Artificer & Phile

Chapter Thirteen, Reunion

Summary: Myka is not currently a secret service agent. She has the credentials but after Denver she needed to get away from the bad memories. So at 29, she takes a leave of absence and is presently an associate professor at Hudson University, a totally made up college in NYC. She studies and teaches 19th century literature and teaches one class every semester on early science fiction and fantasy. It is her most popular class.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story.

Special thanks to spockette who has done me a huge favor and helped to beta this.

And here we are, at the end. Quite easily the most I've ever written in the shortest period of time, ever. Myka and Helena are so much fun to write about and I just can't help myself with them. They're an OTP that has the best elements of all my favorite other OTPs and is endlessly entertaining to write about. I have plans for a sequel, yes, but I have other ideas as well (that are not as morbid as some of my recent one-shots, I swear). Thanks for coming along for the ride.

She thought that she'd be able to cope, and for the first month, Myka was pretty sure that she was coping well. The days seemed to blend together, Claudia was stressing about enrolling in South Dakota State for the January term, Pete was debating going home for Christmas (Myka wasn't – it was too soon) and their usual jet-setting around the world to retrieve artifacts had slowed to almost a crawl as they found themselves rather snowed in.

Living on the East Coast had spoiled Myka. There was nothing quite like a Midwestern blizzard to make you want to curl up under about fifteen blankets and read Alexandre Dumas. Pete said that she was weird and offered to take her sledding, Myka ignored him. She'd always wanted a big brother who was foolish enough to venture outside during white-out conditions to go play. She offered to tie a line off the back porch so he wouldn't get lost and was answered with a pillow tossed at her head.

She wasn't coping, as the holiday passed (and they were dragged away on a terribly disturbing case in LA involving an artifact from the Christmas Day Armistice in 1914) and December turned into January. Myka found herself moping, reading through Helena's notes from Warehouse 12, trying to find something that would make the pang of longing in her heart abate. There was a void there, stark and empty, and Myka hated it.

They had seen Mrs. Frederic exactly once since Helena had been taken to wherever it was that Mrs. Frederic was taking her. Myka had inquired as to her lover's health (as was polite) and had received a cryptic answer that all would be well in time.

She hated that it was apparently fundamentally impossible to get a straight answer out of any of the regents, or Mrs. Frederic.

The waiting game, it seemed, was here to stay.

Myka wasn't patient though. She hated waiting.

This would take time, she knew, but it was time that she did not want to take.

A selfish wish, no doubt.

She was not coping.

Pete and Claudia understood and simply tried to be supportive and distracting. Leena, however, would try and get Myka to talk about things. About Helena, about how this all had happened, but Myka couldn't find the words to say all that needed to be said. Leena wasn't the person she needed to be saying those things to, anyway.

One morning in mid-February, Myka was in the process of cataloguing a particularly nasty artifact that burned your skin clean off if you were not careful with it on Artie's computer when he walked up beside her and sat down in the vacant chair next to her. "I think you should take some time off," He said, apropos of nothing.

She blinked, saved her work, and turned to look at him. "Why?" It seemed a reasonable question. Myka hated the idea that he did not think her work was good enough. That was unacceptable; she had never been anything if not completely professional while working here.

"You need a break. Go, see your family or whatever it is that you do when you're not here," Artie shoved a plane ticket into her hands and let his fingers linger on Myka's forearm. "I'm not sending you away," he promised, eyes softening behind his glasses.

It sure felt like he was. But Myka was pretty sure that she understood what Artie was doing. "Have you heard anything?" She asked, concern flooding her features. If they were sending her away it meant that there was something wrong with Helena's recovery, that she might not be doing as well as was initially hoped.

He raised an eyebrow at her and half-shrugged, scooting his chair closer to the computer console. "It is next to impossible to get anything out of the Regents, you know that."

Myka scowled, "I was really hoping that they'd let her write to me."

Artie patted Myka's shoulder. "Me too, Myka, me too."

The ticket was for the next day, and the weather report simply called for bitter cold, not blizzards. Myka was sure that she could fly out, no problem. Colorado Springs. What had once been home.

Myka had promised Helena that she wouldn't go back there, but there were things that she needed to say to her father that could not be said over the phone. Not to mention the fact that she'd lied about being busy over Christmas and the guilt was starting to get to her. She'd ended up working anyway, but when she'd first told them, it hadn't been true.

