Author's Note: I won't forget about this story, guys, but those daily updates were kind of wearing me out. That's a lot of typing, and a lot of cramped thinking about this plot. :P I think I got a little gung-ho about it. Oops. Anyway, here's the next installment. Let me know what you think!

Helena had woken Myka for dinner no more than half an hour after Pete, Claudia, and Savannah had departed. Myka had managed to down most of the soup that they'd brought with them – though Helena was mostly convinced that she only did so because it was warm, and Myka's teeth were chattering with her chill. The sandwich had gone untouched, so Helena had eaten it, instead, assuring Myka that she'd done well to keep the soup down with her fever and tenderly pressing a kiss to her temple as her lover buried herself beneath the sheets again.

She told Myka, during the short time that she'd been awake, that she'd be in and out of the room – but mostly she intended to forewarn Myka that she might not be present when she woke. Helena hadn't explicitly said so, of course; while she saw no fault with Myka's moments of panic the week before, she knew that Myka felt rather ashamed of her own reaction. But Myka had smiled her appreciation for Helena's thoughtfulness, and had pressed a grateful, despite weak, kiss to the corner of Helena's mouth, and Helena shortly after soothed her lover into Morpheus' often-precarious hold.

With a sigh, Helena lifted herself from the nest of pillows and blankets that she and Myka had jointly created, and pushed herself to the door. She had no right to be, considering the position that Myka had found herself in over the course of the day, but she was overwhelmed, and she needed a moment. She needed just the smallest bit of distance from her ill lover, so that she could mull over the idea of Protector, and what, exactly, the position entailed.

But once the door creaked open, she curiously found a brunette head, bowed over what appeared to be a sketchbook, with a furiously working pencil. Slender arms shielded the book from view, so Helena could not discern an image, but she found herself fascinated by the swift, gentle motions of Savannah's slim fingers as she drew the instrument across the page.

Savannah appeared not to notice Helena's presence, however, so Helena cleared her throat softly. When that failed to capture the younger woman's interest, Helena rolled her eyes and tapped two fingers against her shoulder.

Her lover's cousin yelped, and her palm rose to cover her heart as the pencil fell to the carpeted floor, temporarily abandoned. "You shouldn't sneak up like that, sweetheart," Savannah frowned. "There's a thing called a heart attack, and one day soon you might provoke one."

"I'd hardly call it sneaking," Helena chided. "You really ought to pay higher regard to your surroundings, love. I'm sure that your focus has served you well artistically and, I'll presume, academically – however it's quite hazardous to remain so unguarded."

"You sound like Myka," Savannah rolled her eyes, and tucked her hair behind her ear before closing her fingers around her pencil and tapping it against the sketchbook that rested against her thighs.

She looked small, Helena though. Which was quite strange to her, as all that she'd seen of the girl – outside of Myka's chidings and worries – was loud, and big, and oddly comforting in her youth, particularly given what Helena knew of her history.

"Yes, well, Myka is often correct," Helena acknowledged.

It took a moment of hesitation – because, after all, she had only met the girl recently – but Helena shifted around her to lean against the wall and slid her back down against it until she sat beside the dark-haired woman.

"It's the worst, isn't it?" Savannah snorted, and flashed a spirited grin that Helena was sure had suitors of both sexes cowering at their knees.

But Helena lifted a brow and allowed an amused smile to tug at the edges of her mouth. "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I find it's frequently only my pride that finds it wounding. The rest of me is merely impressed."

Savannah hummed her agreement, but she lowered her head to rest on the arms draped over her knees and evaluated Helena with sharp honeyed eyes that knew more than she was often inclined to let on.

"That's rather discomforting, you know," Helena said pointedly, meeting the artist's abruptly challenging gaze evenly, and with a spark of equal defiance. "It's not difficult to discern when you wish to speak; out with it, then," she encouraged.

