AN: Hey, everybody. So, I have decided, as you see, to continue the story. I just wanted to say thanks for all the interest and for taking the time to not only read but respond; it was far more than I expected, and I love hearing your thoughts. Feedback is always the best way to improve. We'll see how it goes, and back to the story.

She half hoped for nightmares, odd as that may be. That was the logical response, wasn't it? Bad things happen, there are nightmares. The mind works through the trauma while we sleep, at least a little. Nightmares would make sense. When did anything with this woman make sense? Myka supposed there would be plenty of time for nightmares later. She should be glad for the stillness while it lasts.

They slept for nineteen hours and change. Nineteen hours. Well, she slept for nineteen hours; it looked like Helena was pushing for at least twenty. And she snored. The morning was slipping by quickly, and Helena needed to eat something. The last thing Myka really wanted to do, however, was move. Helena was wrapped around her, grasping her like a teddy bear, head tucked into Myka's neck, thighs wrapped possessively around one of her own. And she was warm, and smelled sweet. The smell wasn't quite right, but Myka would find the spicier body wash Helena had always preferred later. That would help. Myka tightened her grip slightly; her arms seemed to have wrapped themselves around her waist, one hand slipping up into Helena's hair, tucking the face closer, the other firmly planted on her butt. Holding her was almost painful; the only real indication Helena was alive at all was the slight puff of air tickling her skin. The breaths were so shallow, as thin as she was, you couldn't feel Helena's chest move.

The light was soft this time of the morning, filtering in through the half closed drapes, falling over the covers. Everything seemed slightly golden, the bedspread, the dust motes floating through the air, Helena's skin.

Her back was a patchwork of bruises, sterile pads, bone. But she practically glowed after the bath, the skin stretched thin, flushing easily and brightly. It was both wondrous and horrifying all at once. Her thumb rubbed small circles just below Helena's ear, her lips ghosting over her hairline. She would make Helena safe. She was loved; she would be safe. She was hers.

She pulled air in through her nose and burrowed into the bedding. She would enjoy this one morning. No one knew just how bad it would get, so she would enjoy this one morning. Planting her lips firmly on Helena's crown, she settled in and closed her eyes, letting herself drift for just a little longer. Breakfast could wait another half hour.

It was closer to eleven when her eyes opened up again and found herself staring directly into a pair of brown ones. The way the light hit, little flecks of gold and green shone, setting them alight in a way Myka'd never seen before. The eyes stared back, refusing to blink. There was recognition there, a calmness lacking the day before. "Hello." She whispered and watching dark lashes flutter. She pressed her lips to Helena's forehead before pulling back again.

Fingers slipped up Myka's neck, scraping slightly as a jagged-edged nail caught. Along her jaw, past the curl that refused to stay tucked away. A single finger found its way to her lips, touching the lower one softly, back and forth it slipped. Myka kissed it gently, never breaking eye contact and Helena's seemed to widen just slightly, but the finger didn't stop. It slipped upward, tickling just under Myka's nose, tracing the few freckles of her cheek, tugging at her eyebrows. "Myka."

The voice was hoarse, choppy, but clear in a way it wasn't the day before. It was intentional. It was wonderful. Myka turned her head and rubbed her nose against the wrist. "Your Myka." She wanted no confusion on this point, no doubt as they moved forward. Myka was hers, wholly. Unabashedly. Just as Helena was hers. Later, much later, they could talk about Yellowstone and Myka could voice her disappointment, anger, but later was not now. Forgiveness had long since been given and there would be no doubt. Helena was loved, and damned it if she wasn't going to know it at the outset.

"Mine." Just a touch clearer. Her eyes sparked.

Myka just smiled and listened to the sounds coming from downstairs. She could hear faint voices through the door, shuffling around in the kitchen. The real world still existed, and it was about to intrude. Step one: Lunch.