Calling her mom and seeing if it was alright if she came home for a while was surprisingly easy. The lies about how Helena and Pete and everyone else were doing fell off her lips effortlessly and when Myka threw her bag into the back of the car, she didn't even look back.

Maybe she did have to get away from home for a little while, as her heart clearly wasn't there.

x

Myka had been home for exactly two days (almost to the minute) when her mother set her up on a blind date.

Apparently, the phrase, 'Mom, I'm seeing someone' was somehow lost in translation between the generations and Myka wanted absolutely nothing to do with whomever it was that her mother had directed her to the coffee shop to meet and converse with. Myka intended to go, say hello, and then stalk off like an angry teenager. Because that was how she felt right now.

Helena might not be here, here, but they were seeing each other, and goddammit that meant something.

The whole thing made her want to just go back to the Warehouse and cut her forced vacation short because her parents were awful and no matter how hard Myka tried to talk about her problems, it just didn't work. They wanted nothing to do with them.

It wasn't that her mother didn't care; it was that she didn't understand what it meant to be queer and to love another woman. Her mother probably thought she and Helena sat around and drank tea all day – love probably never even factored into her mother's mental picture of the relationship that Myka and Helena had.

Still, her mother could see the hurt in Myka. Myka wasn't an idiot; she didn't lock her emotions away from her mother. Her father tried to goad them out of her with words and quick jabs at her morale, and Myka locked them away from him with skill born of many years of doing just that. Her mother, though, her mother didn't understand how Myka was obviously hurting and in desperate need of some mothering. Myka was used to this; Tracy had been as well, once upon a time.

While her father had never been one to mince words when it came to how he felt about his children, their mother was a far more complex individual. Myka remembered Tracy sneaking into her room not long after Myka had started her senior year of high school. She was still nursing the most embarrassing crush on Kurt Smoller, and Tracy was in love with Kurt's wide out, Issac Jamison.

This was further complicated by the fact that Myka was already struggling with her sexuality, and that she wasn't even entirely sure that she even liked men that way. She'd never been attracted to a guy before, just girls. It was strange, conflicting, and made Myka feel like she was keeping impending heterosexuality like a dirty secret.

Tracy had asked her that night, if either of their parents loved them.

Myka hadn't had the answer. There wasn't one as far as she was concerned. Her dad was a hard-ass and her mother apologized for it. She realized that someday, down the road when they were all grown up, that perhaps there'd be some sort of rhyme and reason that they'd be able to pull for their complicated childhood.

She wasn't Milo, and there was no tollbooth, however. It wasn't as easy as simply saving the day and having the guiding principles of reason and rhyme return to the world. Myka didn't know what to do as she sat across the table from her mother and listened to her mother telling her all about how she'd run into so-and-so's mother, who had mentioned that person x from Myka's high school days was also back in town and that wouldn't it be cute if he and Myka got together because they'd obviously had a thing for each other back in high school.

Myka wanted to scream, take her Tesla (still shoved down the back of her pants as a precaution) and shoot something.

Probably her mother.

"I'll go," Myka said after a very pointed look from her mother. "I'll go and I'll play nice and I'll tell whoever it is that I'm not interested."

Myka didn't add that she would probably point out to whomever it was that she was currently in a relationship with another woman. She knew the politics of this particular city quite well, if there was anything that was sure to scandalize, it would be Warren Bering's one surviving daughter being involved with a woman.

The date was the following morning, at a coffee shop that Myka had frequented in high school because it was too hole-in-the-wall for anyone to know about, save for the kids who went to CU-Colorado Springs. And even then, the college scene usually didn't arrive until later in the afternoon.

Myka had thrown on clothes, shifting through her luggage and picking a shirt and pants at random, not particularly caring that the shirt was Helena's and the sleeves were too short or that it was horribly wrinkled and probably should have been ironed before she put it on. Her jeans were the old and faded pair that she'd been favoring as of late. Helena had mentioned, once, how she did not understand how Levi Strauss & Co. had managed to make such uncomfortable trousers so popular. Myka had attempted to explain to her that the process by which one made jeans had advanced quite a bit since her day – but Helena had wanted nothing to do with it. It was a silly argument, as Myka knew that Helena owned at least one pair of jeans.

