Heads up guys there are elements of this chapter that could be potentially triggering for PTSD/panic attacks and slight self harm/self destructive behavior. I am by no means an expert on any of those things, and I think they are kind of barely there but I wanted to make sure you were aware just in case. Better safe then sorry.

Hope you enjoy, most likely there will be one more chapter and that will wrap this story up:) I hope everyone who celebrates it has a wonderful christmas (and I hope you get snow, all mine melted and it's fucking raining up a storm right now) and a good rest of the month.

Merry Christmas!

It matches up exactly.

Myka doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

It's always hit that spot. Every time. The crevice nearly at the center of her chest, her mother's ring always rested there. The chain had been hers too; it housed some other pendant, Myka can't even remember what it was now. It's gone. Things slip away. Myka used to try so hard to cling to them, to dig through photographs and letters and call her father begging – needing – the details. Now...now she lets things slip. The photographs just make her hurt all over, her mother's handwriting was too beautiful, too swirly; and her father's words slurred as he told the tales. She stopped asking. She let the things slip away.

It matches up exactly.

Her mother's ring covers up her bullet hole.

It fits perfectly into the new dent in her skin. Her new skin; thinner skin. Skin unused to the metal brushing up softly against it. It itches and sends a cold jolt through her body every time they match up. She hadn't noticed while the bandage was there covering up the hole from the world; from her curious fingers. It can't protect her anymore. Stitches gone, bandages removed, her fragile, thin skin is exposed and refuses to stay hidden away. It won't be ignored any longer, to be sure, it matches up exactly.

Myka lasts exactly seven minutes and nineteen seconds before she rips the necklace off. The latch breaks from the force and she begins to cry. She feels the tears on her cheeks, she hears the short, heaving breaths coming out of her body; but it's like they belong to someone else.

The scotch is old, a bottle she took away from her father years ago. The second time he quit drinking? The third? Myka can't remember. She know's it's the good stuff, cost him a shit ton of money and he yelled for over half an hour at her for taking it. She had shoved it in a cupboard and never thought about it again. She hardly cared for drinking in the first place, watching it ruin her father had only turned her off further; but right now she doesn't want to feel a fucking thing.

She's off the pain meds, Pete's back in his own apartment, Claudia has been banned from picking her locks and Leena is smart enough to leave her alone. Even Helena has been – thankfully – giving her some space lately.

She's fucking healed; clean bill of health, no need to worry.

Myka pops the bottle open and pours out what she knows is too much. She downs it with a cough anyway.

Tomorrow, she goes to train at the gym, see a shrink, get her shit together and get back to work. Tonight, she is gonna get royally, sinfully plastered.

By the third too large shot her body is buzzing as much as her head. Myka sits down on the floor, the scotch, the ring, and her gun all resting in front of her. She picks the gun.

She hasn't held it in her hands in over a month. No, almost two months by now. Shot, dead for two whole minutes, asleep – technically coma – for a little over thirty-two hours; hospital for six days total, Helena's for just under a full two weeks, and Pete at her place for just over two more. Less than two months ago she had been one of the top detectives in the NYPD.

Now, holding the gun she'd used for the last four years made her hands shake.

Myka set the gun down and took another shot, a more appropriate sized one this time. The heater clicked on and she jumped, snatched her gun up in her hands instinctively. The bottle of scotch smashed, cut up her forearm, but she didn't notice. She huddled to the floor, gun raised, listening, panting, her breath coming fast and painful in sharp little gasps.

There was nothing there.

In hindsight, this whole getting royally plastered idea might not have been the best one she's ever had. Her hands eventually stop shaking, it hurts when she relaxes her grip on her gun. The buzzing in her head intensifies right along with the new pain in her arm. Myka finally, slowly, shakily, stands up and walks over to the sink, ignoring the glass on the floor. She runs cold water over the cut and watches the red spill out of her body and into the sink.

Her blood seems to be spilling out all over the place recently. On instinct, she reaches for her necklace; instead, she gets the new small dent in her skin.

Myka slams the water off and dabs at the cut gently with a paper towel. It's not deep enough to need stitches, but it's painful and long and jagged. It's not small and round like the hole in her chest. It looks brutal and harsh. Myka likes it. It makes more sense than her scar. It's broken like her.

She doesn't bother bandaging it properly. The alcohol has gone straight to her head and instead of feeling pleasantly buzzed; she mostly feels like shit. She rubs at the cut one last time, not bothering anymore to be gentle. The pain it gives her makes her feel awake. More alive somehow. She gulps down a large glass of water in hopes to stave off some of her hangover before shuffling off to bed.

The alarm clock painfully wakes Myka up. Her head and her arm both feel like they are on fire. At this point, she should be used to waking up in pain but she's not. As Myka sits up she lets out a small scream; her arm had bleed through the night and the blood had stuck to the sheets. Pulling it up was like ripping off a band-aid and fresh blood seeps out. Myka doesn't have the energy or the time to deal with it so she gets up as quickly as she can and climbs into the shower. The water feels great for her arm, but does little to alleviate the throbbing in her head. There was another reason besides her father that she isn't much of a drinker and she's a little pissed to be reminded of it.