"Helena, it's lunch time. We need to eat. I'm going to run downstairs and grab something. You just stay here and keep the bed cozy, okay? You seemed to do well with the broth last night, so I want to go slow with a protein shake for lunch, something with a little more to it. We're going to try several meals through the day. Your body needs the calories. I'll be back before you even miss me."

When Myka went to shift away, Helena simply redoubled her grip and a low keening sounded in the back of her throat. The slight shaking started up again, and Myka could feel her panting against her neck, short and fast. Every time Helena shifted, pulling herself tighter against Myka she grunted, the pull aggravating the marks on her back, the rib Myka was convinced was at least cracked. She was going to pull herself apart again without a second thought.

"Easy." Myka leaned into her, wrapping her arm back around the twitching shoulders, trapping thighs with her own. She rocked them slowly, softly in the little nest they'd made of the sheets overnight, shushing the woman, stroking her flank. "Don't go."

Myka's eyes slammed shut, and she struggled to swallow down the lump at Helena's plea. There was something molten creeping through her system, burning her from the gut outward. She just needed to breath. She'd only felt pain like this once before, and even losing Sam couldn't quite compare. Only once, when Myka refused to look up from her boots as the cars drove away, had she ever felt this pain.

When she was sure she wouldn't choke, Myka just nuzzled her hair. "I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving you, I promise. But, we need to eat." She reached back with one hand, her fingers fidgeting for her wristwatch, scraping across the leather when she found purchase and bringing it between them. The constant tick, while normally rather annoying, was oddly soothing and Myka clung to the sound. She untangled Helena's hand from her sleeve and gave her the watch to hold.

"I'll only be gone fifteen minutes. No more than fifteen minutes. Then I'll be back, and we can eat and snuggle up right here for the afternoon. You can tell me a story." She stroked a lock of hair, pushing it behind her ear, letting her fingers travel through the strands. She loved Helena's hair. "I love your stories." Her voice was light, coaxing, a familiar teasing infused around the edges.

She watched as dark eyes scrunched shut, a little furrow appearing on her forehead and her breaths became deeper. She pulled the watch tight to her chest, the tick muffled by her grip. The eyes snapped open and latched onto hers. They were afraid, tired, anxious. There was a flicker, though, of more. There was the barest hint of stubbornness.

They darted around the room, landing briefly on the window, seeing a finch fly by, before landing back on Myka. Her mouth opened, closed. She exhaled in what would almost be a huff under any other set of circumstances. "I—"

She cut off, mouth working, struggling. With every phrase, it became clearer to Myka that Helena was in there, intact, if that was the right way to think of it. They hadn't broken her, not completely. That she was managing this much after only a night was impressive, a testament to the mind, the woman. Myka honestly hadn't expected more for quite awhile. Her heart swelled while Helena fought for her voice. "No longer." She shook her fist weakly for emphasis, the leather watchstraps flapping, slapping Myka in the chest.

"No, no longer." Myka pecked her on the tip of her nose. Very deliberately, Myka pulled the hand still wrapped around her t-shirt away and pulled it to her pillow instead, moving it between them as she slid back. Helena understood the intent, grabbing hold with both arms, burying her face in it for a moment, seeming to sag into the cushion. Myka had never been so glad to have forgotten to change her pillowcase in her life and could practically hear Helena snuffing away. She had a flash of a pig digging for truffles and her lips quirked.

The watch reappeared, resting on top, ready. An eye peaked out as the bed shifted, Myka standing, shaking off the head rush, and grabbing her bathrobe from the chair. Helena watched the whole process, breathing deeply, nose buried in the pillow. But there were no shakes. Her eyes followed Myka's hands as they reached for her glasses and put them on, too tired to deal with contacts. The last thing either of them needed was her putting her own eye out. She belted the robe and began to walk away from the bed, watching Helena the whole time, fingers sliding over covered toes as she passed. The foot twitched away, but she didn't seem afraid. Apparently, Helena was ticklish.

Her hand on the knob, her heart pounding, she noted the time. "Ready?"

A pause, long enough that Myka almost fled back to the bed. Gripping the watch tight, Helena nodded, a jerky motion to be sure, but she got it out. "Set."

