"Thanks, Claude. I really appreciate it."

"No sweat. And Myka? Tell her that I'm thinking about her." Claudia rethought her request, "Or don't. Just… know that I am."

"Thank you."

Myka hung up the phone and put a check next to "Have Claudia get notes for all of Helena's classes." Myka didn't plan on sharing Claudia's last statement with Helena, who had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want to talk about this with anyone else. When Helena had barged back into Pete and Steve's room, she had been somewhat frantic, but after her initial statement, she had been unwilling to say anything else until Myka followed her back to their room. And even that was a sparse conversation.

Myka had the majority of the to-do list done. She needed to pack their bags and send e-mails to her professors explaining why she'd be missing their classes in the next few days.

She had been checking things off the list she had compiled post-parental conversation. She was doing it methodically. Carefully. One task, then the next.

Myka would be okay.

Helena would be okay.

They would be okay.

When she got back to the dorm, Pete was sitting outside of her door. His arms wrapped around his knees. As soon as he saw her, he shot up, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was uncomfortable. Everyone seemed to be uncomfortable today.

He tried to keep his voice low and his words sped up as he went on. "Hey, I knocked on the door, but no one answered, and I heard someone in there but I figured if you were there, you would answer the door, so it must just be her and she must not wanna talk, so… I waited."

They looked at each other blankly. Myka made no invitations and Pete did not ask to come in. He looked down at his shoes. He didn't want to emotionally engage in this, but he also knew he couldn't ignore what his friends were going through. "I know what this is like, Mykes. I remember it. I feel it with me every day. Still." He finally looked up. "I'm just saying… if you need someone to talk to, or if she needs someone to talk to…"

No more words came from either of them. Myka just slowly put her arms around his shoulders and when she did, he heaved a sigh weighty enough to knock both of them down. They were all too young to be dealing with this. And yet, deal they must.

Myka was nervous to walk into the bedroom, not having spoken to Helena all day. She had left her in bed that morning to take care of everything that needed to be done. Myka had tried to stay awake with her, but once 4 a.m. came along, she couldn't keep her eyes open any longer. When she woke up three hours later, Helena was still lying with her eyes open, but disengaged.

And she was in the same position when Myka finally had the courage to open the door that evening. Myka did a quick once-over to make sure the girl was still breathing, at least, and then entered the room. Pack the bags, make a check mark.

Have to keep moving. Have to keep doing.

That was generally the way Helena walked through the world as well. She was not a person who was still, she was a person who did at least two things at once, generally more. Just because she could. And because she had to. There was always a greater goal, something worth striving toward.

But, now. Now she had run out of time. There was nothing she could do in a single day to change anything.

And that was it, yes?

Helena wanted to wrap her head around this, she wanted to understand it, to study this feeling, but it was as if someone had suddenly left out one letter of the alphabet and asked her to go on reading as if things were no different.

If the world is a lipogram, where does the missing character go?

Myka finished packing their bags and, just like her mother had told her, made sure Helena ate and bathed. They did it mostly in silence, moving as one. Occasionally, Myka would whisper small platitudes in Helena's ear. Platitudes that she knew wouldn't help, but she couldn't bear to say nothing.

Their flight left at 6:30 the next morning and Steve had agreed to take them to the airport. They only had a short layover in Toronto and would get to Heathrow by 8:30 that night, London time. She had e-mailed their itinerary to Charles and he would be picking them up the next evening. Everything was planned and set. There was no more moving to be done.

Myka flipped the light off and delicately climbed over Helena to sleep near the wall. She expected for Helena to stay in her current position, folded in on herself, but as soon as she was settled, staring at the ceiling, arms at her sides, she felt Helena's hand on her wrist, grabbing it tightly, pulling it to her. She flipped Myka onto her side and grasped her back so tightly that Myka had trouble catching her breath. With her other hand, she steadied Myka's face directly in front of her so that their eyes met and Myka saw something that she had never seen there. Where there had once been determination, there was hopelessness. Where there had once been playfulness, there was severity. It scared Myka. There was a lack of trust in her eyes. And not a lack of trust for Myka, but for herself.

Helena kissed Myka fiercely and it hurt, but she didn't pull back. Helena began to pull at Myka's clothing, tearing it away from her skin. She was erratic and clawing and Myka didn't know how to react. Up until this point, it had always been tender, they had always been in sync with one another, slow and sweet. The fact that they always climaxed together had just been a simple physical manifestation of their bond.

But that wasn't what this was. When Helena's mouth found Myka's nipple, her body couldn't help but respond in kind and as Helena bypassed her underwear to reach her center, Myka started to pull back. She didn't want to take advantage of a compromising situation. She didn't want their sex life to ever be something that led to guilt or covered up pain.

Helena pulled her head up to look at Myka once more, and the severity in her eyes had given way to tears.

"Please?"

After a pause, the silent nod of acquiescence was enough for Helena to continue. It was more intense and raw than it had ever been and it was no surprise to Myka that after she had ridden out her waves, there were tears on her face. She hadn't felt herself begin to cry.

Helena climbed up and kissed the tears off of her face before lying down with her back to Myka. When Myka proceeded to kiss the back of her girlfriend's neck, letting her hands roam the girl's body, wanting Helena to feel the release she just had, Helena tensed.