As it turned out, the date was with someone that Myka had actually liked, back in high school. While the shock of this fact turning out be true was a little shocking, she hadn't expected to see Kurt Smoller again so soon.

"Well this is awkward," she said, setting her coffee down in front of him and plopping into the chair that he'd toed out and away from the table when she'd approached him.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, "I'll say." He inclined his head. "Hi Myka."

"My mom seems to think we'd make a good couple," Myka laughed, feeling no embarrassment at admitting this fact. "Hey Kurt."

Maybe, once upon a time, she had had a crush on the man before her. But that had been a long time ago, when she was a far younger. She'd changed a lot since then, or at least she hoped she had.

"Awkward, huh?" Kurt added sugar to his coffee and eyed Myka, waiting for her to make the first move, to start this conversation or to walk away. Whichever was easier.

Myka stared around at the battered walls of the coffee stop, taking in the homey décor that could only be described as shabby chic. The kind that college students loved and that everyone else despised because honestly, what was the point of it? She frowned, staring hard at a poster advertising a band's upcoming performance. It had been there, in the same place, the last time Myka had been into this particular coffee shop, some five years ago. Nothing here ever changed. "It's weird, to be home, like this." She admitted, sipping her coffee.

Kurt nodded, "Why are you?" He glanced at his watch, "The reunion was barely… uh… four months ago – most people who get out of here tend to avoid it for years at a time if they can get away with it."

Oh right, the reunion where Pete somehow managed to get Kurt to kiss him. In my body. Myka's brow twitched. She had emailed Kurt and explained that she had not been herself that night and he had agreed – saying that there was no way a straight chick could care that much about the Rockies.

Myka was inclined to agree, although she did follow them passively. She cared far more for the Broncos and their tragic awfulness.

She shrugged. "Some stuff at work, I took some time off." Outside it was brilliantly sunny, snowy and bitterly cold. She gestured outside, coat sleeve pulling upwards, revealing how short her shirtsleeves were on her arm. "South Dakota is awful in the winter, anyway."

And it was. Myka had grown up on Colorado winters and she could not believe how awful they were in the middle-of-nowhere South Dakota. She wasn't exactly used to bundling up under two jackets when braving the fifteen minute drive to work after living on the East Coast. Colorado Springs got cold, yes, but when she found that her car wouldn't start most mornings without some extreme tinkering, Myka wondered if she'd been relocated to Siberia, not somewhere in the lower forty-eight.

Being that cold simply wasn't natural.

Kurt nodded his agreement, shifting his weight and tugging at the sleeves of his thermal top – just sticking out from under his sweater. Myka wondered if he felt as awkward as she did, sitting there, trying to figure out what to say to someone that she hadn't truly known since she was seventeen.

"It's bad enough here, I can't imagine it any further north." Kurt shrugged, glancing over at her, his expression suddenly appearing to be almost shy. He thought about something for a moment, lips drawing a thin line, before he exhaled, and quickly blurted out, "Myka… I always got the feeling that you were kinda… you know, into me… in high school."

Myka laughed. "No, I never was, not really anyway. Maybe a little, freshman year, but after that you just never judged me for not really being interested." She smiled at him, fingers cradled around her coffee. "It was really nice," she added. "Thank you."

"So are you seeing anyone?" Kurt asked, "Since you obviously are here for your mom and not for my wonderful company."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "It is nice to catch up with you again, Kurt. My mom has nothing to do with that." She nodded her agreement to his question however. She didn't see the harm in telling him – he had been a good friend in high school, and had never let any of the guys on his team beat up on the few out queer kids in school. Besides, that would make this considerably less awkward, if he knew that there was pretty much no way in hell that she'd be interested in whatever it was that her mother had intended for the endgame of this excursion to be. "Yes, someone I met in New York when I was teaching. We work together now."

"He nice?"

Myka sipped her coffee and smiled, her lips curling upwards as though relishing a private joke. "She's lovely. Wonderful."

Kurt's eyes widened and he slapped the table, grinning wolfishly. "Oh!" He said in realization, before leaning back, tipping his chair away from the table, hands shoved in his pockets. "Wow, little Myka Bering… No wonder you ditched this place."

Well, that was one reason. He knew that she worked for the secret service, that she did more with her life than many of her classmates. They did still talk through email on occasion, and he was pretty good with the conversation as she told him a little bit about how she'd left the Midwest all together to go to the East Coast after Sam's death.

