Heaven

(Sorry I'm asking pretty shamelessly for reviews. But, I am pretty shameless. Shameless Perverts of the World Unite!) – Whiplash-Girlchild

Pairing: Bering/Wells AU – Warehouse 13 – H.G's POV (Helena G. Well's POV)

"Never mind, I'm falling in love with you. My whole world, is falling in love with you." – Heaven / the Fire Theft

It begins as a soft revolution. An unsettling feeling inside your chest that spreads like a fire, throbbing and pulsing through your blood like a ceremonial drum, it will come to keep you awake at night. Wide eyed, and in-love, thoughts swirling with hazel eyes and an innocent smile, your heart clenches painfully as you try and sleep. You toss and turn, but that moment where you brush past her and she smiles at you. That is the moment you know you are done for. Then the gun, shoved in your face as you fight your heart trying to burst out of your chest. You exhale hard. Looking at her is painful. In the history of all your lovers, looking at them was never painful. This is. That terrifies you. It is an unnamed thing screaming in the night to be noticed, begging to be sated, and begging to be adored. It is the spark of something magnificent and terrible, beauteous and revelatory, filled with aching wonder and destruction. Her eyes pierce you like a million daggers and you submit. She cuffs you to a chair and you reach out for her on instinct, your hand brushing over hers sending electricity racing like thundering horses to your brain. You sigh. You are already lost.

And here you are, taking her to bed. Shouting her name into the night like a fervent prayer and it is holy worship and you know you are damned but you kneel at the altar all the same. Kneel and drink, kneel and drink, drink from the divine cup of her hips, the chalice of her breasts, the oasis of her mouth. You have never known a hunger so great, so you smile at her and you ache inside. How is it that you love her so much already? How is it possible, that you loved her from first sight, first glance, and now you touch as if you had spent the better part of the Human history apart?

Some part of you shifted into place. Something that you had always moved around the empty space inside you, you fill with her. It is not the same shape as the hole Christina left, but you don't want it to be. It could never be. But it is enough. It is a salve for the gaping wound that had bled inside you for so long. And you are grateful. Because, maybe God is sorry, maybe he admits your suffering was a mistake. Maybe he has sent to you someone so pure and so beautiful to heal the gash that cuts across your heart and leaves your soul a barren wasteland. Maybe he is sorry. Maybe you are too. You think that you can only destroy something as beautiful as Myka Bering. That she might shatter like glass at your concrete touch. But she is soft and warm against your roaming hands, your aching fingers. She sighs and kisses your palm as it drifts across her face and you ache. God, do you ache.

You fill her with your fingers. You cover her with your mouth. You chant her name in supplication as you move to her divine rhythm. "I love you," you breathe. "I am in-love with you." And she shudders as she cums around your slender digits. A keening cry falling from her beautiful mouth. You wrestle your fear down inside you as you make love to her all night long. You do love her. You have always loved her. The pale heroine you were always waiting for, the auburn haired goddess, the fire-bringer. You ache inside. But it feels like heaven. Her waiting for you, you will not find yourself wanting in all the days that pass. You are wrapped inside that golden light. High above the underworld you used to dwell in, but Hades does not forget so quickly. And darkness has long harms with which to reach you, so you know that you must run. You cannot stay as you want. As soon as morning comes, you must be gone.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

You dream of a great waterfall beating down around your ears, pelting your skin. A cool goddess, naked and afraid, swimming in the lake below, with bright eyes and ruddy, curly hair and a button nose; you stare openly as the water pushes you closer. Her round breasts catch your eye and you dart them back up to catch her expression. She is blushing in such a beguiling way that you feel the ache deep inside you. You want her. She does not realize how beautiful she is and God, that makes her all the more appealing. You strip swimming out to her and her cool arms embrace you. Her kisses fall upon your face like rain. "Wake up, Helena. Wake up, Beautiful."

Morning.

You are awakened by Pete Latimer's wailing greetings, to Artie and Claudia, two other Warehouse Agents who shouldn't be there. You shoot up in bed in a flash. Your beautiful Myka greets you and ushers you to dress and hide. You desperately try to lure her back to bed, but she is having none of it. Far more serious than 'you' would have chosen in a soul mate, but you smile inside because she balances you perfectly.

You are ushered in to the bathroom and wait like some teenager, hoping not to get caught. You hear them talking. You hear them grilling her on who she brought back to her bed. Chasing her was part of the fun at first. You loved winding her up, seeing that charming blush across her cheeks and chest. Blooming so freely you knew that she was at least, attracted to you. At worst, you would be heartbroken, again. At best, you would relentlessly fuck her if she let you. You never wanted what came in between. In between the silence and sorrow, came a feeling that would pull you under. You fell in love with her. The way she laughed, her glasses perched upon her nose and the look of concentration on her face as she read her favorite books. You fell in love with her, skinny legs and wide eyes shining. You thump your traitorous heart inside your chest. "I really hate you sometimes," you whisper conspiratorially. "Always mucking things up." Your heart thuds dumbly inside your chest. "Nothing to say for yourself," you chuckle. Thud. Thud. Thud. "Yeah, that is certainly what I thought."