Savannah laughed. "Oh, I can definitely see how Mykey fell for you," she smiled wickedly. "All brilliance and bravery and charm," she shook her head, though Helena could see, in the softening corners of her mouth, that it was said with fondness.

"All fine traits, no?" Helena chuckled.

"For sure," Savannah nodded. And then she straightforwardly added, "You're good for her, you know."

Helena swallowed thickly. She wanted to be good for Myka; she had been trying to give her lover everything that she desired, and more – everything that a woman with a heart like Myka Bering deserved – but it was difficult for her to believe, even now, that she was 'good' for her. After all the harm that she had done to Myka, Helena wasn't certain that she was doing anything more than simply repairing the damage that she herself had done.

Savannah waved her hand flippantly when Helena didn't answer. "I don't know everything about what happened with you," she said, shrugging, "but I don't really need to. I mean, it was obviously big, and I get the impression that parts of it were devastating and heartbreaking… but Mykey's happy. Which is really something you should be a lot prouder of, because with everything that's going on, she'd normally be freaking out and doing that incredibly annoying thing where she locks up all her feelings and pretty much buries the key halfway across the world in a tomb somewhere."

Helena frowned. "In my experience, Myka has never truly been very practiced at masking her emotions."

Savannah snorted again, and shot her an exasperated look. "Maybe not from you," she said pointedly, "which is kind of my point. She never shares like that," she said, gesturing toward the bedroom door. "Yeah," Savannah admitted shamelessly. "Sorry," she said, but Helena could easily tell that she wasn't apologetic in the least, "I eavesdropped on your conversation earlier about the bomb and stuff. Which was brave, by the way – but really stupid."

Helena scoffed and rolled her eyes. "You Bering women truly are something else," she murmured absently.

"And damn proud of it, honey," Savannah winked. But she softened considerably a moment later, and said quietly, "But Myka's… different. Better. Better than anyone I know, really."

"You and I share that sentiment," Helena smiled softly.

Savannah's eyes scrutinized her again, and Helena bumped her shoulder lightly, before playfully offering, "If you're going to continue to read into the depth of people's souls, you ought to become more subtle about it."

"I've never been big on subtle," Savannah shrugged carelessly.

"If you've a question, darling," Helena sighed tiredly, and leaned her head back against the wall, "you need only ask."

"I don't have a question," Savannah grinned. "Just a statement."

Helena's brow lifted and she lilted her head to face her lover's cousin, and she allowed her expression to speak for her. "Go on," it read.

"She wasn't like this with Sam. You're better with her than he was," Savannah said bluntly.

Helena's heart thumped hard in her chest. She and Myka rarely discussed her deceased boyfriend, but she knew that his death had marked a very painful and aggrieved span of Myka's life. It hurt Helena to be reminded that Myka – innocent and sweet as she somehow remained – had suffered such loss.

"You did not care for him," Helena stated instead, curious of the lightly disparaging tone that had accompanied the woman's words.

"He was a decent guy," Savannah admitted reluctantly, and licked her lip before drawing it between her teeth. And, inevitably, Helena thought of Myka. She really had to stop associating that gesture solely with her lover, because it felt strange that – even indirectly – Myka's cousin had her thoughts shifting to such sensual filth. "But he didn't get her," Savannah continued, drawing Helena from her (probably sleep-deprived) daydream.

"Oh?" She questioned nonchalantly.

Savannah laughed uproariously, and Helena fought the desire to shush her, as Myka was resting just beyond the door that they hovered next to. "You can't even pretend like you're not just teeming with pride right now, can you, Wells?"

"I will not feel guilty for being pleased that Myka prefers my company," Helena dismissed.

"How very blasé of you," Savannah smiled knowingly, and Helena felt irritated, but didn't call her on it. That would only lead to her being called out, as well, and Helena was simply too exhausted to handle any emotion that didn't directly deal with her love and concern for Myka. Jealousy for the dead ex-lover was silly, and, given their present circumstance, it offered Helena nothing beneficial.