She nodded her agreement. "That's one reason, yeah." There were so many others, Myka didn't even know where to begin. She had spent years avoiding this place, only coming home when she had to; her father and Tracy's memory the only things that truly kept her away. "I came back – this place has a lot of old wounds. I needed healing time."

There was a concerned look in Kurt's eyes, "Your parents are okay with it?"

Myka wondered about that sometimes. There were two sides to every coin. Her mother had listened when she'd spoken of Helena's problems (in the loosest, most vague sense she could), and had offered sympathy over Christina's loss. Myka supposed that that truly was something, even if she was sitting across from a guy her mother had set her up on a blind date with. She shrugged, "They don't seem to mind Helena, at least."

"That's her name?"

"Yes. Helena Wells." Myka nodded and sipped her coffee. "She's from just outside of London."

He smiled at her then, real and genuine. It was the smile that Myka remembered once finding very attractive and distracting as she helped Kurt muddle his way through freshman algebra. "I'd love to meet the girl that won your heart, Myka. Anyone good enough for you must be real special."

"Thanks." She grinned back at him.

He leaned forward then, fingers closing around the hand that she had rested on the table. They were warm, Myka shifted, wondering if it was inappropriate, if she should draw her hand away. "No, I really mean it." Kurt said seriously. "Seeing you at the reunion and talking to you there, I really saw how you've grown up. You're beautiful. I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you Kurt, really. It means more to me than you know."

x

Myka was half-buried in a research project a week later, following a hunch that her father had suggested when she posed a question about Bram Stoker and some of the implications of how the vampire mythos had come into being. She had several books propped open against the counter of the bookshop, furiously taking notes and pretending above all things that she was not a former college professor who still had aspirations of getting articles published in journals on occasion.

She'd wrapped up and submitted a piece for publishing the week before. Inspiration had hit her after her awkward (and yet nice) coffee date with Kurt Smoller They were going to stay in touch, never speak of what Pete had done in Myka's body again, and just be friends. It was good; Myka needed friends who were not connected to the warehouse in any way, shape, or form.

This subject was something that both Myka and her father found fascinating, and they'd managed to have an actual civil conversation about it. It had involved old books and old dead men, yes, but it was intriguing and fascinating and Myka was now taking copious notes just so that she could have another such conversation with her father later on.

Maybe she was a fool, but she did want to find something that she could connect to the man about. Be it literature or otherwise, he was still her father, no matter how much he'd hurt her.

It was early, and a Friday. No one had been into the shop yet this morning. Her father was out of town for the weekend, going to an estate sale some five hours from here, and Myka was in charge of the shop.

It was strange, because a part of her had always thought that she'd end up running Bering and Sons someday. Tracy had wanted to, but Myka loved the books so much more than Tracy ever had.

So she was minding the shop, reading old poems by obscure authors, and looking for common threads to pull together something that could pass as a research topic and thesis. Her dad had liked the other article she'd written, commenting that Myka had an uncanny understanding of early science fiction. She'd swelled with pride when he'd said that.

There was the sound of a car driving by and Myka glanced out the window disinterestedly, wondering who was up at nine thirty on a Friday morning when she was only halfway through her first cup of coffee. She nearly dropped her coffee mug when she saw Pete get out of the car that had parked just outside.

What was he doing here? Why didn't he call?

Her eyes narrowed as another man got out of the car as well, cracked his neck and stretched his hands over his head.

Who the hell is that?She thought, setting her coffee down and waiting to see what would happen.

Pete glanced around, as if he was on a covert, top-secret mission, before ducking into the shop. Myka stared at him over her glasses, frowning.

"Mykes!" He said excitedly, bounding over to her and stepping around the counter (employees only, there was a sign and everything) and pulling her into a bear hug. "Good to see you!"

The other man with Pete lingered by the door, looking awkward and uncomfortable as Myka rested her head on Pete's shoulder. She did rather like Pete's hugs, big brotherly and loving as they were. "Hey Pete," she said quietly.

He pulled away, smoothing her hair out of her face and grinning brightly at her. "You would not believe this case…" He began just as Myka started to speak as well.

"So… who's that?" She pointed to the guy who had now taken off his hat and was stomping bits of snow out of his boots on the welcome mat by the door.