The knob turned, hinges creaking. And Myka was away. "Go."

"Tell me, again, exactly what Mrs. Fredrick told you." Artie huffed, making his eyebrows twitch. The splotchy red of his cheeks gave away just how displeasing he found the current situation. Well, the red splotches and his body weight in cookies he'd been baking for the last twelve hours. Even Pete was having trouble keeping up. He had been at the Warehouse when Helena and Mrs. Fredrick arrived. It was a less than pleasant experience to come back for dinner only to find Pete standing at the base of the stairs, waiting for him. Neither he, Claudia, nor Steve thought it necessary to call him while Mrs. Fredrick gave them the basic information. Hence the cookies. And the yelling.

Pete just sighed, his shoulders almost under his ears before falling with a drama all their own. "Artie," he whined just a little, but the glare he got in return cut it off. "Fine. She said we're not supposed to bother them until Myka says it's okay. H.G. isn't a big baddie anymore. The Regents know she's here, and we're 'to show her every kindness.'" He brought his fingers up to snap off a set of air quotes before reaching for another cookie and shoving it in his mouth. "She said she'd be back with your Dr. Vanessa, probably tomorrow, and give us the rundown then. We're pretty much just supposed to chill until then." He grabbed another cookie. He so needed a meeting.

He was still trying to shake the image of H.G. from the day before, but every time he closed his eyes, he could see her, hanging like a ragdoll of Mrs. F smelling like some overworked troubadour. As if that weren't bad enough, the outline of it on Mrs. F when she finally came back downstairs was enough to put him off his dinner. She hadn't stayed to wait for Artie to get back from the Warehouse, just left him a pull notice for Myka, told them to play nice, and made it clear H.G. was supposed to be treated like one of them. She exited stage left. He slept with his gun under the pillow.

He spent twenty minutes just standing outside Myka's door after he woke up, listening to the whimpers and little sighs coming from inside. He had almost broken down the door when he heard the first one, thinking H.G. had played them again and Myka was in trouble, but he knew what Myka's whimpers sounded like. Those weren't it. He was almost ashamed of how glad he was they weren't. Almost, but not quite.

Pete tuned back into the conversation just in time to see Claudia break out her laptop and boot it up. She pulled it back sharply as Artie shook his half-filled coffee mug at her, emphasizing whatever point he'd made. "I want you to figure out what that woman is doing here. They trusted her once and look what happened. That—that harpy isn't getting her claws in my Warehouse again! When I find out what sh—"

"You're not going to do anything, Artie." Myka cut him off, practically sliding around the corner and into the kitchen. Her socks made traction a pipedream and she shuffled to catch her balance. Her curls flopped around her face, blinding her for a second while she gripped the countertop and whipped around to face Artie. "You're not going to do anything. Mrs. Frederick left Helena with me, promised she was safe here. Helena is going to stay, get better. She's coming back to the Warehouse, and you're going to stop poking, stop prodding, and definitely stop threatening. Put the laptop away, Claudia." Myka turned away and started digging in the fridge, bringing out the milk before reaching for Pete's protein powder and breaking out the blender. "Pete, what's the time?"

"11:13. Why?"

"Eleven minutes." She muttered to herself while she read the back of the package, dumping everything in and hitting blend.

"Look. It's bad. Okay? Bad. I don't know what happened, I don't know what they did, but it's bad. She needs help, and I love her, so I'm going to help. We can deal with what—with everything else later, but for now, we help."

Myka just shook her head, giggling the blender a little, trying to speed it up. "I know you're worried, Artie, I get it. God knows if anyone understands, it's me. But you're going to have to trust me." She stopped for a second, a flash of disappointment clouding her features before clearing almost as quickly as it came.

"If that's not good enough, then trust Mrs. Frederick. Right now, I'm a little too amped up to care. But you're not hurting Helena." She shut off the blender and reached for two glasses. "Pete, time?"

"11:19."