When she's finally up and dressed, she wraps up her arm and pulls on a jacket to hide it as best she can. Finding some much needed aspirin and coffee, Myka grabs her keys and leaves without bothering to clean the glass or the sheets.

Her shrink is a man by the name of James Grayson. Oddly, his presence is comforting. Myka had thought she would just be able to use her previous shrink, Maria Liu. But the department had issued her an appointed one who specialized in working with law enforcement.

He nods for her to have a seat and Myka takes a swig of the last of her coffee, trashes in and plops down opposite him.

"It's good to meet you Myka." He says with a gentle smile.

She wants to be annoyed. All the formalities that come with being cleared for field work again piss her off. It would be easier if she had an asshole to deal with, instead, she gets a kind one.

"You too."

"You seem unable to sit still." He observes. Myka stills immediately. He laughs. "You're allowed to move around Detective. I just meant it as an opening point."

Myka pulls at her jacket sleeve again and gives him a half smile. "I...I constantly feel...itchy is probably the best word."

"You feel itchy?"

"Yeah. Itchy."

She watches him purse his lips and write something down on his notepad. "Alright, let's start there." He says.

Helena was incapable of sitting still. Her mother reached over and placed a hand on her knee to keep it from bouncing up and down. "Sorry." Helena whispered.

"It's alright darling."

"If I have to write anymore I'm going to go insane. Myka gets cleared for work tomorrow morning, there better be a grisly murder or I'm going to have to go out and commit one to have something to do."

"I will not bail you out of jail again. Twice in one year is my quota." Martha warned. "And darling, you should not be pushing Myka into work, give her time to ease back into things."

"Mother, you've met her. Myka doesn't ease, she jumps. She's been going even more stir crazy than I have. She can't wait to get back to normal."

"Normal?"

Helena glanced over at her mother. "Yes...what?"

Martha shrugged and went back to reading the script in her hands. "Oh, nothing."

"What Mother?"

Martha remained silent.

"Mother!" Helena yelled.

"Darling, that girl was here less than two weeks and every minute I was in the room with the two of you, the tension was more than I could bare. Now, I know you have had feelings for her, but what in heavens name happened between the two of you? Because I have seen you interact with people you're interested in many times over and that was not normal. She got out of here almost the second she could do anything on her own. What did you do?"

"What did I do!?" Helena yelled. "I didn't do anything!"

"Ah, well there's your problem. Sweetheart the girl of your dreams was shot and you went about acting like your normal self. In heightened situations one must at least change things up. She probably felt like you didn't care."

"She did not! I..." Helena sat down, fuming and lowered her voice to a whisper. "I kissed her the day before she was shot." She confessed. Her mother's eyes grew wide. "And, I told her I loved her...but she was asleep."

"You did what!?" Martha yelped.

"Don't shout!"

"Darling, you..." Martha reached over and cupped Helena's cheeks. "You idiot."

"Mother!"

Martha bent over and kissed Helena's forehead. "Oh honey, life is so very short; I think we were all reminded of that recently. You can't leave important things like that left unsaid. If that's truly how you feel, and I must say in all your life I've never seen you quite this smitten, then you must tell her. Not while she is asleep, or incapacitated, or out of fear, but because it's true."

"But...what if she doesn't love me back?" Helena whispered. She had hardly been able to admit it to herself, but it was her great fear. She knew Myka liked her, their friendship had been solidified ten times over with the life and death they had faced at work. And she was almost positive that Myka's feelings ran deeper than friendship, but she wasn't sure. She could be projecting her own wishes onto Myka, seeing what she wanted to see. Part of her was content to leave everything the way it was, remain hopeful at the mere possibility of something more. Having Myka's friendship, having her in her life was enough.

Martha let out a small, kind laugh. "Oh darling, if she's as smart as I think she is of course she loves you back. I've watched the two of you for over two years now and I have almost no doubt in my mind." Martha pulled Helena into her arms, and for once, Helena let her; folding herself comfortably into her mother's side. "But, if she doesn't return your feelings, at least you'll know. It might be very painful to hear, but eventually you'll be able to move on with your life. Waiting forever isn't good for anyone."

Helena dropped her head to her mother's shoulder. "When did you get so smart?" She asked. Martha pinched her leg. "Ouch! Mother!"

"I've always been incredibly intelligent. You've just always been to stubborn to listen to me."

"I should probably start huh?"

"Oh I should think so." Martha kissed Helena's cheek with a smile.

As Myka walked into the precinct for the fist time in over two months she felt herself begin to panic. That had been happening on and off the last week or so. Ever since Pete moved back into his apartment and she had been alone – truly alone for the first time in over a month – she had begun trembling, had difficulty breathing and was freezing. It had lasted almost fifteen minutes before she managed to calm down. Myka had only had a panic attack one other time, shortly after her mother's death when she had gone back to school. She couldn't even remember what had caused it.

All she had wanted was to be left alone, now she couldn't stand it. She had almost called Helena in a blind panic about five minutes into it, but stopped herself. She had left Helena's for a reason. She needed to get her head clear, get herself back to normal. She couldn't worry about anything else right now. As much as Helena helped, Myka needed to be able to do things on her own. Luckily, Helena had understood. Myka had been afraid she would be hurt by leaving and forcing Pete to crash with her, but thankfully she hadn't.

