Myka was startled but not exactly surprised when she turned to see tears glistening on Helena's cheeks. Helena had watched the first and second acts of the opera quietly, occasionally smiling, but as the story went on and the tragedy became more and more pronounced, her beautiful countenance darkened. She was apparently unaware that she was crying, quite absorbed in whatever she was thinking, twisting her hands over and over again. Myka's heart was twisting along with every motion of those delicate hands. They had known each other for only a few days, but already Helena mattered so much to Myka. It was disturbing. Part of what made Myka good at what she did was her self-control. Her emotions did not control her. But with Helena it was very hard to tell herself that.

Myka took Helena's hand gently and drew her from the crowded theatre. They stopped in the stairwell and she held Helena as she sobbed. Myka was crying a little too, though she managed to hide it from Helena. Seeing her like this tore at Myka's heart. She didn't know what to say, so when Helena had calmed herself and dried her tears, she decided that perhaps a complete change of scenery might help. Well, that and alcohol. She was pleased and grateful when Helena's natural curiosity and interest in this new time began to show through at the bar. She'd looked for gay bars the night before on the internet, thinking it might be nice for both of them to go out somewhere where they would be less likely to attract any negative attention. Myka didn't identify as gay herself, had never really thought about it, but whatever she and Helena shared was strangely real and she wasn't going to let a little thing like body parts get in the way of it. So a gay bar it was. At least if things got a little heated as they had the night before (and she was honest enough with herself to admit that she kind of hoped they did, because – wow...), they didn't have to worry about people staring or calling them names. She shook her head as she remembered that small-minded idiot from the day before. Admittedly, todger dodgers was pretty damn funny (she'd had to look it up, and had discovered that todger was one of many slang words the English had for penis), but the sentiment behind it certainly wasn't. She allowed herself a small smile as she considered that the little prick might think twice before doing something like that again.

She left Helena considering the other clientele in the bar and went to the bar to pick up some drinks. The redheaded barmaid was very appreciative of Myka's dress. She didn't take her eyes out of Myka's cleavage the whole time she was serving the drinks. Myka was impressed that the woman managed to make the cocktails at all without drenching everyone within a ten-foot radius. She raised an eyebrow at the woman when she was handing over the money, and the barmaid had the grace to look ashamed, at least. Myka could still feel her eyes on her rear end as she walked away, though. She smirked a little at the attention, and returned to the table.

The night improved exponentially from then on. The incident at the opera was behind them and they chatted and flirted and drank. Occasionally their knees touched and they played with each other's fingers idly as they talked. Myka's nerves thrilled at every little touch. Helena told her a little about Warehouse 12 and her old friend Caturanga, who had played chess with her and mentored her as an agent when many others believed that a woman should not be allowed to set foot in the Warehouse. Myka was struck once again by how extraordinary Helena was. She had grown up in a time when women were literally second-class citizens, and she had still managed to fight her way into a hugely important job and had become an author who had inspired millions and spawned a genre – an author who had partly shaped who Myka was. She found herself staring at Helena's face, not listening to what she was saying, but watching the way her lips shaped the words, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about Caturanga, the beautiful laughter lines that told Myka that this was a woman had spent much more of her time laughing than frowning. She was beautiful, and when she was like this, it was like a light shone from behind those dark eyes, bathing Myka in its warmth. Myka was still very aware, however, that Helena had a lot of darkness in her, and she wasn't sure how deep it went, and what it meant. She was still wary, but she was also very afraid that she was falling for Helena Wells. She wasn't sure that she hadn't already, in fact.

"Myka. Are you listening to me?" Helena's voice was teasing. Myka lifted her eyes to meet Helena's, blushing because she'd been staring instead of listening to what Helena was saying.

"You were staring. And I realised when I told you that Caturanga had decided to join a circus and start the first drag act of the 1800s that you were most definitely not listening. What were you thinking about?" She was grinning, obviously fairly well aware of where Myka's mind was. She was gorgeous, Myka thought. Helena was leaning forward, her chin resting on her joined hands, and her elbows leaning on the table. Myka wanted nothing more right then than to kiss her and never stop. She tried hard to fight the blush that was threatening to light up the whole bar. Helena had known her only a few days and already knew exactly how to tease her into insensibility. It was extremely disconcerting. As was the fact that she'd just been staring at the woman like a fool.

