I guess this is happening, despite the fact that I've never written a multi-chapter fic without having it completed in advance. (Insert panicked screaming here, here, and here; please and thanks.)

The party is in full swing at the place Pete laughingly refers to as a townhouse. He and a couple of wrestling teammates rent it, and while Myka knows college students can't afford to be picky, her nose still wrinkles at the tacky decor and the vomit-coloured walls. At least there's a built-in bar, she thinks, downing her second Captain and Cola. (Probably the reason why the boys were so easily seduced into paying the astronomical rent.)

The bassline of a song Myka's never heard before throbs through the house and drills into her ears. Under normal circumstances, it would give her a headache, but tonight it – well, it still gives her a headache, but at least there isn't room for anything else.

Out of the corner of her eye, Myka sees Giorgio dancing with a blonde, and her mind flashes immediately to Jess. Myka wonders if that means H.G. is also nearby, and if she might be dancing like everyone else. The thought of H.G.'s lithe body undulating sensuously, pressed against – Myka clears her throat loudly, gulps down what is probably a dirty martini (and spares a moment to be grateful that Pete was kind enough to mix drinks, and intuitive enough to leave them within reach) because she really needs it tonight.

"You havin' fun yet, Mykes?" Her personal bartender appears suddenly, grinning and yelling to be heard over the din of college students free of finals and ready for a good time.

"Loads," she answers, swiping a hand over her mouth. The alcohol is almost decent, especially by college standards, and it is this party's only saving grace. She thinks her opinion shows on her face because her best friend heaves a sigh and plops down to next to her, scraping the bar stool closer. Myka manages a small smile and it doesn't fool Pete, not even a little bit.

"C'mon, you know why you're at my super awesome Finals-Are-Finally-Over blowout!" He stares expectantly.

"Because you hate me?" Myka grumbles, pushing her glass away. Her skin feels a bit too tight, her thoughts a bit too loose with all the alcohol swirling around. She should cut herself off and go home, ruminate a bit more on all her failures as a student, as a daughter. And stop for a burger or something, because Pete is looking more than a little blurry around the edges.

"Mykes!" What she can see of Pete looks affronted and Myka is immediately contrite.

"I know," she sighs, elongating the word. "But Pete, I just really -" she pauses. He looks for all the world like a puppy begging to play, and Myka doesn't have it in her to tell him how much fun she isn't having.

"Look," he says, leaning in so he doesn't have to yell over "Gangnam Style". He claps his hands once. "Tonight's all about forgetting our finals, and your parents, and everything and just – just letting your hair down, right?"

"Right," she says doubtfully.

"So get out there, Mykes!" He spreads his arms out, encompassing the entire room. "Do your thang. Work that body. Twerk like -"

"Pete!" He erupts in laughter at her horrified expression, but at least he isn't talking anymore.

"I'm leaving, okay?" She pushes off the counter, slightly unsteady. "I'm gonna go dance. But!" She points a threatening finger, squinting to focus on his face. "If – if I don't have fun, I'm gonna go home! I'm gonna go!"

"Attagirl!" He snaps his fingers and cheers as she makes her way unsteadily to the living room, currently doubling as a dance floor.

Myka, even in her inebriated state, can list five places she'd rather be instead of here. She pauses at the boundary between the bar area and the crowd of swaying students and sloshing drinks, already regretting her decision. She turns on her heel, fully prepared to go back and inform Pete that she was leaving.

Her plan dissolves into fine dust the second she sees Helena G. Wells standing at the top of the staircase.

(They haven't spoken since the incident in the tunnel – and what is she supposed to think of that, she still has no idea.)

No doubt the alcohol in her bloodstream is to blame for the way her heart leaps at the sight. Then her brain kicks in and Myka wonders what H.G. is doing here at all. Despite her easy inclusion into the more select cliques at their university, H.G. is not normally one for parties. And when H.G. does attend (so Pete tells her, parties are more his thing) she's in the thick of things, not all alone on top of the staircase. Then H.G. turns, pressing a cell phone to her ear, and she is either angry at or intimidated by whoever is on the other end of the line because Myka has never seen H.G. look anything less than completely self-assured (excepting, perhaps, the tunnel incident). She's surprised to feel something hot and protective well up inside her.

Before she can really think about it, Myka is halfway up the stairs. She shouldn't interrupt, she tells herself. H.G. is clearly busy. And while Myka would like an explanation for the kiss, she is also terrified of getting that explanation and the more she puts it off, the more chance denial will kick in and exterminate all the butterflies in her stomach. Yes, she should definitely leave. Now. Right now.

