Each face holds a little something different, along lines grown over time or at the edge of lips; each face tells its own story and, if one is used to reading such things, then what a face can tell a person is just as good as hearing words falling from the tongue.

Her father used to have this cold line that ran through his eyes, like a sudden bolt of a blinding blackness, and she'd catch a glimpse of it if she looked for too long – during an argument where he was the only one speaking or right before he'd dismiss whatever choice she might be making that he did not approve of.

On his face read the story of subtle sacrifices and of stunted dreams; of yearnings lost in between pages, desires yellowed with time and with decay.

She learned to look away.

But that's a young girl no longer around – or, at least, not around much anymore. Of course, that girl still pops her head over the countertop on occasion. If a new artifact is particularly amazing or if there is actually a good book to read as the nighttime wanders in, then that young girl turns a secret smile out towards the world.

Right now, though, that young girl is gone.

And the adult standing in that young girl's place is using every bit of willpower left to not look away.

Don't walk away. Don't you even think about walking away.

The faces opposite of her are deafening, though.

And what wounded tale should she try and decipher first? Whose story should she fall into and then work to complete?

Will it be Artie, with his mixture of disappointment and weary understanding (a single sentence resting heavy on his brow)? Or should it be Leena, with her tired smile full of muted pain (a cursive lament running the length of her jaw)? Or should it be Pete, with his big-brother gaze trained just past her head (a torrent of phrases and confessions stamped on his chin and underneath his eyes) and arms crossed over his chest…?

But Myka is fairly certain that none of these stories will quite match the one that glares the hardest from against the wall, spine as stiff as newly bound leather upon the shelf.

There's a whole novel scratched out on Claudia's face, written down with every dark hour that has passed, and there are passages that even the most dedicated bibliophile could never trace the origins of. There are a multitude of accusations waiting impatiently upon Claudia lips, harkening back to a conversation held only days ago – the two of us, in the living room, with the metronome and with our restless grief – and Myka isn't sure she'll ever be able to defend her actions to the younger woman.

"…And don't you dare tell me that you wouldn't do the same for someone you truly care for…"

And it's the same thing (a metronome or a pair of enchanted shoes), but it's not the same thing at all. It's a terrible case of splitting hairs and it probably won't solve the problem at hand – it won't completely explain Myka's insubordination or fix Claudia's determined rage.

But honesty is the only hand that Myka has left to play these days.

"I know what I've done is wrong and if this course of action has wrecked the trust you have in me… I'll understand. I'll take whatever punishment the regents have in mind for me, but I won't stand here and say that I am sorry for what I did, for taking an artifact and using it…"

The words are becoming clearer to comprehend now, each one embedded deeper along the skin of the people listening to her so quietly.

You didn't think this through, did you? And now you could be taken away from me, too… Artie's stare moves to the table, burning holes into something tangible because this isn't how any of this is supposed to be.
You're the last one that I thought would break like this… Leena ever so slowly looks to the floor, as if the auras all around the woman are too much to take in.
Why didn't you come to me? You always take off instead of coming to me… Pete's eyes manage a space somewhere between hard and vulnerable as they refuse to look away from Myka's face.
You're just a fucking hypocrite, that's all you are… Claudia's gaze is perfectly cool, though, and there isn't a hint of softness to be found within the younger woman's visage.

Myka has to swallow down her fears now, has to push back the urge to beg or cry or a thousand other reactions that probably wouldn't serve her very well in this moment.

And Myka has to keep reminding her feet to stay put, too.

"…Don't walk away from your truth…"

Like an invisible hand in her own, Myka continues to draw strength from Helena; to draw confidence from a memory and from one of her fondest wishes and from every moment that the two of them ever shared – real or otherwise.

"…I didn't want to bring anyone back, to bring the Warehouse back. God knows, I wish I could. I wish I could just snap my fingers and end this nightmare we've been living in… There's no way I can do that, though. And I… I needed to say good-bye. I didn't even get the chance to really say good-bye and it has been killing me from the inside-out…"

Claudia's eyes are so sharp that Myka thinks she can feel her own flesh splitting open, layers of muscle being pulled back until Myka is exposed to the entire world. But, of course, stopping now is not an option. If any of them are to survive past this day, there is no corner that can be left in the dark.

"…It's been killing me and I thought this would make it better. I thought that seeing the Warehouse again, that seeing all of us happy again, would help me to not feel so damn lost. And I wanted to feel good again. I wanted to pretend that I could sleep through the night and wake up with the world intact once more… But it wasn't like that at all. It was just a dream. And there wasn't ever going to be enough time to say all that I wanted to say. All I had were fragments of what used to be and what never was… It was just a damn dream and a part of me thinks that I've just made it worse for myself, you know? Because even though I knew it wasn't real, I had everything I ever wanted… and then I had to let it go."

It looks like Pete is holding his breath. It looks like he wants so badly to get up and wrap her up in his arms, to strip away her pain and replace it with the surety they all used to feel. This Pete looks a lot like the one in Myka's dream, as if he knows more than he'll ever let on and as if his hands alone are the ones to catch her as she falls. But the ground is rushing up to meet her nonetheless and there's no stopping any of this now.

"And it hurts. All of this hurts so fucking much and I'm not sure if I'll ever get over it... but I came back. I came back because this is my home. This is my home and you are my family. And I want all of us to be okay again. I don't want false promises and I don't want to act like everything is fine when it isn't but I can't do this alone anymore… I don't know why I ever thought I could. I need you, Pete. And I need you, Artie, and you, Leena…"

And it's not just Pete or Claudia looking at her now; it is all four of them. As if held suspended by her voice, they watch her and they wait in silence. They wait for her to finish this story, once and for all.

Just waiting for me to click those heels one more time…

"And you, Claudia, I need you… Because I can't lose another person that I love…"

The anger doesn't go away so much as it twists and turns in the younger woman's face, mixing with sadness and tiredness. And the tears escape anyway, breaking past the defenses that Claudia has maintained since Steve was taken away from them.

"…I can't lose you, Claude, so please… don't use the metronome… and don't walk away from me."

Claudia sort of laughs but it sounds sort of like a sob instead. Then she pushes off the wall with a rough shove, spinning on the balls of her booted feet and is out of the room like a shot. Pete is up automatically, ready to give chase, but Myka raises her hands in a motion to stop him.

"Let me be the one to go after her, okay?"
"Mykes, I don't know—"
"Pete, I'll bring her back. Trust me."

Pete's smile is more incredulous than pleased and he runs a hand over his head in frustration.

"You took an artifact and used it. You disappeared and didn't tell anyone where you were going. You shut me out again, Myka, and you want me to trust you now? You want me to stand here and let you be the one to try and talk Claudia out of bringing Steve back to life… Why should I do that?"

But Pete isn't looking to be proven right; he is looking to be proven wrong. He is searching Myka's face relentlessly, looking for the shade and the shape of his best friend.

"I wasn't going to leave this time, Pete. I was always going to come back. Always."

And the air pushes out of his mouth, an exhalation that says so much more than can ever be put into words, and then he nods his head.

"Okay. Okay, bring her back, Mykes. I'll be right here if you need me… I'll be right here."

And Myka smiles at him, a real smile that hasn't seen the light of day in far too long (except in a dream, in a wonderful, wonderful dream…)

"I'm counting on that, Lattimer."

/ /

TBC