Pete glanced over his shoulder, gesturing for the guy to come closer. He looked impossibly young, blond, and probably an FBI or ATF agent judging by the way he was standing (it was a very distinctive stance). Myka's brow furrowed and she frowned at the newcomer before turning her attention back to Pete.

"That… is my New Myka. Steve, this is Old Myka." He pointed to the guy – Steve, and then to Myka, as if that was all the introduction that was needed.

It wasn't, and Myka's face pulled even further into a frown. "Pete…" Myka's voice was low and full of warning. "Why is he here?"

Why am I being replaced? The thought came unbidden to her mind almost as quickly as the worry over Helena's status at the warehouse came into her mind. This was so not good.

She didn't think that Artie would do that to her, to Helena. But he had never fully warmed up to Helena.

Pete laughed, "He's HG's new partner, for when she comes back." He clapped Myka on the shoulders in a 'don't you worry your little head about it' sort of way and smiled encouragingly at Myka as her face visibly brightened.

The new guy, Steve, frowned; brow furrowing and suddenly looking far older than Myka guessed he was. "Who's HG? I thought I was gunna be working with an Agent Wells."

"HG is Agent Wells, Steve." Pete turned to look at Myka with a more serious expression on his face. "Artie doesn't want you two working together, seems to think that you'll get emotionally compromised."

She supposed that Artie was right, but Myka had sort of passively assumed that they'd all go into the field together. An extra pair of hands on sight during some of their field missions would be completely wonderful at times, and a vital necessity at others. She did understand, even if the phrase 'emotionally compromised' sounded like something out of one of Pete's comic books, rather than an actual state of being.

Myka wasn't sure if she could put neutralizing an artifact before Helena's life or safety. Pete's either, but that was another matter entirely.

Pete had once said that he wasn't worried about dying alone, because Myka was usually within ten feet of him, so they'd share the same fate. It was a little morbid, but heartening.

"He's right." Myka folded her arms across her chest and nodded. She turned to Steve and tried to smile at him, but the fact that Helena wasn't there was still an open wound in her heart and the words to express just how much Myka missed her did not come easily. She swallowed, "Helena… should be back soon."

Steve looked from Pete to Myka and then back again. His lips pulled downwards in annoyance. Myka wondered just how much he had been told before being sent out into the field on his first retrieval. She remembered her first, and how awful it had been, not knowing much of anything and just sort of following Pete around with a confused expression on her face. Pete was good for that, she supposed, and they'd found that magical pair of sports shorts regardless.

"Okay, seriously, who is this person I'm supposed to be working with if it's not you?" Steve didn't really sound annoyed, just weary and confused.

"Helena Wells," Myka supplied, taking pity on him. She didn't approve of how Artie never bothered to explain anything to anyone. He was of the mindset that the best way to prepare for the unknown was to go in blind, so you would not be shocked or amazed by anything that you might happen to witness. It was a good tactic, but people usually ended up getting hurt in the process, and Myka couldn't abide by that.

Steve nodded, apparently someone had told him the name, at least. That was a start. Myka added, feeling a little awkward because it wasn't really her place to be revealing such personal details. "She's ah… a unique warehouse agent. Sort of like a time traveler."

Pete clapped Steve on the shoulder, causing him to jump. "Only time travel doesn't exist," he pointed out gleefully. "Artie says so."

Well, they'd disproved that theory.

"Shut up Pete." Myka muttered under her breath, glaring at him. She was daring him to take it one step further, to tell Steve about what Helena had nearly done. She would hit him then, and he wouldn't like it. He never did. "Anyway, she was trapped in bronze, held in stasis for close to one hundred years."

A wide grin spread across Pete's face as he leaned forward to whisper in a scandalous tone, "Actually, it was carbonite."

Again? With the Star Wars? Myka rolled her eyes and kicked him in the shin. "Shut up Pete."

He gave her a wounded look, and she shook her head. She wasn't going to play the puppy dog eyes game with him again. Bastard always won.

"So… I will be working with Agent Wells?" Steve asked. Myka wondered if he was so overwhelmed by his reassignment that he was having trouble processing basic facts. It wasn't that hard to figure out really.

At least, Myka hoped she hadn't been that obtuse when first introduced to the Warehouse.

"Yes, when she gets back." Pete said. He was pulling a file out the backpack that Myka hadn't noticed he'd slung over one shoulder, fishing through it, pulling out some papers and holding them in his mouth until he could work his hands free. Myka was a little grossed out by that, and reminded herself, yet again, that nothing was safe when Pete was around. "She's on leave right now," Pete continued, setting the papers on the counter next to Myka's coffee cup, "Getting her head all shrinkydinked."

