Chapter Nine
The Delicate Scent of H.G. Wells

Despite a slight crick in her neck, Myka awoke to the pleasant sensation of feeling safe and warm. For the first time in several weeks, she'd experienced a blissfully dreamless sleep that had not involved something awful happening to Helena. However as full consciousness returned and recent memories came flooding back, Myka remembered that something awful had happened to Helena. She opened her eyes in a flash lest she be forced to dwell on the image of Helena kissing Herodotus Wilde for more than a split second. Myka found herself lying across the sofa in the dingy hotel suite she shared with Pete. The blanket from her bed covered the lower half of her body and the crick in her neck was due to the fact that she'd been using Pete's lap as a rather hard pillow. The television was on, but the sound was muted.

"Hey you," Pete announced as she rolled over to look up at him. He gently swished a clump of hair out of her eyes. "You sleep okay?"

Myka frowned and dragged herself up into a sitting position. "Not so much. Why are we on the sofa?"

Pete nodded towards the empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses on the table in front of them. "It might have something to do with the fact that you polished off the lion's share of that bottle there."

"I did? Shit, I don't even remember getting back to the hotel." Now that Myka's body was on something other than a horizontal plane, she was beginning to feel the effects of the wine. Her head swam uncomfortably.

"You mean after you triggered the alarm that necessitated us running for our lives?" Pete asked in a slightly grumpy tone. "How's your leg by the way?"

"My leg?" Just how much do I actually remember? Myka peeled back the blanket to see an angry red scrape on the inside of her thigh. She did remember tearing her pants, but not tearing her leg open. It was also at that point that she realised her bottom half was clad only in her underwear. She turned back to Pete. "You took my pants off!"

"I most certainly did not!" he protested indignantly. "You stripped them off yourself, although right in front of me I might add. A fellow could go blind seeing a sight like that."

Myka quickly covered herself up with the blanket. "Are you implying that something is wrong with my legs?" she demanded. Her head hurt and she desperately wanted to lie down again.

"They are an exceptionally nice pair of legs, and that's the problem!" Pete replied.

"Oh," Myka responded awkwardly.

The uncomfortable moment lasted mere seconds before it was banished by Myka's need to lie down again. Without waiting for an invitation, she flopped forward against Pete's shoulder and burrowed into the crook of his arm. Feigning a sigh of exasperation, Pete lifted his arm so she could get comfortable. He placed it around her shoulders and drew her in close.

Myka's attention flitted between the grey light of dawn beyond the window, and the inane sport being played on the television. It mostly involved men running mindlessly up and down a field. Occasionally they would pass a round ball between them. The repetition of their movements soon lulled her back into a drowsy state.

"You're not going back to sleep are you?" Pete asked several minutes later.

"Trying to," Myka mumbled.

"Oh no you're not." Much to Myka's disgust, Pete extracted his body out from beneath hers and stood. "Cain called an hour ago. Say, since you seem to be so good at drinking wine, how good are you at pouring it?"

"I'm crap," Myka replied as she did her best to hold her body upright in a seated position. "Well, at least I'm sure I would be crap if I'd ever actually tried to do it for a living. Why, what did Cain have to say for himself?"

"That he's found you a job," Pete replied simply. "Now hurry up and get dressed. I'm absolutely starving."

"I have a job!" Myka called as Pete disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. As he was closing it behind him, she managed to drag herself to her feet. "Although I'm seriously considering quitting!"


Myka looked down at her outfit with an expression of abject disgust. She plucked at the fluorescent tank top that made even her insignificant breasts look as though they were straining to escape. Below it she wore a either a skirt that desperately wanted to be a belt, or a belt that wished it were a skirt. To top off the outfit, her feet were jammed into a pair of shoes that had cost less than the McDonald's meal Pete had eaten for breakfast.

"Who knew you could buy so much for so little?" Pete enthused as he rummaged through a paper bag full of clothing. It was emblazoned with 'Primark' on the side. He held up another tank top, although this time it was one covered in silver sequins. "How about this one?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Ah, Pete, don't you think I look ridiculous enough already?" She demanded. "And if you think I'm getting changed in the back of a taxi, then you've got some-"

"Hey, chill out, grumpster!" Pete held up his hands. "No changing, gotcha."

"I don't mind if you wanna change, luv," the driver spoke up. He was a stubble-faced guy who happily gave Myka a wink in his rear vision mirror.

