It's not hard for Myka to track Claudia's movements away from the bed-and-breakfast, but that's only because Claudia doesn't seem to care about being found or not. If Claudia had really wanted to disappear, Myka knows that the younger woman could easily make that happen.
Instead, Myka follows the trail left behind by determined feet and it leads to where all those who are lost want to go – home.
Or the semblance of home, the ghost of what used to be home; now, it is just metal girders and the beginning of walls and smooth pallets of fresh concrete. Warehouse 13 – our home, our everything – is just a memory now, quick to be replaced and renamed out here in reality. But Myka's eyes still strain to see what has been destroyed and she suspects that Claudia's gaze is doing the very same thing.
And it is just the two of them, standing side by side, staring at where there used to be shelves lined with artifacts; staring at where hallways used to hold laughter and wonder and purpose. Myka's eyes hurt from all that should be in front of them but that is not, so she looks at Claudia instead. Myka takes in hands that clench and unclench, as if they do not know what to do with themselves. And Myka catches the sheen of tears as they silently fall down Claudia's face, as the sadness gathers at the chin and then hits the ground.
Myka watches as Claudia teeters between fury and hopelessness, between ideas of right and wrong, between now and once upon a time.
And while Myka Bering is usually one for plans, for strategic methods and standard protocols, life is never that simple to manage.
Sometimes, you just have to wing it. Sometimes, you have to break your own rules.
Myka grabs a hold of one of those clenching-and-unclenching hands, interlacing those rigid fingers with her own, and then she turns her whole body into Claudia's. She moves quietly and swiftly, slipping her other arm around Claudia's waist and pulls the younger woman to her.
And it is just the two of them, standing together, as Claudia's soft weeping soaks into Myka's shirt.
/
"What was it like in your dream?"
At some point, Claudia's crying stops. At some point, they let go of each other and slide, unceremoniously, to the ground. At some point, the morning gives way to the late afternoon and shadows now hovered over their faces; the new warehouse is nothing more than a disjointed skeleton against the dirt and sand.
"It was good… But it was too good to be true."
At some point, their eyes meet and quietly hold. At some point, Claudia exhales so deeply that Myka feels her own muscles relax in response. At some point, they move and sit closer to one another; shoulders pressed together like soldiers in a foxhole – it's do or die time again.
"I've had dreams like that. About my parents, about Joshua… when I thought he was really dead…"
At some point, the sun starts its lazy descent from the sky and everything turns a golden red. At some point, on the distant horizon, a few stars start to turn on their astronomical charms. At some point, Claudia leans heavier onto Myka's shoulder and the neediness of this gesture – the heartbreaking tenderness of this moment – almost causes Myka to breakdown for the hundredth time in so many days.
"I've been having dreams of using the metronome, of Steve being alive again…and then he just walks through the door, like Sykes never existed, like a bomb didn't just obliterate the coolest fucking place on this planet, like the Regents never lied to us… I've been having these really wonderful, really shitty dreams, Myka… and I want them to stop. I just want all of this to stop hurting so damn much."
At some point, Myka's arm is around Claudia and her fingers are gripping the younger woman's side like a rope when one is drowning. At some point, the heavens grow dark and constellations play an ancient game of connect-the-dots. At some point, each of their Farnsworth's rings out with questions – Are you okay? When are you coming back? Please… don't be gone too long…
"Me, too, Claudia… Me, too."
At some point, Myka tells a bittersweet story about love found, about love lost and Claudia listens without speaking; Myka's voice is warm and Claudia takes comfort in the sound of it. At some point, they both look up to the nighttime sky and whisper good-byes that only the dead can hear.
And they know that, at some point, it won't hurt as much as it does right now. At some point, the wounds will turn to scars and even those scars will gently fade away.
At some point, this brave new world will make sense once again.
/
Pete-hugs are always pretty special.
And this is one is no less spectacular, but it is not as goofy as it once would have been. It is a serious sort of thing and the 'old' Myka would have felt strange in this Pete's embrace.
But 'new' Myka returns the favor, holding on just as tightly. And then she is stepping back, then she is pulling Claudia forward and watching as Pete envelopes the younger woman.
And the two of them stay that way for a while, with Artie close by and Leena smiling through some tears… or crying through some joy… or both.
They are all sort of crying, all sort of grinning.
They are all sort of healing.
Finally.
/
And at some point, Myka slips away to her bedroom. She sinks down onto the mattress and allows the tiredness to cover her body up; fluttering eyelids and increasingly heavy limbs.
But before slumber can overtake her, Myka reaches out to the table by her bed and there it is – right where she left it, after everything went so wrong…
…Helena's locket.
And at some point, Myka falls asleep – the first real sleep she has had in weeks – with that locket held fast in her hands.
/
"It's a funny sort of thing, watching you sleep… Sometimes, your lips move, like you are trying to speak but cannot find the energy to do so… "
Myka keeps her eyes closed but an amused smile slides sleepily across her face. And one of her hands leaves the cocoon of bed-sheets and wanders over towards that voice, fingers lightly dancing over what feels like an arm - all soft and smooth.
"…And just where do you think you're going, Agent Bering?"
Myka sighs in hazy contentment and turns towards that lilting question, wanting to burrow her face into this fantasy for as long as she can.
"Nowhere. At least… not until morning."
She can feel the bed shift, feel her own body dip to the right, feel the heat from the proximity of another person. And Myka's hand moves as if underwater, languid passage from elbow to shoulder and back again; she is creating a map that no eye can ever truly see.
Then there is the firm press of lips against Myka's forehead.
"Until morning then."
/
And for a second, when Myka opens her eyes and the sun blinds her because of curtains never closed, Myka swears that Helena is beside her – smiling like it's the end of the world and there is nothing left to lose, nothing left to hide…
Myka blinks, though, and her room returns in sharp focus… and she is alone.
"Just another dream…"
But her fingers instinctually flex and the locket is still there within them, so Myka curls up on her side and studies this piece of Helena that she has been left with.
Because that's what it is, after-all – it is a part of Helena's soul, the very best part, when the woman was ready to save the world and protect the future; from a time when the woman believed in the good of everyone and, especially, in the good of herself.
And Myka finally knows all that Helena was trying to say that day, with a 'thank you' and the scent of sweet fruit swirling around; with a barrier once more keeping them apart, keeping them separate.
You believed in yourself again, didn't you, Helena? You believed in the Warehouse and in the days to come…
Myka finally knows that she can truly say those words out loud and not just in some artifact-induced dream, not just in a shadowy whisper; she can say those words to anyone who may ask about H.G. Wells and want to know why Myka always smiles, to anyone who mentions the inventor's name and wants to know why Myka's eyes always gather such a fond look.
…You no longer believed yourself to be broken, isn't that true, Helena? You wanted to rescue the world once more…
And Myka finally knows that her love for this unimaginably beautiful and damaged woman was never unrequited; they were in love with one another long before Myka could pinpoint the feeling and long before Helena could let go of the past, long before betrayals and bombs and terrible farewells.
…You believed in what you felt for me and you saved me, Helena…
That's what you did, Helena, you saved me…
/
And there, in the sunlight, she holds up Helena's locket and watches it twist and spin; she watches Helena's heart burn all golden and lovely as it turns and turns.
"I love you, too."
/
(END)
I prefer hopeful endings, not perfect ones. Plus, this story gave me an excuse to explore 'The Wizard of Oz' in a much deeper manner than I ever had before.
Thanks to anyone who read this thing - it is appreciated.