"Gotta go! We'll talk, really talk, later. Promise." And she was gone.

There was silence in her wake as each person just watched her all but run for the stairs, trying not to spill shake all over the floor. "Keep digging, Claudia."

"Artie! Not cool. You heard Mykes. She'll kill me! And then Mrs. F.'ll fire me! And I am too adorable to be unemployed." Claudia bundled up her laptop and started making her way into the living room.

"I get that's it's a novel concept, but will you just do what I tell you without arguing for once? This isn't right, and we don't have time for our usual rounds of 'argue with Artie.' Find out why she's here and let me know. I'm heading back to the Warehouse. Pete, you stay here. We'll be on shifts. If that woman leaves the room, I don't care, shoot her."

Pete threw his hands up, shaking his head and taking a decided step backward. "Nuh-uh, noooo! Nothin' doin'. Look, Artie, man, I don't like her here anymore than you do. Lady Cookoo up there is not my favorite person right now, but, man, you didn't see her. She's not moving. Plus, both Mrs. F. and Myka say she's okay. And they are both way scarier than you. Myka hits. Like, hard. Make me cry and lose my man-card hard."

Artie looked over, incredulous. "Yes, and she's the one that brought that cobra into Warehouse in the first place. So now we have to be the —"

"Dude, I swear, if you say you're a mongoose, I'm gonna tell Vanessa all about the time I caught you moonwalking down the NASA aisle. I got tape, old man."

"You wouldn't?"

"Tape." Pete snorted.

Artie huffed. "Fine. Just get me that information. I want something before she's mobile." He stomped out of the B&B, the door rattling on its hinges. And then there was quiet.

"Moonwalking?"

"Yup."

"Any good?"

"Papa Bear got skills."

"Lemme see?"

"Later. We'll put it on loop and grab a pizza. It's soooo much better with musical accompaniment."

"Nice."

Myka managed not to slosh as she stopped outside her door. Tucking one glass into her elbow, she turned the knob and walked in. She was met with a pair of dark eyes staring over the rim of her watch, naked shoulders, and the most wane, but welcome little grin she'd ever seen. A pink tongue darted out to lick at chapped lips. "Three minutes left."

Myka laughed.

The next twenty-four hours was made up of coaxing Helena to sip at her protein shakes, naps, and bathroom trips that dragged the energy out of both of them. Anytime Myka was out of her sight, Helena gripped the watch, watching the door, face buried in the pillow. There had even been a sponge bath, a towel laid across the bed and a warm, damp, washcloth stroking against cool skin. Helena had practically been purring by the end, to the point where she barely stirred when Myka removed her bandages and re-cleaned the wounds before bandaging them once more. At least her issues with water seemed to be limited to large tubs of it. Myka decided the next time they needed to wash her hair, they'd try a shower.

Helena was sleeping, head on her pillow and the fingers of one hand wrapped firmly in Myka's curls when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Myka looked down as Helena stirred, the sheet draped low over her hips slipped further, the barest hint of cleft peeking out. Tugging it back up and lifting it carefully to rest just under her shoulders, she untangled herself from Helena and went to the door. The faintest hint of a whine sounded and she rubbed a heel in passing. Helena sighed and quieted down. "Come back to bed."

Myka ran her hand through her hair, hoping to look at least reasonably human, but gave it up as a lost cause after the third knot. There was only one person that would be knocking anyway, and she wasn't there to see Myka. Standing on the other side was Dr. Vanessa. Warehouse doctor, mean gin player, and tamer of all things Artie. Myka opened the door and received a soft smile. "Good morning, Myka. I hear you've got a stowaway in here. Mind if I come in?"

Myka quirked a grin and stepped aside, letting the other woman enter. She popped her head out the door, looking down the hallway. "Don't worry. Irene is downstairs with the gang, Grumpy Gus included. I think she's planning on finding you before she leaves."