"I'll be fine, seriously." Myka glared at Pete. "Thanks though...and thanks awfully, Pete."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't you want to help H.G. out?"

"Of course I bloody well want to help Helena," Myka replied as she glanced nervously out of the window. "But going undercover as a waitress at a party thrown by Herodotus Cain isn't exactly what I had in mind!"

"You'll be near H.G," Pete pointed out helpfully.

"Near enough to serve canapés and champagne," Myka muttered. "Besides, how do you know Wilde doesn't have a nice picture of my little garden jaunt from one of his security cameras?"

"Cain said he's checked everything out," Pete reassured her. "There were no cameras in that part of the garden."

Myka snorted. "So Cain says-"

"We're here," the driver announced.

"Myka, you'll be fine," Pete added. "Besides, aren't you still wearing the almighty ring of awesomeness?"

Myka looked down at J.A. Larsen's ring, still snug around her finger. When she looked back up at Pete, her gaze was less than impressed. "Pete, the ring improves your talents...talents you already have. I'm about as good at being a high-class waitress as I am at playing...whatever the hell it's called. I'll see you later."

"Soccer?" Pete added helpfully.

"Football!" The taxi driver corrected him in a disgruntled voice.

Ignoring him, Pete reached out and took her by the hand for a moment. He tapped the Farnsworth in his pocket. "I won't be far away, okay?"

Myka sighed. "I sincerely doubt that whatever I wear will be voluminous enough to conceal a Farnsworth."

As the taxi drove off down the street, Myka glanced up at the facade of the catering company. She muttered under her breath and tried to tug the skirt-belt down over her arse. Although she secretly hoped that the Manager would find her latest potential employee subpar, Myka was given an approving nod and hired on the spot. She suspected that someone had greased a few wheels somewhere up the chain as she felt decidedly out of place amidst the company of half a dozen women who were all at least five years younger than her, and possibly as much as a decade. Still, she found that she could play the part of the mysterious older American surprisingly well.

This has got to be the most degrading thing I have ever done, Myka thought to herself as the mini-van drew up outside Wilde's Oxfordshire mansion several hours later. It was the second time in as many nights that she had had been to the house. Although of course it was the first time she was legitimately allowed on the property. Thankfully the company uniform covered slightly more than her 'audition' outfit that Pete had chosen at Primark. The black and white number was traditional and almost prim. I guess Wilde prefers the old adage 'less is more,' Myka thought as she filed into the house with her fellow waitresses.


Still more than a little annoyed that they were still in Oxfordshire, Helena had to summon up previously unknown acting skills to appear the slightest bit interested in the party Wilde was throwing. Given that she had not even expected to stay one night, she had only the blue dress she brought with her to wear. Wilde had thoroughly unnerved her by revealing a small wardrobe full of dresses in her size. Although he claimed that they had belonged to the previous Mrs Wilde, she could not bring herself to believe him.

Nevertheless, a few hours later Helena found herself surrounded by a similar crowd to the one she had experienced at Wilde's townhouse. That particular occasion felt like months ago, instead of a mere week. She had chosen the most demure of the dresses on offer – a relatively plain black number with a thick belt around the middle. It both completely covered her bosom and a respectable amount of thigh without appearing frumpy.

Helena immediately recognised some of the usual suspects amongst the guests. The stunning redhead, Saskia Carmody, arrived with a statuesque, ebony skinned young woman on her arm. Saskia's date was a good foot taller and at least a decade younger. The Kincaides were present with Kathy Kincaide on fine form. She expertly wrestled Wilde away from Helena in what she obviously thought was a brilliant use of feminine guile. At no point she realise just how grateful the other woman was for the service. Relieved of having to spend the better part of the evening with Wilde's hand possessively placed on her arse, Helena was free to roam the room. With a mostly untouched glass of champagne in her hand she slinked along the sides of the cavernous ballroom and listened in on what conversations she could. It soon became obvious that, despite the presence of a few of Wilde's potential buyers, most of the crowd gathered in the room were merely established elite, with a few desperate social climbers scattered amongst them for good measure. There were few who knew Wilde well, most seemed to be present for the free champagne and the opportunity to 'be seen.'