"I'm sorry, Helena. I was just thinking about how amazing you are. You managed to work for the Warehouse in a time when you were expected to be married and the height of your ambition should have been running a household and popping out babies and that's it. And your books – your writing. It inspired me so much and made me think – you've probably shaped a lot of the way my mind works. I guess I can't believe that I'm sitting here talking to you. It's kind of hard to wrap my brain around, you know?" She ducked her head, not wanting to meet Helena's eyes. Claudia would have mocked her mercilessly if she could see her now – she was totally fangirling over HG Wells.

Helena slid a little closer to Myka, and gently cupped her chin, lifting it slightly so that she had to meet Helena's eyes. Helena was looking at her intently.

"Thank you, Myka. I can't say that I believe I deserve your admiration, but I am pleased beyond measure that any of my work has reached this far into the future and that it has meant so much to you. And I want you to know that I admire you just as much. You are the epitome of everything I wished to be in my time – independent, well-educated, resourceful. It delights and inspires me that women such as you exist. More specifically, it delights me that you exist, Myka. You are a singularly wonderful person and you have come to mean more to me in these few days than I could ever have imagined." She lifted Myka's hand to her lips and kissed it, never moving her eyes from Myka's.

Myka was trying extremely hard to stop her chin from wobbling. She couldn't believe that Helena – that HG Wells was talking to her like this. She had tears in her eyes as Helena leaned forward and kissed her gently, tenderly. It was very different from the urgent kisses they had shared already – it was slow and sensual and it imparted something quite new. Myka knew that things had changed between them since the night before, and in the stairwell of the theatre. They weren't just two women who were simply attracted to one another anymore. Myka ran her hand through Helena's perfect hair, her other hand going to her waist, pulling her a little closer as they kissed slowly. It was more intimate than anything that had passed between them so far. Myka didn't want it to end. The look in Helena's eye when she'd called Myka wonderful had warmed her to the core and she didn't want to let go of that feeling. She didn't want to take her hands off this woman. After only a handful of days, that was pretty damn terrifying, but she couldn't make herself care. Not right then, with Helena kissing her the way she was, like she was precious.

Myka reluctantly parted from Helena after they'd been kissing for God knows how long. If they continued, things were going to go further than she was ready for. She had been aiming for fun when she decided to bring Helena here, so she smiled at Helena's pout as she pulled away and asked her if she'd like to dance. Helena smiled at her shyly and they went to join the other revellers on the dance floor.

Myka couldn't remember a time when she had as much fun as she had that night. They were both a little hesitant at first, and the music was a little much, if she was honest. It made her chest vibrate unpleasantly at first. But they were both drunk enough that they just went with it, dancing like idiots and laughing at each other's efforts. After a while (and many more cocktails) they were dancing close to one another, and then pressed up against one another, their hands linked and foreheads almost touching as they gyrated to the music. Myka couldn't honestly remember anything about the journey home. She really was very drunk. She just remembered Helena, close enough to be part of her own skin. Breathing each other in, just near to one another. Then they were in the apartment again. Myka was suddenly entirely sober, as she realised where things seemed to be heading. She was on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, and Helena was straddling her and kissing her neck. Their bodies were pressed together from neck to hip. Myka's hands were in Helena's hair. Myka groaned as Helena nipped her a little with her teeth. This was getting out of hand. But damn it felt good.

"Helena." Another bite. Myka groaned again. Hands. Her hands were...

"Helena!" She yelled this time.

"Bloody hell Myka! What's wrong?!" She looked up, half shocked and half annoyed. Her eyes softened when she saw the panic in Myka's eyes.

"Bugger. I'm sorry, Myka, was I - did you not want...?" Now it was her turn to panic.

"No, Helena, I did – I do want...I want you. God, I do. But this is moving a little too fast for me. I'm sorry." And she really was. Helena looked guilty and devastated, all at once. She started to move away, but Myka grabbed her arms and pulled her close so that Helena was lying completely on top of her.