Myka nodded and made her way back to the bed, propping herself up against the headboard while Vanessa stood at the foot. Helena wrapped her hand around Myka's thigh, eyes trained on Vanessa. She pulled her feet up and away from the end of the bed, curling them under Myka as well. The actions were not lost on either woman. "It's all right, Helena." Vanessa soothed, her voice soft. "Myka can stay right where she is. We just need to give you a once over. I know it probably hurts, but I'll be gentle and get out of your hair." Vanessa stepped around and stood behind Helena, gently pulling the sheet down and folding it at her lower back to start. Helena flinched as she reached for the first gauze, pulling away the tape holding it in place. She was about to look to Myka, but she was already slipping to her side, dropping nose to nose with the other woman. Vanessa could feel Helena's entire frame relax under her hands.

She pulled the bandage away, taking in the sore underneath. It was clean, deeper than she'd like, but there were no signs of infection. Myka had done very well. One by one the bandages came off, only small flinches and shakes for her effort. Vanessa could see Myka's lips moving, but her voice was too soft to hear. But there was a sparkle in her eye and Helena was still. She took in the full span of Helena's back. With the right combination of cream and a little extra Warehouse-approved help, there should be little to no scaring.

Vanessa reached down and pulled out a pair of goggles, dark round lenses held by leather straps. Effective, but after so many years, they smelled like wet dog. "What're those?" Myka nodded toward the goggles, catching Helena's attention as well. She leaned away and further into Myka. Vanessa rested them on her forehead.

"Wilhelm Conrad Roetgen's work goggles. He accidently discovered x-rays and was the first to use them similarly to as we do today. My favorite was always the one of his wife's hand with their wedding band. I love useful accidents. It allows me to see the skeletal structure without having to actually carry around a machine. I will glow a little bit afterward, for a while, but don't worry. I won't actually be radioactive. They figured out how to fix that in the sixties. Now just hold still for me, and we'll make sure there's nothing out of whack."

Snapping the goggles into place and starting at the top, Vanessa made a scan down. There were a couple of cracked ribs, faint but there, and not surprising based on the information provided by Irene. When she hit Helena's feet, she stopped. And stared. Taking a deep breath and working to unlock her jaw, Vanessa looked up. "Helena. On a scale of one to ten, how badly do your feet hurt?"

Myka looked confused, eyes darting between Vanessa, Helena's feet, and her face, trying to figure out what was going on. Helena was silent, her eyes shut tight.

"Helena, please. I need you to tell me. I'm going to give you something for the pain, but I need to know how much. How badly do they hurt?"

"Helena, sweetheart?"

"Seven, seven and a half."

"Kosan is a bastard." Vanessa's voice was sharp, harsh.

Helena just nodded, pushing her feet slightly closer to Vanessa.

"Would someone tell me what is going on? What's wrong with Helena's feet?"

Vanessa reached into her bag, grabbing a roll of tape and a pair of scissors as well as a bottle of pills. "I can only guess how they happened, Myka, but Helena's feet are covered in stress fractures. With the number of cracks I see, both of her feet are basically broken." She popped two pills and handed them to Myka along with a bottle of water. "Take those, Helena. They'll help and then I'm going to wrap your feet. You're going to feel better in a few minutes. Not a lot to be done for the ribs; you're just going to have to be gentle with them for a few weeks."

She watched Myka coax Helena into taking the medication, small sips of water chasing them down. "We go nice and slow and you tell me if the pain gets worse. When I'm done, we're going to sit and talk about your diet for the next few weeks. We need to get your bodyweight up." She reached slowly for the first foot, keeping the palm open along the sole, not surprised when the foot flinched back at her touch. She waited, watched as Myka petted and soothed the damaged woman. The level of dependence would be an issue later, for both of them, but one that could be confronted then, when Helena wasn't a breathing skeleton, when she could survive on her own. This wasn't the time. The foot slid back toward her, painfully slowly, but of her own volition. It seemed to hesitate just before making contact and coming to rest, but rest it did.

Spreading out her fingers and gently flexing the foot, she began to set in position, using as little pressure as possible. "All right, kids. Here we go."