It was going to come out soon or later, but it wasn't there place to say. Myka put a warning hand on Pete's shoulder and shook her head, "I'm sure if Helena wants to tell you about it, she will, Steve." She gave him a small smile, before picking up her coffee mug and leaning over the pictures on the table. "So what's this case, can I help?"

"Artie said to leave you alone. You're on vay-cay, Mykes." Pete said, leaning over the papers as if he was trying to obscure them from her view.

"Oh." Myka said, pulling the report and crime scene photographs out from under Pete's elbow in a gesture born of far too much practice. She flipped through them disinterestedly until she found a line of what appeared to be poetry. She said it under her breath a few times, wondering what this could possibly have to do with William Shakespeare.

"But we're … ah, really stuck, so, uh, help?" Pete added.

Myka poked him in the shoulder, pushing her glasses back up her nose with her free hand. "Admit it, you'd be lost without me."

"Never!"

Myka shook her head at Pete and grinned at Steve over the photograph in her hand. "It's nice to meet you, by the way, I'm Myka Bering."

"Steve Jinks." He said, offering up his hand and Myka took it.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Helena could use a guy who seemed as even-keeled as Steve as a partner, it might prevent her from doing crazy insane things.

The case, as it turned out, wasn't really nearly as bad as Pete had made it out to be. Sure, people were dying, and it was basically just a huge game of Shakespeare trivia, but not a bad case. Myka had had to go upstairs and make sure her mother was alright to mind the shop for the day while she followed Steve and Pete the two hour and change drive up to Denver. She'd been shooed out of the house so quickly that Myka thought she was being disowned, not encouraged to go out and do her job.

Still, after being idle for nearly two weeks, it felt good to be back in the field, to help people. She'd saved lives, she realized as she drove back, saved the lives of several people who would have otherwise been killed by that folio of illustrations of the final scenes of Shakespeare's work. Pete had asked, as she'd gotten ready to leave, if she'd be coming home soon.

Myka had not had an answer. She wanted to say yes. Because it felt good and right to be a warehouse agent, to do what they did. But it was an empty feeling. A part of her was missing and Myka did not think that she could go back until she could at least talk to Helena and see how she was doing. Nearly three months of silence and the absence was killing her slowly.

She pulled into a rest area and got out of her mother's SUV, heading inside to where the sign promised hot coffee and facilities. The line was short and the coffee was piss-awful, but it did its job and Myka was distracted from her melancholy for a long and drawn-out moment.

She missed Helena, missed her with every fiber of her being. She hadn't been aware that the ache would be so acute, that she'd be so lost without her lover.

They had done this before, and it had been alright then.

So much had changed in that short a period of time.

When she arrived home, Myka sat in the car for several long and drawn-out moments with her head bent and pressed against the steering wheel, simply breathing. She didn't know why she felt so overwhelmed with everything. Everyone else was moving on, helping the new hire get acclimated, but Myka felt as though she was stuck, lingering in a life that had been brutally ripped away from her.

Helena should not mean this much to her. It was illogical, impractical, not to mention probably a little obsessive to love someone so much. And yet, here Myka was, struggling with the fact that she really was not coping at all.

She slammed the car door on her way out, watching as it rattled before hitting the lock button on her mother's keys. She had to get her head into the right place.

x

On the last day of February, Myka had decided that sitting around at home moping would not solve any of her problems. She was gathering her things, packing up the books that she had brought with her and borrowed from her father, when it finally happened. After three full months of waiting, Myka found herself jumping out of her skin as Mrs. Frederic walked through the front door of Bering and Sons completely unannounced.

Myka looked around, suddenly grateful that her father had gone upstairs to get her suitcase – her flight was in three hours – she was going to need to leave soon.

"Agent Bering, it is time." Mrs. Frederic said, shifting slightly so that Myka could see that she was not alone. Myka's eyes widened and her face erupted into a grin.

The books in her hands suddenly seemed inconsequential as Myka hastily shoved them back onto the counter. She crossed the room quickly, stepping around Mrs. Frederic, who had a bemused smile on her face.

Honestly, if there was ever a time for restraint, this would be it, but Myka had gone far too long with no contact and Mrs. Frederic could deal with it.