"Don't go anywhere, Helena. I want you. You're not being rejected. I would just prefer to be a little more sober my first time with you. I want it to be special. And I need a little time to get used to all this." She kissed Helena's slightly pouting mouth gently and wrapped her arms around Helena's waist. "Don't go running off on me. I like you right here." She murmured against Helena's lips.

They fell asleep like that for a while – a testament to how drunk they actually were - until Helena shifted and suddenly her hips were digging into Myka's uncomfortably. Myka woke the sleeping author gently and urged her into the bathroom while Myka changed. They fell into bed and Myka wrapped Helena up in her arms again.

"I had a great time tonight." She kissed Helena's closed eyelids gently.

"As did I. Goodnight, Myka."

"G'night..." She was asleep before her voice had even faded from the air.

Helena enjoyed the new drinks, these cocktails that Myka had brought her, along with their titillating and inventive names. They chatted about Helena's time at Warehouse 12, but after a time it became clear to Helena that Myka was not listening. She was staring at Helena, eyes tracing lines between her eyes and lips and neck – and a little lower. Helena began to insert more and more outrageous statements into what she was saying, culminating in her description of Caturanga headlining a drag act in a touring circus. Myka just nodded, her eyes on Helena's lips as she sipped her drink through yet another ridiculous straw.

When Myka told her what she'd been thinking, Helena was touched and humbled and guilty. For she was not the woman Myka was describing. Perhaps she had been, once. Before Christina was murdered. Because how does one ever get past the death – the violent death – of a child? How does one's soul remain intact? But Myka's admiration was pure. And she was good. So good. Her soul wasn't like Helena's, blackened by deeds she couldn't excuse, but also couldn't regret. And yet. And yet...Myka was looking at her as if she was the sun. Helena poured out her admiration in turn, first in words and then with her lips and tongue against the other woman's mouth. She had never understood that this was possible – this flood of feeling, of longing, that filled her after only a few days in Myka's company. It frightened her terribly, but she was powerless to resist its pull.

They danced, both with each other and with the half-dressed young men who populated this bar. Helena had never before felt as exhilarated as she did that night. That this level of freedom was allowed – encouraged, in fact – was something of which she'd never even dreamed. She laughed freely and danced like a wanton, pressed against Myka like a second skin. She was delirious and inebriated and her father would have died on the spot had he seen her. That thought made her feel even happier.

They reached the apartment – and truth be told, Helena couldn't remember the journey at all, just a hazy fog with Myka at its centre. Myka's skin, Myka's scent. She hoped that they hadn't given the TiMERcorp staff too much of a show. Although she expected that they'd seen worse, given their line of work. She was drunk on Myka, on the small sounds she was making, and her hand slid without thought to the hem of her dress and then up underneath it. Her mouth was on Myka's neck. She couldn't remember how they'd reached the sofa, how they'd come to be in this position, but she wasn't complaining. But suddenly Myka was complaining, Myka was pulling back and asking Helena to stop. And the pain hit Helena like a punch to the solar plexus. She had been waiting for this, for Myka to see that she, Helena, was not good enough, could never be good enough to live up to the admiration Myka had for her...her mind was almost gibbering out its fear as it had for so long while she was bronzed. But Myka soothed it away with her words and her touch and her reassurances, kissed it away with her beautiful mouth. The madness fled and Helena slept for a time, slumped entirely over Myka's body, rousing only briefly to change and tumble into bed and into Myka's waiting arms. She slumbered peacefully.

The next morning was the second that she had awoken after dawn. They'd slept almost until noon, in fact, and Myka was still pressed against her, their arms and legs entwined. Myka was breathing slowly into Helena's hair, and Helena's face was against Myka's neck.

"Helena?" She asked drowsily. "You're tickling me." She was pouting a little, but Helena thought that if Myka had a headache half as bad as her own, the pouting was quite justified. And quite beautiful.

"Good morning, love." Helena said it without thought, and then cursed herself silently. That was not a word she wished to bandy about when this woman was around. It was already far too close to being true.