You briefly consider ducking out the window, and then wrinkle your nose at how undignified that seems. H-fucking-G-Wells does not squeeze out of motel restroom windows in broad daylight or shimmy down drain-pipes, ever. You laugh softly. Your baser instincts are even starting to betray you, because the only thing you have the urge to do right now is protect her. So, you do. As, only you can.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At the Bed and Breakfast:

Leena is kind and helps you settle into your own room. You adorn it with classic steampunk touches and silk sashes wound around the tops of the four-poster bed. You feel comfortable but out of place, displaced somewhere deep inside your soul. Pete corners you and yells in your face about love and anger, every insecurity in him bubbling up like hot lava and scalding you in the process. You feel it keenly as he jabs his finger in your chest and warns you, "Not to hurt Myka." You know that you will and it twists inside you, heavy like a ball of molten lead in your belly. You ignore Myka then, no matter how much it hurts you. No matter how much you have to sneak around to "see" her, peering between shelves, ducking through doorframes, the stealthy Victorian ninja darting through the Bed and Breakfast. "You know you're ridiculous, right?" Leena chides you playfully one day. "Go and talk to her. You're both hurting from this." You huff and storm up to your room, not feeling any better.

Myka fights for you. She awakens things slumbering deep inside you, she inspires you, enraptures you. You want to resist her, but like a Siren, she draws you to her. "I'm asking you to love me. Don't be afraid of this, of me." And you are deathly afraid of this love, of what she does to you, of how her bright eyes can bend you to her will and you can do nothing but surrender to your passion.

You make her scream for you. Thrashing elegantly against your bed sheets, poetry in motion, pure, undistilled beauty, back arching, lungs gasping for breath, breasts bouncing, like a predator you crawl over her. She is yours. No matter who has touched her before this moment, she is yours. You suck a mark against her neck and hear her strangled cry of protest, what will the others think? You scoff. They will know. They will understand that to make you give her up they would have to kill you. They would have to douse the immortal flame that beats inside your blood for her and they do not have the power. To lose her would cause a reckoning so great you would tear this world asunder. You tremble at the power of your love for her, this awkward girl, this brave woman. Your body shakes as your orgasm rips through you, a thousand points of light dancing down your spine and shattering your soul. You wail like you are dying and perhaps you are, dying of love.

All night, you worship at the altar of your love. She is like some female young messiah, and you are the disciple she has chosen. You do not question your luck. You dare not tempt fate in such ways. Instead you kneel and rise, rise and kneel, as many times as it takes to satisfy this thirst. You both scream out your love until the sun's rays creep through your window. You are hoarse and sated as you hold her under the covers. She breathes softly and whispers things to you that knit deeply into your skin. "We are all made of stardust," she croons. "But you are my night sky." You hold her tighter as her skin burns into yours. Your entire journey has come down to the arms of this woman, holding you like driftwood in the open ocean. You breathe in her scent; burrow your face in her curly locks. "What if we were the last humans on Earth," she questions. You chuckle softly at that. "Would you ever consider having children again?" You pull back at that and stare into her eyes.

"What did you say?" You choke out.

"Would you ever consider having children again?" She gulps. "With someone, with me?"

You heave a heavy sigh.

She looks away from you and starts to pull back. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that. Stupid, Myka. Stupid, greedy Myka."

"Stop," you whisper. "You are anything but stupid and I will not hear you talk about yourself in such a fashion." You tuck an unruly lock of hair behind her ear.

Myka chews her bottom lip and stares at you wide eyed and you sigh, again. Because, how could you say no to her?

"I never. No," you choke out. Myka's head bows almost into her collarbone. "Never, until this very moment."

You hear her gasp.

Now her arms are tight around you. "I would want another, someday I think…with you, only you." You weep softly. Christina is looking down on you both and smiling, you just know she is.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Warehouse:

It hadn't taken long to get permission from the Regents to be re-instated. This surprised even you. You thought yourself too reckless, too dangerous, and too wild even for their tastes. But, as life often does, it surprises you by the Regents welcoming you back. Your clearance was restricted, which you had expected, but you were allowed to go on missions. To do field work, with Agent Bering, your darling Myka.

You retrieve all manner of artifacts. Lewis Carroll's key, a portal to another world, Jackie Joyner Kersey's stopwatch, which could speed up time, even *Abe Lincoln's top hat, which gave you the almost uncontrollable urge to "free" Mrs. Fredrick. You luckily dodged that one.