"Hello Myka," Helena said quietly.

"Hey," Myka's face softened, and when Helena's hand reached out to grasp her own, Myka felt her smile grow even wider.

Helena's hand was cool, a normal temperature in her hand. It seemed that the long-term effects of the bronzer had finally worn off, and Helena's body was relatively returned to normal. There was a warmth in her eyes and a smile about Helena's lips that made Myka want to lean in and kiss them. She couldn't, not in front of Mrs. Frederic.

Well, maybe she could.

Myka leaned forward, pressing her lips against Helena's cheek, before she found herself abruptly pulled into a very tight and desperate-feeing hug. Helena smelled like the compressed air of an airplane, and Myka didn't care.

"I missed you so much," She whispered.

Helena's only response was to pull Myka in even closer.

"Agent Wells has passed her evaluations with flying colors," Mrs. Frederic said quietly, bringing them both back to reality. "We were hoping that she could travel with you back home."

Myka smiled, "I think we can arrange that."

Helena grinned back at her.

"I will be in touch," Mrs. Frederic said, nodding at the pair of them before walking out of the bookshop like a perfectly normal person, not some timeless guardian of the warehouse.

The door closed and suddenly there was a moment where everyone was exceedingly awkward. Myka shoved her hands into her pockets and finally had a moment to really look at Helena.

"So uh… all that?" Myka gestured to Helena's battered jeans and loose fitting white tee that made her look like she'd just fallen out of the nineties and not the eighteen nineties.Myka had half a mind to loan her a flannel shirt – just to complete the utter ridiculousness of the look.

Helena grinned sheepishly. "I do feel rather exposed." She rubbed her arms, shivering in the bookstore's cool air. Myka's father was always a little skimpy on the heat during the spring, he figured it was warm enough for the snow to melt; they could cut down on the heating costs. It was February though, not even technically spring.

Also he was a firm believer in layers, of which Helena was currently only wearing one.

"Part of my therapy," Helena continued, meeting Myka's questioning gaze. "Acclimating myself to the times."

Myka stared down at her hands. "I liked how you dressed… before."

"I did as well, darling. Now, get me out of this place and home so that I may get out of these awful modern trousers." She glanced around, eyes narrowing. "I thought that you said that you would not come back here."

"Artie made me take a vacation," Myka explained, crossing back over to the counter and collecting the last of her books. "To clear my head. This was where the plane ticket took me."

Comprehension flew across Helena's face and she nodded. "Have you been well?"

"Just lonely," Myka explained, stuffing books into her carry-on. "Come on, we're going to miss the plane."

x

It was easier to talk when not in the shadow of her father's house. Myka asked Helena about her time with the regents, and Helena had explained the process of getting one's emotions stripped with the aide of an artifact and then carefully reapplied one by one. It sounded gruesome, unpleasant, and not something that Myka would wish on anyone, but Helena seemed to have accepted that it was a necessary evil.

"Truthfully, I did not want to have them taken from me, but they assured me that I would be given every emotion back exactly as I'd left it," Helena explained as the plane bore them closer to the snowy wasteland that they called home. "I think that it just adjusted my perspective a bit. I've had my revenge; it is now a time to heal."

"I wish that they'd let me write to you," Myka grumbled. Their hands had been locked together since they'd boarded the plane and Myka did not see that changing any time soon. It felt good, right, safe. And Myka liked it that way.

She'd felt so out of control the past few weeks. Being home, trying to make nice with her dad. Everything seemed to be working out, but there had been one thing lacking, the thread of her ability to feel in control of her life. Now, with Helena back, Myka was hopeful that things would go back to normal in that regard as well.

She told Helena about Steve Jinks, her new partner. About how Pete had tried to go play in a blizzard, about the Christmas Day Armistice artifact that they'd found in LA. She was just catching her up on the details of how Claudia's first month of classes had gone at State when Helena kissed her.

There were three other people on the plane. Pierre Regional in the middle of February was not was not exactly the most desired of destinations, especially not out of Colorado Springs.

Myka kissed Helena back, fingers threading through soft hair.

There were things that could be said in a kiss that could not be said in words. Myka had read enough books to know that as fact, but when Helena's lips pressed against her own, Myka realized something else entirely.

You are my home.

And that was the greatest feeling in the world.

The End
Or is it?