Myka surprised her by moving her head down to kiss Helena softly.

"I must really like you, Helena. You haven't even brushed your teeth yet." She was smiling, her eyes half closed against the light that was streaming in around the curtains.

"I am rather likeable, or so I've been told." She kissed Myka this time. She had never, to her knowledge, awoken in bed with a lover and exchanged kisses like this. Her time with her lovers, men and women, had always been short and limited, because it was somehow illicit or not allowed. It was yet another new freedom for her, and she took full advantage. Morning breath or not, Myka was stunning in the midday light, her eyes half closed and her hair wild. They kissed softly, slowly, for what felt like hours, but it was still over too soon. Helena was rapidly becoming addicted to kissing Myka Bering.

Myka turned onto her back, groaning.

"I have the worst headache. What possessed us to drink so much last night?" She threw her hands up to the heavens dramatically. Helena chuckled.

"I think it might have been my fault, Myka. Had we stayed at the opera, we might have finished the evening in a more...dignified fashion."

"Don't be silly, Helena. You were upset. I hope the rest of the evening was a little more enjoyable for you."

Helena smirked. "I'll say."

Myka blushed.

"I think I need a bit of a pick-me-up. What do you think about searching out a full English breakfast and a cup of tea? I believe it's the traditional cure for a hangover in these parts."

"I think that sounds wonderful. Anything to get rid of this headache!" They smiled at one another for a long moment, and Helena couldn't resist tracing her finger from Myka's jaw to the crinkled corner of her eye. Which led to more kisses, until finally Myka pulled away with a groan and sent Helena off to the bathroom sternly.

They showered quickly and their trusty driver took them to a nearby greasy spoon, as he referred to it, which served the required fare. They stuffed themselves silly, and Myka warned Helena never to tell anyone of this.

"Pete would have a field day if he knew I'd eaten this crap!"

Helena mock-frowned at her. "That crap is the traditional food of my people, Myka Bering. Hold your tongue."

"I love it when you talk all English at me." Myka grinned at the glare Helena was giving her.

"So, do you want to do anything today?" Predictably, it was Myka who wanted to plan their day. She had a compulsion, it appeared, to organise.

"Perhaps a walk?" Helena suggested. Myka nodded.

The driver took them to a nearby park and they walked for a while, arm-in-arm, just enjoying the crispness in the air. They sat on a bench and a thought occurred to Helena, suddenly.

"Do your superiors know who you are with? You've never mentioned it."

Myka stared off into space for a moment, thinking.

"I have no idea, Helena. I've only had that note from Pete that I showed you. I assumed that the TiMER people would have told Pete, but I honestly don't know. He didn't mention you by name in the note. God, you don't think he meant you when he said 'You-know-who?' I assumed he was talking about MacPherson. Dammit." She put her head in her hands, her mind clearly racing to the worst case scenario.

"Calm down, Myka. There's bugger all you or I can do about it at the moment. Are you allowed to contact them while you're on furlough?" She no longer stumbled over the word.

"I don't think so. I don't know. Why? What would I even say?" Myka turned to her, eyes appealing for help.

"Well, I might be able to give you some information that would help if they are searching for MacPherson."

"What? You know where he is?" Myka's mouth was open in indignation.

"No, not necessarily. I know where he was headed when he left me, which is not the same thing. And if I may, I'd like to remind you that I didn't even know why I was here at first. I thought I was heading back to be Bronzed again, so I had no real interest in helping you, I'm afraid. And for the last few days, I've been a little preoccupied with you."

Myka flushed again, but her mouth was still held in a grim line.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this earlier. He could have hurt my friends, Helena. He could have killed someone. He might have, for all we know."

"I'm sorry. It was not my intention to hide it from you. But you haven't asked me about it either, Myka. So perhaps it's not entirely my fault?"

Myka chewed her lip, considering that. Then she nodded, curtly.

"Myka. I do not wish to be at odds with you. I have come to care about you much more than you know, even in just a few days. Please don't be angry with me."

"Not yet," she silently added.