One day, you track a dangerous Agent to an abandoned paper factory. You and Myka split up to chase him into the vast darkness of the unfamiliar building. You run down narrow corridors trying to find his lanky and lumbering frame. He possesses Kenshi Unru's Samurai sword, imbued with the killing power from the end of the Edo period, the era of the Last of the Samurai. You rush around a blind corner when you see it, this hulking figure of a man, standing over Myka's motionless body.

Your brain kicks into over-drive. You cannot see her drawing breath. You see the blood on his clothes. Is that hers? It is so much. You let loose a guttural scream and run full speed at the man, almost twice your size. Your Kenpo training kicks in and you have since updated it, integrating techniques from Krav Maga and Thai Kickboxing, a fighting-style all your own. The blood curdling screams you let rip from you, make the gods tremble in fear as you bring your fists down upon this man. Your first strike hits his lower orbital beneath his eye, shattering it. You then break his jaw. He falls hard, howling out his pain. You hear the sickening crack of other bones as you strike. You will kill him. The world will run red with the blood of all evil men. You strike him again and again and again, until you feel Pete pulling you off of him. You are howling like a mad dog, screaming out your hatred for God until the Earth trembles beneath your feet. Blood painting your fists as you scream into the dark.

You dimly see Claudia checking Myka's body. You are trembling, rocking yourself in Pete's arms. "Help me," you pray. "Help me. Help me. Someone help me." You call out to the God you found yourself cursing. You cannot imagine he would be so cruel. Not twice.

"She's alive!" Claudia bellows. "It's not her blood, Helena! Helena! Look at me! Look at me! She's okay." Her tender eyes rake over your face as your lip trembles and you blubber out harsh, unyielding tears. You crawl out of Pete's arms and force your limbs to work their way to her slender form. You are gasping for air as you cradle her head in your lap, muttering to her over and over again. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

You do not notice Pete and Claudia exchange worried looks behind your back as they call Artie.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Bed and Breakfast:

It has been a week since the incident at the Paper Factory. You are on probation for your volatile and dangerous response. The man did not die, but he will be permanently disfigured. A twisted reflection of the darkness you carry inside you. You want it gone. You want it to have never happened. But there it is living inside you wound tightly with everything you are. You are your darkness and it is you, but your light is the part you must learn to harness. Light is the thing you need to be most of all. You add daily meditation and practice mindfulness. You hope it will be enough to be worthy of Myka Bering's love.

You walk to the door of her room. Her lithe frame lay sprawled over the bed. Tight jeans encasing agile legs, a flannel button down and tortoiseshell glasses perched on her button nose. Her unruly locks are pulled back into a pony tail. She is reading, but you cannot tell what. You stare at her openly as you pour over her features and contentment blooms inside your chest. This is what you fight for. This is what you would die for. This is all you need.

You approach slowly. "Whatever are you reading, darling?" You question softly.

Myka gasps and puts her hand to her heart, breathing quickly from your sudden approach. "Oh my god! You startled me." She playfully laughs.

"I frighten you then," you question.

"No," she answers confidently.

"I should," you honestly croon. "I am very dangerous."

"Not to me, never for me." She whispers.

"You are right, darling, never for you, only for those that would wish to harm you." You choke out. You drop your gaze to the floor as a tear slides down your face.

"Helena, Helena," she utters softly. "Look at me. You aren't a monster. You just got lost for a little while."

"I did," you choke again the words lodging in your throat like pieces of broken glass. "I got so lost when I thought you were gone. I do not even know who that was, Myka. I am frightened of myself. I am frightened of what I could become without you." You weep openly.

"Come here," she beckons. "Come here," she pats the space on the bed next to her.

You crawl across the light-years between you and maneuver onto her bed. She cradles you in her arms like a child as you cry. Sobbing against her chest and breathing in the scent of sweet vanilla and citrus of her skin. You only cry harder.

"Helena," she whispers stroking your hair. "I am afraid of the world coming between us too. I am frightened of losing you to something that hasn't happened but is only a fear in your own mind. I'm afraid of having everything I ever wanted and having it snatched from my hands, too. You are the only dream that ever became real, for me. I never want it to end. You will have me as long as you want me. I am in love with you and no matter what happens, I always will."

"Say nothing will ever happen," you sob.

"Nothing is going to, don't cry." She coos into your raven tresses.

You lay in her arms as you continue to cry. To properly mourn for the daughter you lost over one-hundred years ago. You had once only felt rage. You had once only thirsted for vengeance. Now, as the sorrow settles into you, building a nest inside your ribcage out of straw and tinder, you weep. You weep for all the beautiful things that are lost. For someone loved them once. They mattered to someone. You weep, dying of love for a woman you do not think you will ever deserve. And maybe God is sorry. Maybe he is, and this is the only way to make it up to you. As Myka pulls back to look at you with her soft hazel eyes and kisses you tenderly, you think that you might forgive him one day.

(Okay, sorry. That was sad. What the eff? Well, I just wanted to get inside H.G.'s head for a bit. Hope you still enjoyed. As always, please review.)