In an effort to continue avoiding her host, she cast a discreet glance across the room to ascertain his whereabouts. She was relieved to find him in the middle of a group of four women – clearly Kathy Kincaide now had serious competition. Allowing herself a small smirk and a delicate sip of her champagne, Helena also clearly made out Wilde's bodyguard. Given that they were within the safety of Wilde's own home, he did not carry the case she had seen him with on several occasions. No doubt it was secured within a safe or vault somewhere in the house. Helena's smirk shifted to a thoughtful frown. Wilde had been on the verge of telling her something the previous evening…before he had distracted himself with thoughts of shoving his tongue down her throat. That memory necessitated a generous gulp of champagne. She practically drained her glass and helped herself to two canapés from a passing waitress. Without caring for delicate manners, Helena shoved both into her mouth at once and swilled back the last of the champagne. She had already forced herself to acknowledge the unfortunate truth in the whole unpleasant situation. In order to further ingratiate herself into Wilde's confidence, she would have to continue playing his game. Perhaps I ought to recruit Kathy Kincaide to our cause? Helena thought as she dragged her tongue around her mouth in an effort to clear the congealed canapés. However, although she knew the woman would be all too happy to do anything to please Wilde, she would more than likely also be happy to spill everything.

"More champagne?" a sugary voice asked expectantly.

Helena focused her attention away from Wilde, onto the young woman who was offering to fill her glass. She was one of at least half a dozen little tarts Wilde had brought over from London for the evening. Pretty, lithe-legged and probably exceedingly vapid to boot. With a wince, Helena chided herself inwardly for her petty assumptions. It was far more likely the young woman was a student trying to support herself through school.

Before Helena's silence hinted that she was either already drunk, she gave a polite nod. "That would be lovely."

With a full glass, she was about to retire to the garden when she caught a glimpse of an achingly familiar face amongst the crowd. It was merely fleeting, to the point where Helena wondered if her tortured mind was playing tricks on her. However she put aside all thoughts of fresh air and moved through the crowd with an increased urgency. She saw several of the matching black and white uniforms, but none were worn by the woman she thought she had seen. After almost five minutes of fruitless searching, Helena was about to dismiss her suspicions altogether. The crowd in the ballroom was loud and increasingly cloying. Despite what had happened in the garden the previous evening, it was a beautiful outdoor space and she deseperately needed fresh air. She'd just spied Cain trying to discreetly direct her back to Wilde with a jerk of his head. Helena simply pretended she had not seen her partner. Instead she searched for another tray of the canapés, more out of hunger than any appreciation for their taste. Helena was so focused on loading up a napkin with as many as she could carry, that she did not even bother looking at the woman offering them to her.

"Should I just give you the entire tray?" an amused voice asked.

Helena was so startled she let the napkin full of canapés fall from her hand. The little pasty balls tumbled to the floor where they discharged their gooey contents across the floor. Despite the dress she wore, Helena dropped into a crouch and found herself eye to eye with Myka Bering. Both women attempted to clean up the mess – a task made difficult by the fact that neither of them were looking at their hands. Neither spoke, they simply stared. Eventually Myka had to look down to scoop up any remnants with a napkin. They stood at precisely the same moment, almost oblivious to the crowd moving around them.

With a 'what the hell are you doing here' expression on her face, Helena was fully aware that she was only a few moments away from creating a scene in the middle of the ballroom – a scene that had the potential to ruin the intimate trust she had built up with Wilde.

Thankfully, Myka saved them both. "I need to take this back to the kitchen," she said, struggling to maintain some sort of professional tone."

Helena replied with a tremulous nod. "I am terribly sorry-" she cut herself off just before she said Myka's name.

Holy shit balls. Myka let out the breath she had been holding as she darted across the ballroom in the direction of the kitchen. She did not dare cast a glance back over her shoulder lest her legs stop moving altogether. The chaotic bustle of the kitchen felt like a reprieve.

"Some drunk bitch dumped half my tray on the floor," Myka announced to one of her colleagues as she tipped the remnants into the garbage. The inane statement gave her a means of venting her raging emotions.

"Drunk bitches I can handle," the young blonde replied. Myka thought she remembered hearing her name was Gemma. "Just wait until some of the guys really get going. I worked a party at the Shard last month full of the same sort of tossers. One had his hand so far up my skirt, I'm surprised he didn't tell me what I had for breakfast."