"You're right, Helena. You had no reason to trust me. But I would very much like it if you would now, please. Tell me where you think he might be and I'll let Artie know. Who knows, it might win you some trust with the Warehouse."

"Of course." Helena told her of her plan to enter the Escher vault, about the Imperceptor vest and the antimatter that MacPherson had planned to retrieve from somewhere in Switzerland.

"CERN?"

"Yes, that was it. I didn't recognise the name."

"And what was it you wanted from the vault?" Myka asked her. Her tone was deceptively soft but her eyes were sharp.

"My belongings. That's all. The woman who let me out told me that they use the vault to store the belongings of Bronzed individuals. My locket is in there. It carries the only picture of Christina that I possess, along with a lock of her hair. You can ask your Artie to confirm it if you wish. I told MacPherson that I would help him if he helped me get into the vault. But in truth I had no intention of doing so." And she didn't. That much was the truth.

Myka blanched.

"Damn. I'm sorry, Helena. I never seem to be able to stop expecting the worst from people." She put her head in her hands again, slumping forward.

Then something occurred to her. "What woman?"

"The woman who let me out of the Bronze sector. She took me to the side entrance and James took me away from there."

"I guess you actually have met Claudia, then." Myka looked extremely sad, suddenly.

"No, I don't believe I have. James didn't call her Claudia. It was something else. Leah, perhaps?"

Myka's head snapped up.

"Leena?!"

"Yes, that was it. She let me out, and told James to keep me somewhere dark for a day to allow my eyes to adjust. She was using Harriet Tubman's thimble – at first she looked like a younger girl with red hair, and then she took it off. She gave it to James."

Myka was suddenly energised, and seemingly very annoyed – at both Helena and herself.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me this earlier. I could have told Artie. Why didn't you tell me? I would have understood about the Escher vault, Helena. You could have trusted me." Her lips were in a thin line, her arms folded. She was not looking at Helena.

Helena sighed. She didn't know what to say. She had been honest, at least to a point. She wanted her locket more than anything, but there was also Lizzie Borden's compact in the vault. She didn't have a specific plan for it, but it had been on her when she'd been taken before the Regents, and she'd thought, once she was un-Bronzed, that it might be useful as a distraction at a later date. So Myka wasn't entirely wrong. Helena was conflicted. For a moment she even considered being totally honest with Myka and letting them put her back in the Bronze sector. She didn't want to hurt the agent about whom she'd come to care so deeply. That thought made her stop in her tracks. She could not be Bronzed again, not for the sake of one woman, no matter how wonderful. Helena looked away, blinking back tears. What in the world was she doing? She'd been so sure, so certain of her plans, cultivated carefully over a hundred years in darkness and madness. And now because of one woman she was losing her nerve. And the truth was that she wasn't sure she wanted to go through with any of it any more. If Myka's boss went into the Escher vault he would likely hide her possessions elsewhere now. Even if he gave her the locket, there was no way he would give her the compact. And he would have questions about where it had come from. She could answer them easily and she was technically guiltless – she hadn't deliberately decided to be picked up by the Regents directly after retrieving a curiosity – that had been their decision. But she was not guiltless, and while she had steeled herself for the necessity of deceiving the agents she met if she was to succeed in her plan, she was no longer sure she could do so in the face of how she felt about Myka.

Luckily, Myka mistook her guilt and sadness for something else. She thought Helena was upset that Myka didn't trust her – where the truth was that Myka shouldn't be trusting her at all. Helena could have screamed. Especially when Myka apologised to her – to her, who wanted to end the bloody world, and Myka with it. Her heart was twisting in her chest and she felt sick. The guilt and pain and hatred and rage fed on itself, filling her with a roiling cloud of madness.

"You know, I am really sorry for doubting you about the vault, Helena. I should have trusted you."

Helena turned to her, and in that moment she was mad, truly. Insane. Myka recoiled at whatever she saw in Helena's eyes.

Helena turned away.

"Perhaps we should return to the apartment. You can contact your Arthur and tell him what you need to." She walked back towards the car without looking back. She didn't know what she would do if Myka touched her. She didn't trust herself.