"No."

It was like she had punched her in the stomach the way the air left Myka's lungs. So she pulled back and laid as she had when this all started, facing up, arms at her sides.

They would leave in the morning. They would go to London. Helena would say goodbye. They would get through the hardest part of this. And she would do the things that were too easy and too hard for both of them.

Myka and Helena made it through the transatlantic flight without much to speak of. Myka had brought along a handful of books from their shelves and had seemingly offhandedly placed them on the tray in front of her seat, hoping that Helena would pick one up. She had, at some point when Myka was dozing, and was studying it intently when Myka awoke. The Eyre Affair. Good. Myka had purposely brought light fare, hoping that it would at least distract Helena, if nothing else.

When they arrived, Helena led the way silently through Heathrow, clasping onto Myka's hand. Myka had never been to London before and these were hardly the circumstances under which she wanted to remember her first trip, but she tried to take in her surroundings regardless. Myka saw Helena flag down a young man at baggage claim and she assumed this was Charles. He was obviously older than Helena, but not by too many years. Myka thought he sort of resembled a weasel, which wasn't made less harsh by the fact that he was scowling at her with his eyes narrowed.

As soon as they approached, Helena threw her arms around him and said, "Take me to him."

The hospital was a bit of a blur, a lot of busyness going on around Myka, who was caught up trying to keep a pace with the Wells siblings. Her legs were longer, but they were more driven.

When they found his room, Myka stayed outside, not wanting to interrupt the family, though she watched them all through the window. Helena's mother looked like what Myka assumed Helena herself would one day. Helena obviously got her thick raven locks from her mother, and her piercing eyes, but she also had her poise. The woman was statuesque without trying. Even in the middle of this chaos, with the bags around those eyes and all of the physical manifestation of the past five years, she was lovely.

A stupid thing for Myka to be noticing right now. Really stupid.

She looked at Helena's father next. Helena had shown her one picture of him, from before the accident. He had been tall and thin without being lanky, a smile too big for his face, dark hair and eyes just like the rest of them. The man in the hospital looked nothing like him. His father, Helena's grandfather, perhaps. Much older, all bones and wrinkles, having wasted away.

Myka found a chair to sit in where she would be out of the way but could still peek in through the window. She saw Helena crawl into the bed next to her comatose father, holding her mother's hand. They talked to one another, though there was no way for her to make out the words. She even saw them share a few laughs.

At some point, Helena's eyes went to the window and when Myka saw her looking back at her, she diverted her gaze. She didn't want to seem like she was prying. But, shortly thereafter, Helena was in front of her, with her hand outstretched.

"Come meet him?"

When she entered the room, she could see Charles' distaste written all over his face (she was wondering where that was coming from, but it was a discussion for a different time), and Helena's mother gave Myka a very faint smile of welcome.

Helena walked Myka up to the bed and put her hands on her shoulders.

"Myka, this is my dad. Dad, this is my girlfriend, Myka."

This was absolutely the worst possible way to meet your girlfriend's family ever.

Obviously there was no response to Helena's introduction and Myka kept her mouth shut, fearing that she would say something like "Nice to meet you." to a man who couldn't possibly respond. It felt absurd. She was trying to keep her cool, but she was absolutely out of her element and stepped back awkwardly, running into Helena, who let out a chuckle.

"Oh my god, her laugh," Myka thought. She was so relieved to know it was still in there. She still retained it. Helena went on talking over Myka's thoughts.

"She's the reason I got here, Dad. I couldn't have made it to…" Helena took Myka's hand and squeezed it and her voice lightened, "I wouldn't have made it to say goodbye to you."

Myka couldn't help the selfish thoughts running through her head, mostly statements eliminating her doubts. Reinforcing that she was wanted here. She was needed here. She moved to sit in a chair in the corner of the room now, silently staying out of the family's business. Helena's mother filled them in on what would happen and how they would be moving forward. The intention was not to take him off of the machines until tomorrow, so Helena would have some time with him and services would be next week.

For the most part, Helena sat quietly on the edge of the bed, watching her father while her mother talked. At one point, though, after everything had been explained and they were in silence, she turned and looked her mother in the eyes. Too long with her own thoughts, something came over her so vehemently. The frightening flashes that Myka saw in her eyes the night before returned.

"I was supposed to fix him. I failed." It was acerbic and cutting.

"Helena, darling, no one was ever going to 'fix' this." Her mother didn't move to hold Helena's hand, she held fast to her corner, arms folded across her torso.

"He died a long time ago, Hel. He was never coming back." Charles just sounded sad.

"I should have been able to do it. I should have been able to do more. I'm sorry." Helena whispered it. She whispered it first to her father and then, she kept repeating it, over and over to the room. Neither her mother nor Charles made a move to do anything to comfort the girl, so Myka dashed across the room, throwing a dirty look at Charles (if he could, so could she) and pulled Helena into her. She continued to whisper her apologies into Myka's chest.

Myka wanted to tell her that it was going to be fine, but she couldn't. So she walked her over to the couch and held her close until the whispers became only breaths and the breaths evened out as she found sleep for the first time in days.