Except then H.G. shoves the phone into the pocket of her jeans – tight, and black and doing a great job of drawing attention to her legs – which doesn't help at all.

"Myka," H.G. says. Her voice carries easily down the stairs and Myka freezes in place.

"Hi," Myka gulps, lips twitching into a hesitant smile through the roiling in her stomach. H.G. inclines her head. Then she smiles gently – tiredly – at Myka and that protective feeling rises up again, hot and unfamiliar as she joins H.G. at the top of the staircase. It's almost eerily quiet up here, like it's just her and H.G. and the rest of the world is on mute. She likes this feeling. Myka takes a breath, realizes she doesn't know what to say, and settles for another smile.

"I'm in an odd mood tonight, darling," H.G. sighs, dropping her head a little. Myka immediately starts forward, reaching for H.G..

"Do you -" Myka breaks off, cups a hand over her mouth and races for the bathroom.

"My poor dear," H.G. croons, half laughing as she walks in. Myka watches through slitted eyes as H.G. flips the light switch and pushes aside a discarded towel with the toe of her boot. Myka curls up as best she can on the edge of the bathtub, giving up on dignity. (She's not going to puke, but her stomach is twisting and turning threateningly and she feels like she'll break apart if she moves too fast.) H.G. reaches for her, carefully tugs her upright. "What have they done to you?"

Myka opens her mouth with the intention to protest being rearranged like a doll, and H.G. slips into the space between her legs like they've done this a thousand times before. It surprises the nausea away until Myka leans back too quickly – then it returns with vengeance and sets her head spinning.

"But why was alcohol invented?" Myka moans, shutting her eyes tight. H.G. makes a sympathetic noise, encouraging Myka's head against her stomach. H.G. smells fruity and nice and it soothes Myka's nausea enough that Myka gives in. H.G.'s stomach is warm and firm beneath her temple, and moves steadily with every breath. Myka closes her eyes and H.G. wraps her arms loosely around her neck. To keep her close, maybe. Then she's hit with a different kind of nausea, a dizzying, terrifying, thrilling kind of nausea and she really doesn't know what to do with any of this.

"To give courage, perhaps," Helena says, running her fingers through Myka's curls. Myka starts, blushing as H.G. involuntarily pulls at her hair. She had forgotten she had even spoken. "The courage to make a speech, to start a new project. Perhaps," she pauses here, and in the quiet Myka hears H.G.'s heart beating rhythmically under her ear. "Perhaps the courage to kiss someone they've had their eye on since the day they first met."

Myka jerks back to find H.G. looking at her, eyes bright and serious and her jaw drops of its own accord. "Me?"

"You," Helena agrees, and maybe it's the alcohol making her vision go wonky, but it looks for a minute like Helena blushes.

Well. That is – Well. Myka's brain whizzes through several responses but none seem fitting for the vastness of this moment and all its implications so her mouth works uselessly while H.G. seems content to play with Myka's curls.

"Okay," Myka says vaguely, attempting to stand. Eventually, with a little help from H.G., Myka is upright and mostly steady. H.G. smiles up at her, arms resting loosely at Myka's hips, offering support should she fall. "Hi there."

"Hello," H.G. replies, eyes crinkling alluringly at the edges.

"Hi," she repeats, biting her lip. H.G. likes her. Like likes her. Her! And suddenly it's impossible to keep the grin off her face. God, she's so pretty.

"Why, thank you," H.G. smiles back, tilting her head.

Had she – did say that out loud? Myka blushes and looks down, only to realize she's not looking down at the floor as much as she's looking down at H.G.'s...shirt.

"You're welcome!" she squeaks, stumbling backwards.

"Oh, darling – careful! You'll fall." H.G. reaches to steady her immediately and Myka does her best not to squirm in place as H.G. pulls her forward.

"Sorry," Myka mumbles, blinking. At her hips, H.G.'s hands burn through the thin material of her shirt and combined with the fruity perfume she can still smell..."Um, hey – can I?"

It's Myka's turn to cut H.G. off before any words can be spoken and there's a split second hesitation before H.G.'s lips part beneath hers with a sigh.