Instantly thankful that she had spent her college days working in a bookstore, Myka gave her a tight-lipped smile of sympathy. "Yeah, tossers."

"Oi, you two!" Their hurried conversation drew the attention of one of the chefs. "Stop yacking and get back out there." Myka went to pick up another tray of canapés. "No, take the tray of flutes." The chef pointed her in the direction of a tray laden with freshly filled glass of champagne.

Myka stared at the potential disaster with an expression of abject horror. She had been lulled into thinking the whole waitressing gig was a piece of cake whilst carrying around the tray of pastries – full glasses of champagne were another matter altogether. With a firm grip, she gingerly picked up the tray, hoping like hell they didn't expect her to carry it in one hand. With the brief respite over, Myka swept back out into the ballroom. She had hoped that the noise would help her ignore the flustered sensations flitting throughout her body in the wake of seeing Helena. However they merely intensified when she was faced with the prospect of bumping into her again.

This was a shit idea, Pete, Myka thought. She smiled sweetly as a young man whipped two glasses from her tray with his thanks directed in the general area of her chest. However, with their only alternative being Pete in a black and white dress, she had to concede that Cain had done well in getting her inside Wilde's mansion. She had a fifteen minute break coming her way, and she was determined not to waste a second of it. However, her initial assumption had been correct – she had nowhere to conceal a Farnsworth in her outfit, let alone a Tesla. She would be snooping around Wilde's mansion unarmed and with her only back up being the weasel Cain and the one woman that she did not want to look at, let alone talk to. A very shit idea indeed.

Helena gratefully escaped into the relatively cool night air. She had no canapés and her previously full glass was now decidedly empty. The chill kept most of the guests indoors so she had the terrace to herself aside from the ubiquitous cluster of smokers. As her gaze roamed over the garden, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to dwell on the kiss. Not the wrestling match with Wilde, but rather the hurried, uncomfortable lip lock she shared with Myka Bering.

My dear, dear, Myka, she thought, unable to suppress a surge of affection. You have absolutely no idea how to kiss a woman do you? A genuine thrill ran through Helena's body at a mere thought of having the opportunity to show her. It really was remarkably simple. Kissing a man often felt like a competition, kissing a woman was like surrendering. There was no need to analyse the situation or think about what you were doing because you already knew everything. The softness of both lips and face were intimately familiar, you needed only give into them.

"I hope you're thinking about something extremely pleasurable." Startled, Helena spun to see Saskia Carmody starring at her with a bemused smile on her face. Her luxurious red hair was flowing freely over her shoulders in contrast with the masculine cut of the blue suit she wore. The model Helena had seen her with earlier was not at her side. "I hope you will forgive the intrusion. It is Helena is it not?"

"Indeed." Helena found herself wishing for another glass of wine, only to have Saskia offer her one as though she had read her thoughts. Her first instinct was to refuse it, but she felt as though she needed something in her hands. "Many thanks." She set the empty one down on the balustrade beside her.

"Saskia Carmody-"

"I know who you are," Helena interrupted politely.

Saskia managed a pleased laugh in response. "Ha! No doubt our mutual friend Herodotus has warned you to stay away from me?"

It had actually been Cain, and it had not been a warning so much as stating the obvious. Saskia Carmody was clearly a woman who had a deeply entrenched appreciation for women. Her gaze did not linger over Helena as blatantly as others, but rather she conveyed interest by staring her directly in the eye and angling her body so as to be close without crowding. In all truth, Helena had to admit that Saskia was a stunningly beautiful woman. Had she been the target of their operation and not Wilde, then she may very well have enjoyed the assignment. Then again, there was also the exasperating problem created by her obsession with Myka Bering.

"Mr Wilde did nothing of the sort, he is the perfect gentleman," Helena replied pleasantly.

Saskia smirked perceptively. "Ah, but is he? He is a man to be sure, but gentle, no. Do be on your guard around him won't you, Helena."

Helena took a sip of wine to conceal her surprise. "Is that a threat?" she asked quietly.

"Good heavens, no." Saskia laughed again, this time somewhat nervously. "It is merely a piece of sage advice from one woman to another." The hint of nervousness disappeared as she reached out to lay her fingers on Helena's wrist. "I was hoping that you would find other…more agreeable distractions amongst our circle of friends."

At the silky smooth touch of Saskia's fingertips on her skin, Helena could not suppress the shiver that ran through her body. The other woman picked up on it and shifted in closer, so close that her thigh was practically nestled between Helena's.