Myka hadn't told her shrink about the panic attacks. She didn't need another reason for him to keep her from going back to work. She told him enough to be realistic, enough to make her feel like she was actually letting him help her, just not quite the entire truth.

She had found a shorter chain to put her mother's ring on. It had been hanging around her neck for over a week and she still wasn't used to it.

Myka hadn't taken a single drink since the night she cut her arm up. Pete had noticed the bandage, made a face at her and said nothing else.

Her physical training with him and Claudia was the only thing going really well. Myka had always been athletic and in good shape. Once her body had healed itself enough she pushed it to its limits everyday. Pete was always a great sparing partner, and Claudia could hold her own. Once James Grayson cleared her mentally, she was all set to go fully back to work.

He had cleared her the day before. But only on the condition that Myka was to continue to come see him once a week for at least another month. Myka had readily agreed. If she had to spend one more day reading books, watching daytime television and catching up on paperwork she was going to go nuts. She had already completed all of her paperwork, all of Pete's, and most of Claudia's, simply for something to do.

Myka had taken Christina out for ice cream twice in the last week despite the fact that it was mid december. Ice cream seemed to be the Wells family solution to all problems no matter the time of year. Christina hadn't allowed Helena to come. Apparently, she was behind on chapters for her editor. Myka had laughed as Helena pouted while they piled their coats on. She had playfully stuck her tongue out at Myka and closed the door. Honestly, Myka had been grateful that Helena wasn't coming along. Every interaction she had with the author had been...intense somehow. There was something in Helena's eyes, Myka knew what it was, she remembered Helena telling her that she loved her. But it was something else seeing it. Myka didn't know how to respond so she mostly just avoided her when possible. It was too big.

"So what do you want from Santa?" Myka asked as she licked her mint chocolate chip cone.

Christina gave her an incredulous look. "Myka, I know Santa's not real, I'm eleven."

"Santa's not real!?" Myka yelled. Christina laughed and pushed her with her elbow.

"Don't tell Mom." She warned. "She pretends I still believe."

"Pretends?"

"She knows I stopped about two years ago, I never said though. It's more fun to pretend he's real."

"It is." Myka agreed.

"It's just logically impossible." Christina said knowingly as she smeared ice cream all over her face. Myka laughed and handed her a napkin. Being with Christina was the only time Myka didn't feel itchy or like she was falling apart. Pete was easy but she still felt like he was constantly monitoring her to make sure she was okay. Claudia, Leena and Martha were all helpful and sweet but Myka never felt like she could let them see how broken she was now. And Helena...Helena was too complicated. Her daughter was safer. Somehow, this adorable, brilliant, loving little girl was putting Myka back together. She was pretty sure that Helena was jealous, or at least confused when Myka showed up almost everyday after Christina got home from school to take her for a walk. Myka was supposed to get regular exercise and fresh air; and the only time she felt like she could really breathe was walking all bundled up through the city with an eleven year old.

Myka stilled her trembling hands and took a long deep breath before walking over to her desk. Pete was on the phone but he gave her a wave. She nodded to him and sat down, rearranging her elephants. Pete had been playing with them in her absence, she could tell. Claudia wheeled her chair over and spun around, using Myka to stop herself.

"There's a body on 42nd street." She informed Myka. "You coming?"

"Might was well jump back in." Myka hadn't even taken her coat off yet. "Is Helena here?"

Claudia made a face at her that Myka couldn't quite read. "Over by Pete." She pointed.

Despite being awkward around Helena recently, seeing the other woman instantly made Myka feel better. Calmer somehow. She walked over with Claudia and greeted both her and Pete with a light smile.

"Dude, Frank said this guy is decapitated. Decapitated!" Pete exclaimed. Helena grinned and high fived him. Myka looked over at Claudia and they both rolled their eyes as the four of them walked out of the precinct. Maybe life really was finally back to normal.

Standing over the body Myka had never felt more exposed in her life. The uniforms were all over the place, Pete, Claudia, Leena and Helena were all standing over the body talking. Myka bent down next to Leena and tried to focus. Suddenly there was a bang and Myka hit the ground in terror, hiding behind a mailbox. She darted her eyes around looking for the shooter. Pete and Helena glanced at her in confusion, both standing where they had been a second ago. It hadn't been a gunshot.

"Sorry." Myka said quickly and stood up. Brushing her pants off and trying to play it off as nothing. All four of her friends were looking at her. "I'm gonna go talk to the witness." She said, and took off. She could hear Helena starting to come after her and burst into a sprint as soon as she was around the corner.

She ran into the building, heaving and trying to catch her breath. As soon as she was deep enough into the building and in an empty corridor she let the sobs come out in fast and sharp gasps. She was too hot, ripping at her jacket she threw it off and onto the ground along with her badge and gun before sinking to the floor herself. She gasped, trying to catch her breath and stop crying. Myka wanted to yell. To scream. To hit something. She just wanted to stop feeling so helpless.