Yes, she thinks. This is right. This is what she has been missing – H.G., pressed warmly against her, body yielding and lips eager. She cups Myka's face, and Myka barely feels the thumb brushing along her cheekbone because H.G.'s mouth is hot and wet and so very welcoming. Myka could lose herself in here forever and –

And she is drunk. She is drunk and she knows this isn't good because she wants to be able to appreciate this, she wants –

Myka pulls away when the clamour in her head gets too much to handle and she and H.G. stare at each other, breathing heavy, still close enough to rest their foreheads together. H.G. sighs then, laughs a little.

"Let's...let's get you home," she mumbles, breath hot against Myka's face.

"No." Myka almost whines, crumpling H.G.'s shirttails with her grip.

"Yes!" she counters, laughing shakily. "Or else we'll be here all night."

Myka lowers her head to look directly at H.G., the alcohol burning away her inhibitions. "I wanna stay all night with you," she whispers earnestly, sliding her hands along H.G.'s back. The cotton of the shirt is almost rough beneath her palms and she does it again, slowly tracing the curve of H.G.'s spine.

H.G. leans her head on Myka's shoulder and for a moment Myka thinks she's got her, then she exhales loudly and steps back. "You," she points at Myka. "Are quite intoxicated and I won't take any more advantage of that than I already have."

Probably smart. And if she weren't quite intoxicated, Myka would probably agree. But there can't be anything wrong with just holding her, right? Now she knows what H.G. feels like, she really doesn't want to do without it.

"I will call your friend Mister Lattimer and he shall escort you back home," H.G. says and Myka nods, wondering if H.G. would ever give her a piggyback ride. It would be the perfect way to have her arms around H.G. and – no. No, she'd much rather give H.G. a piggyback ride. Or a piggyfront ride. She turns an appraising eye on H.G., noticing only vaguely that she's speaking into a cell phone.

Myka could totally do it, insists the alcohol fizzing in her blood. Fencing has made her pretty strong – if she does say so herself – and H.G. is very slight. But before she can open her mouth to discuss her new brainwave, she hears Pete call her name, voice booming up the stairs.

H.G. presses a quick kiss to her cheek and slips out of the bathroom just before Pete bounds in, all concern and drunken cheer.

"Oh, dear."

Myka groans. Her eyes may never open fully again, she can't remember if she did the homework for this class, and her entire body aches. (She must have been a serial killer in a past life. There is no other explanation for this beast of a hangover.)

"It appears you're in greater need of this than I realized."

She looks up to see H.G., smiling and fresh-faced, the exact opposite of how Myka feels.

"Ow," she says.

"Did you mean 'hello', Myka?" Her name sounds so good coming from Helena's mouth, all teasing and lilting tones, and it drags a reluctant smile out of Myka. H.G. raises an eyebrow at her attempt and presents her with a puff pastry that looks as though it's about to crumble right there in H.G.'s hands.

Myka's mouth waters as H.G. explains."It's strawberry. I've been made aware your Twizzlers are of the same flavour." And there's something about seeing H.G. grin so hopefully that evaporates the protest right off her tongue. Her stomach, ignored this morning for the sake of not puking in class, rumbles loudly. H.G. notices, lips quirking upward in that way that sends Myka's senses reeling.

"Thank you," she manages. She takes it gently from H.G., biting her lip at the tingle that sparks through her body at the brush of their fingers. Myka bites in and the pastry is strawberry-flavoured heaven in a flaky crust. She just barely stops her eyes from rolling back in her head.

H.G. laughs at Myka's rapturous expression, leaning casually against the desk. "I also have this." Myka looks up, cheeks bulging with the pastry, to see H.G. set a cup of coffee at the corner of the desk, shaking her head fondly. "A vile-smelling beverage I carried all the way here, a good ten minutes before class starts, in the hopes of currying your favour."

She is going to marry this woman. "You're the best person on the planet. A – a goddess." She dives for the coffee, promptly burns her tongue, and can't bring herself to care. "This is the best thing ever. Ever."

"High praise." H.G.'s eyebrows lift in amusement and Myka's too focused on her food to feel embarrassed. H.G. reaches to touch her shoulder, quick and featherlight. Myka looks up and abruptly stops breathing because she knows this look, this is the look that lead to the kiss in the tunnel then again in the bathroom. "And would you deem these efforts enough to earn me the pleasure of your company for an evening?"

H.G.'s smile is teasing but her whisper was soft and serious. Myka hastily swallows the rest of her pastry. "Enough for an entire day, if you want," she says softly, feeling her heart constrict nervously in her chest. She clutches her cup of coffee like a lifeline, grateful for the burning heat.

Myka didn't know it was possible for H.G.'s smile to become more radiant, but she finds herself only too happy to be proven wrong.