"Won't your date be wondering where you are?" Helena said, a little too breathlessly for her liking.

"Gwen? She is exquisite isn't she?" Saskia ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip without taking her eyes off Helena. "A goddess in bed. However we have very little in common. I was hoping to find someone who shares my passion for collecting."

For collecting women or artefacts? Helena mused. However the humorous thoughts were driven away as Saskia suddenly moved forward. When she spoke again, Helena could feel her lips moving against the skin of her neck. "And you seem as though you are a woman with a great deal of passion, Helena."

Oh good lord. Against her better judgement, Helena felt her knees go quite weak. Saskia Carmody had managed to entrance her where Wilde had failed miserably. However the thought of the man himself reminded her that he was her target. Catching her in an intimate embrace with another woman wasn't exactly conducive to building trust. Not to mention Myka…

A sudden movement startled her. It was following by an icy cold splash on the previously warm skin of her chest. With a gasp, Helena stepped away from Saskia. Her movement sent the empty wine glass flying from the balustrade into the garden below. She looked across to see Myka standing with an empty tray and an entirely feigned expression of apology on her face.

"I am so sorry!" Myka said hurriedly, attempting to mop at Helena's chest with a napkin.

As much as she was enjoying having Myka's hands in close proximity to her breasts, Helena snatched the napkin out of her grasp. "I think you've done quite enough already!" she snapped. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Carmody?"

"Anything I can do?" Saskia asked expectantly. Only a few drops had fallen on her own clothes. She had already removed her suit jacket and tossed it jauntily over her shoulder.

Helena shook her head abruptly. "No, I shall be fine. This young woman will no doubt take care of my dress."

"Of course," Myka replied quietly. "If you'll just follow me, ma'am. I'll fix everything."

Helena bid a rather hasty goodnight to Saskia, and followed Myka back inside the house. Thankfully the damp patch was barely evident on the black dress. Her skin did however feel decidedly sticky and she was sure her cheeks were an unhealthy shade of red.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Helena demanded, half under her breath, as they finally ducked out of the ballroom and into a quieter corridor.

"I'm your damn back-up!" Myka hissed in reply, waving the tray at Helena. "Although it looks as if you didn't need me at all, not with that woman all up in your…business!"

"My business?" Helena spluttered.

"Why don't you ask her to find the key and the cache for you?" Myka continued. "While you're at it, why don't you just seduce all of Wilde's buyers-" With a horrified gasp, she realised what she had said and promptly bit her lip.

It took an immense effort for Helena to curb her wounded fury as she steered Myka further down the corridor. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that most guests seemed to be too intent on finding the bathrooms to notice her drag Myka through the nearest door. Helena already knew it was one of the house's libraries. She didn't bother turning on the lights as she faced the remorseful Agent.

"Helena, I'm so sorry," Myka whispered with genuine remorse. Her voice caught slightly. She turned and set the tray she had been carrying down on one of the desks. "I had no right to say that. It was cruel-"

"Yes it was cruel!" Helena interrupted harshly. "And not to mention dangerous! I'm not playing some game here, Myka. These people are dangerous." She forced herself to calm down, especially seeing as Myka's shoulders had started to shake slightly. "You could have ruined everything when you triggered the alarm last night," she added softly.

Myka turned with a surprised expression on her face. She was crying, her cheeks were glistening with unshed tears. "How the hell did you know it was me?"

"Instinct," Helena replied. Her heart ached at the sight of Myka's tears. This is not the time, or the place, she thought as she slowly crossed the distance between them. "Myka, I-"

"If you're going to mention what happened yesterday morning, please don't." It was Myka's turned to interrupt her. "I'd like very much to forget that I ever…"

"Kissed me?" At that point Helena was practically standing toe to toe with Myka. She had to fight the urge to reach out and run her thumbs gently under both her eyes to wipe the tears away. Get the bloody hell out of this room, H.G. old girl, she tried to tell herself. There will be time for playing silly buggers when your lives aren't in danger – heavens, Myka's lips really are quite seductive…

"-kissed you," Myka added. Her lips parted as she tried to work out the strange play of emotions that was flickering across Helena Wells' face. Her dark eyes were a turbulent storm of fear and something else – something Myka did not recognise until Helena suddenly leaned forward and eliminated any distance between them.

