the fireplace mantel. She wondered, briefly, who would take it when she packed up her things in a week.

Helena had intended to be ready to move when John got home, but she couldn't bring herself to sort through her belongings. So she left them where they were, on shelves and in drawers, and instead spent the day of his homecoming cooking his favorite dinner.

When he stepped through the front door, she was standing in the living room, stoking the fire she'd built. She smiled at him, suddenly nervous, and he stopped in the doorway.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"You said maybe you'd see me when I got back…" She had to stop and clear her throat. "And I thought I'd make sure you did."

He nodded, unsure of what to do next.

"I made dinner," she said, after a minute. "It's in the oven. I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," he said, putting his bags down. "It was a long flight."

She nodded, heading for the kitchen, desperate to stay occupied with something.

"You look different," he said, suddenly. "Good, I mean."

Helena shrugged. "I'm not. Different, I mean."

"Maybe it's your hair…I don't know."

She reached up to touch the clip that held it off her face. "Maybe." She smiled, reaching for a pair of oven mitts. "You're tan."

"It was hot." He leaned a hip against the counter, watching her. "Did you get back last week?"

She nodded, setting the dish on the counter. She felt her chest constrict, and she fought to take a deep breath. "I was going to pack everything up," she said. "But I couldn't do it. I wanted to wait until you got back."

"That's okay," he said.

Helena turned away from him, pulling off the oven mitt to wipe her eyes, suddenly, and then reaching for the hot dish without thinking. She cursed under her breath as the dish burned her hand, nearly dropping it.

"Hey, careful." John reached past her to turn on the tap, running cold water into the sink. She put her hand underneath it, wincing a little as her palm turned red. She stood at the sink as John found some ice. "Come sit down for a minute."

"It'll get cold," she said, nodding at the dinner. He handed her the ice, wrapped in a dishtowel, and put the food back in the oven. She followed him into the living room, sitting nervously on the opposite end of the couch from him. She felt her eyes blur with tears again, and she blinked furiously. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm hardly the Happy Housewife."

John let out a long breath, his elbows resting on his knees. "It's okay."

"No, it isn't. I just…" Helena shook her head. "I don't know what I'm doing. We're – we're done, aren't we?"

"It seems that way," he said, his voice husky.

"But I don't want to be," she said, drawing breath in a sob. Her hand throbbed.

He looked up at her, surprised. "Don't you?"

Helena shook her head. "No. I never did."

John was silent, studying his hands, the table in front of them, everything in the room but her.

"Do you?" she asked, finally, terrified of the answer. When he looked up at her again, she saw traces of sadness on his face; it blended with confusion after a moment, and he shook his head.

"I shouldn't have let you go," he said. "I should have asked you to stay."

Helena gulped. "Why didn't you?" she demanded. "I waited and waited for you to say something, and you never did. If you'd just said that one thing…."

"I asked you to come back," he said. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"No." She shook her head, angry, knowing she was seconds away from losing control. "There were months where you never said you missed me, you never said you wished I was with you. There was nothing. It's not the same as you asking me to come back."

"I didn't think you wanted to stay." His voice was hard, pressing against the guilt in her heart, and she looked away, a hand over her mouth. "You couldn't wait to get out of here."

"I thought it was best," she whispered, when she could speak again. "We couldn't go on the way we were."

"No." His voice was strangely quiet. "You're right."

The ice was melting in her hand, soaking her pant leg, and she got up to put it in the sink. "I'll pack my things in the morning," she said, without turning around. "You can stay here."

Helena heard him get up, and she thought he'd leave the room. She waited to hear his feet on the stairs, or to hear the front door close, but she didn't. Instead, she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Don't," he said, and when Helena looked up at him he reached to wipe the tears from her cheek. "Stay."

"You might not want me to now," she said, looking away.

"I know about Tim."

She nodded, biting her lip. "Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

Helena cleared her throat. "No. But if it was Alan I'll kill him."

He almost smiled at that – she saw a flicker of it at the corner of his mouth. "It wasn't Alan."

"I thought you'd be angry."

"Oh, I was angry," John admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I was hurt. But I've had a month to think about it, and four months to think about the way I walked away the last time I saw you."

"And?"

"And I have to be honest with myself. I treated you like shit. Not just that night, either, I know that. I took all my insecurities out on you, all the doubts I had about settling here, because I thought you could handle it. When we were on Alpha, you always seemed to understand. I didn't know why things were different here."

Helena nodded, wiping her eyes with the wet dishtowel from the sink. "I'm not blameless either." She turned to touch his cheek. "I expected you to be the same, but how could you be when everything here is so different for us?"

He shrugged. "That's no excuse. I'm not that different. Things aren't that different."

"They are," she said. "You aren't Commander anymore. We have a home now." She sighed, wiping her cheeks. "I keep thinking about that other Earth we found all those years ago. That other…me…and how Victor always told me we were meant to be together."

John smiled at the mention of his old friend. "Victor loved the idea of fate."

Helena nodded. "But that other me, and that other you….They'd lost each other. She lost him when he died."

He reached for her hand. "She did. But she found him in the end. So maybe Victor was right. Maybe we are just like them – we had to lose each other to find each other again."

"Maybe." She felt him lace his fingers through hers. "We have a long way to go before we really find each other."

"I know," he said, and when his bright blue eyes met hers, Helena saw tenderness in them that she hadn't seen for a year. It took her breath away, just as it had the first time she'd seen it. "But we'll get there."