Myka froze, then retreated a single step. Whatever she had been expecting to hear from Helena that night, the monosyllabic l-word was not remotely among those she had anticipated. Not that it was unwelcome. But her declaration was the verbal equivalent of an elevator dropping too suddenly beneath her feet. Disorienting was a better descriptor. And as is often true for the disoriented, a verbal response failed her completely. She nodded slowly, less an acknowledgement than a barely perceptible movement allowing the words to more fully penetrate her. Her being was a viscous barrier and Helena's words could not cross through easily into Myka's conscious. The individual words might just as well have clung to her skin, protruding slightly as they tried to breach the tall brunette's protective layers. In the next moment, Helena was keenly aware that she was standing alone in her kitchen again. It was as if she had never heard the doorbell nor been assailed by the one person she would have willed through the door had she been granted a single wish. Her skin prickled with the night air as she stared blankly at the floor and contemplated the stark tiles. It occurred to her slowly that the door was open and the coolness she now felt was a direct result of that fact. Helena approached the front of the house half expecting to hear the squeal of tires in the drive or see a lone figure receding in the distance. Myka sat on the steps quietly holding her head in her hands. She didn't move as Helena sat beside her.
"It seems that I owe you an explanation," ventured Helena, as she drew her jacket to her neck in an attempt to stave off the chill. Myka's curls had fallen forward and the curtain of dark locks obscured the look on her face from Helena's searching eyes. Without raising her head, the agent tilted her face to her companion, directing her eyes toward the ivory skinned beauty who took the opportunity to cross a boundary between them. Helena reached across the short distance and pinned the hanging curls behind Myka's ear, exposing the other woman's tear stained face.
"I have stayed away to protect you, my darling." The words echoed in the air around them. "You must believe me, Myka."
She repressed the desire to reach again for the woman sitting beside her, sighing as she directed her eyes to the driveway and the shadows which had earlier held her attention. She once again pulled the jacket around herself, this time tighter.
"Protect me from what?" responded the hunched form almost too softly to be heard. She knew Helena's response before the author had given it voice.
"From me, of course. You have seen what I am capable of, my dear. The world is safe from me while I am here living as Emily Lake. Most importantly, you are safe. And speaking of keeping you safe…" Helena paused as she too briefly considered whether beginning to lace her comments with innuendo at this juncture were really in her best interest, "…it is probably not advisable for you to be here so close to me when I have just made known my true feelings for you." Helena looked everywhere but at Myka, sifting her hands through her hair compulsively.
"I miss you more than I should if you were just my friend," replied the Warehouse agent, head up now as she watched Helena studiously attempt to avoid her eyes.
"Well of course you do, my dear. I am quite magnetic and a sterling conversationalist, hardly a wonder that you are captivated by me."
Myka laughed. It was the perfect rejoinder: one hundred percent self-effacing Helena, cloaked in vanity and narcissism.
She rebounded with a swipe of her own, knowing that Helena was attempting to divert the spotlight from her romantic admission, "Don't kid yourself, Helena. I'm sure it's just the accent."
The two were quiet then for a time, each thinking how true it was that the other knew her better than she knew herself. The agent was first to speak when it seemed that someone should break the silence. She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "So why did you call me in the first place? Did your will power fail you, Helena? Were you bored playing haus frau?" Myka surveyed the expanse of lawn and dark neighborhood beyond as she spoke, this time it was she who found it difficult to look at her companion.
"I deserved that," answered the Victorian, resigned to the need for an honest conversation with Myka at long last. "Truthfully, I needed to know whether it was doing any good—this self-imposed exile. I was hoping that my feelings for you might dissipate with the time and distance. I needed to test my hypothesis. Unfortunately, your presence here has underlined for me the colossal failure of my experiment. It seems that I am quite hopelessly smitten with you."
Helena had not yet met the curly haired agent's gaze. She felt that if she looked into Myka's eyes, she risked seeing loathing, pity or worst of all, apathy.
"So what am I supposed to do now? I mean, Pete is at the airport right now, probably wondering what the hell got into me when I abandoned him at the gate. I didn't even tell him where I was going. I mean, he's got to know where I am and what I'm doing. Granted the guy's an ass, but he's not blind."
Myka wiped her face with the sleeve of her jacket and then swept the sides of her fingertips under her eyes to remove the mascara that had run. She was repeating herself and knew it. Time to buck up. She put her hands on her knees and looked hard for the first time at the woman sitting beside her, appraising her. She was surprised that the heavy feeling of awkwardness she had expected had not materialized, despite her hesitant admission to the Brit. Sitting next to Helena still felt like sitting next to Helena. It was natural…and nice. Yes, the butterflies were still there, but nothing had really changed. Scratch that, Helena just told me she's in love with me. Things were different. While she was processing these thoughts, Helena had begun to speak again. And as before, she was doing so without looking directly at her companion. This time it was the steps in front of her which held her attention.
"I imagine that Peter does indeed know where to find you. You do wear your heart on your sleeve, Agent Bering. I'm sure we shall be interrupted tout suite by a Farnsworth call from your charming partner. Perhaps before it happens I could interest you in that coffee? Might I suggest that we move this little chat of ours indoors where it is a bit warmer?"
"If you think that I am going to sit in that house again, on that couch, and have a rational conversation with you, I'm afraid you have vastly overestimated me."
Myka seethed a bit at the prospect of being reminded by her surroundings that the woman she was so focused on was quite obviously giving herself to someone else, a male someone else. It made her feel vaguely nauseous to think of Helena with anyone, let alone a specific person.
No, the steps were better. They could talk here.
"Can I ask you a question?" she ventured somberly.
She waited for Helena to look into her eyes for the first time since her intrusion into the now quiet home, and her patience paid off. Helena finally turned to hold her gaze, sable eyes betraying none of the feelings she had just shared with the agent. Myka's eyes were drawn inexorably to Helena's mouth and the wry smile which suddenly appeared as she nodded. It seemed the more serious their talk, the lighter Helena's mood. The author reflected back Myka's stress as pure joviality. It was disconcerting.
"What is your relationship with Nate?"
Helena looked away again and seemed to weigh the question carefully. Or perhaps she was just trying to phrase her answer for maximum impact, thought the agent. "That, my dearest Myka, is complicated to be sure."