To hell with it, when are our lives not going to be in danger? "What if I wish not to forget?" Helena whispered in the seconds before she claimed Myka's lips. All thoughts of running out of the room were banished from her mind in that instant.

The awkwardness that had been prevalent the previous day was still very much present in the moment their lips met. Myka reacted with shock, her body instinctively tensing at the unexpected contact. Helena slid one arm around Myka's waist and rested her hand gently in the curve of her back. At the same time, she brought the other up to cup her cheek as she moved her lips in a gentle caress.

Helena's gentle ministrations gradually melted the apprehension from Myka's body. Feeling slightly giddy, she responded enthusiastically in kind. All of the pent up frustration she had felt over the preceding months – ever since bloody Helena Wells had strolled into her life – was released in a determined effort to reassure herself that Helena really was kissing her. As Myka pressed forward like a horny teenager faced with the woman of their dreams, Helena drew back. Myka was confused and hesitant as Helena gently stroked her lower lip with her own. A laugh escaped the Englishwoman's lips. Myka started to tense again as she believed Helena was cruelly mocking her.

"Slowly, my darling," Helena murmured as she continued to ply the corners of Myka's lips with kisses.

At the sound of the word 'darling' from Helena's lips, Myka's giddiness overtook her in a sudden rush. Helena had used the term of endearment on several occasions, but this time was different. How could one word sound so painfully erotic and compassionate at the same time? Her already weak knees gave out beneath her and she started to slump backwards. Helena's strong embrace encircled her before she could fall. Instead she was drawn forward. It felt natural to slip into Helena's arms. She buried her face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Helena smelled of lavender and champagne. It was both intoxicating and comforting.

The last thing she wanted to do was leave, but the tight dress she wore reminded her exactly why she was there…and why Helena was there. When they stepped apart, Helena flashed a broad smile. It reminded Myka of the smile she had seen in her dreams in the seconds before Helena died – generous, brilliant and complete. Myka suspected that it was the sort of smile you gave someone you loved.

"You really ought not to run in the wake of kissing someone," Helena chided her gently. "At least not without giving them a chance to kiss you back."

"I didn't think you wanted to kiss me back." The response was terrible, but it was all Myka could think to say under the circumstances. She scrubbed at her eyes in an effort to dry them.

"Stop," Helena ordered quietly. "You'll make a mess." She found a box of tissues on a nearby and plucked several out. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time, Myka," she admitted as she gently wiped the tears away whilst trying not to disturb Myka's make-up. "I guess it was a case of the blind leading the blind."

"Obviously," Myka smirked, but for some reason the tears kept trying to fall. She sniffed. "Gosh, I'm sorry. I bet you're regretting kissing me now you've found out that I'm a mushy little girl."

"There is absolutely nothing girlish about you, Myka Bering," Helena replied confidently. "You are very much a woman."

It was then that Myka realised the other woman's gaze was roaming appreciatively over her body. It lasted for all of a few seconds before Helena looked back to her eyes and flashed another of her charming smiles. She closed in for another kiss. This time it was painfully short. Myka let out a hot breath of desire as Helena pulled away.

"Now you need to get back to work…and I need to find Wilde." Helena squared her shoulders resolutely. "Yesterday he was on the verge of telling me something, something significant. If I can get that out of him…well, let's just say that it will all be worth it."

Myka watched as Helena's brave smiled wavered. "Are you alright, Helena?" she asked with a gentle persistence. "Last night Wilde seemed…intent."

"I'm fine, truly I am. I'm quite confident that I can get what I want, without Mr Wilde getting what he wants." The fact that the smile disappeared altogether hinted that Helena was not as confident as she claimed. Myka started to move towards her again but Helena waved her off. "Scoot! Before I take advantage of you in that absurd outfit."

Myka backed reluctantly towards the door. She would have preferred that Helena did take advantage of her in the outfit but the unlocked library of an adversaries' house was not the ideal location for sex – and certainly not for first time sex.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Myka asked.

Another smile. "You know I will."

I love you. Too soon? Myka's hand found the door knob and she twisted it. Helena had already turned away. Yeah, too soon. She slipped out into the corridor.

With the sound of the door closing behind Myka, Helena reached for a tissue of her own. She dabbed at her eyes gently, unsure whether the tears were ones of fear or happiness.