"Sam was nice," Savannah generously granted reprieve. "And he was good to her. But he couldn't really understand anything about her unless he was expressly told about it. Which was really frustrating for her, I think. Myka doesn't really let people in much, so she's never been very good about talking through things. She says a lot without actually saying anything, and Sam could never really pick up on when she was saying one thing and meaning another."

"I find that men in general are quite proficient at being emotionally ignorant," Helena rolled her eyes.

"Oh yeah," Savannah agreed swiftly. "But Mykey's especially emotional. She cares a lot – about everything," and the woman rolled her eyes there, as though it physically pained her to think of caring that much. But Helena suspected that she was similar to her cousin in that regard, and simply couldn't acknowledge within herself that depth of emotion for all things living that she and Myka unknowingly shared. She said nothing, however, and waited for her to continue. "He did love her, for all of his faults," Savannah confessed. "He did nice things for her, but his romantic gestures were more rehearsed than anything. You know, like he cared about her and knew that you do certain things for the people that you love – but he didn't really put much thought into why it was important."

Helena frowned, but nodded. She could understand that. Myka deserved the world, and this man had, according to Savannah's word, attempted to give her that – but, evidently, the emotion behind it had been left a bit wanting. And though Helena was uncertain of her efforts, at times, her emotion for Myka was endless, and following that initial confession, she had not been shy about conveying those feelings to Myka.

Savannah shrugged. "You're different, though," she extended speculatively. "You get her."

Helena struggled not to shift uncomfortably. She was not yet familiar enough with this woman to express more vulnerability than the woman could perceive with her astute observations, but in spite of all of her insecurities about her position in Myka's life, that much she knew. Myka knew her better than anyone else ever had – knew her better than anyone else had ever tried to know, even. And Helena knew her. She knew Myka Bering as though the agent possessed Helena's entire soul – and, some days, Helena wasn't so sure that she didn't.

Savannah proffered a reassuring smile, and said carefully, "And she loves you. More than she's ever loved anyone – including Sam. I knew your name before I came here, you know," she informed offhandedly. "Myka talked about you a lot. And sometimes she wasn't proud of feeling things for you."

Helena winced.

"Mykey's done a lot for me," Savannah shifted subjects suddenly, but Helena suspected that the two items in question were related, so she patiently waited for the connecting thread. "She pretty much raised me. She's the one I'll bring the serious partners home to meet," she chuckled affectionately. "And I love her. So if you hurt her any more than you already have, I'll hunt you down and probably kill you myself, if you don't off me first," she said playfully, but there was a shimmer of lethal gravity that Helena caught in her eye, and she knew that the threat was an honest one.

Of course, she could take this slight woman down in her sleep – but the sentiment was clear.

"I have no intention of doing so again," Helena vowed solemnly.

"I know," Savannah nodded. "But I'd be a very poor pseudo-daughter if I didn't give you 'The Talk,'" she smiled broadly. "Plus, I like you. Putting that fact that you're H.G. Wells aside," and she rolled her eyes again, "you're intelligent and beautiful and you have the most perfect hair I've ever seen in my life."

Slightly incredulous at the airy comment, Helena laughed.

"Seriously, do you even use conditioner?" Savannah huffed profoundly. "Or is it some kind of magic potion?"

Helena's brow climbed upward with her amusement.

Shaking her head, Savannah scowled at herself. "I'm digressing," she sighed. "I get distracted by stupid things when I get nervous."

"Surely I don't make you nervous?" Helena inquired, because, if anything, this woman made Helena tremble in her boots. It was truly unnerving to hear the many things that the young woman discerned and said nothing of; but, Helena thought, that was probably reason enough not to share her thoughts on a regular basis. Whether Myka had presented her with a loving home or not, a child abandoned by her parents probably had more than the occasional fear of rejection – and noticing such intimate things in strangers probably didn't make for quick or easy acceptance.

Savannah laughed. "I have no doubt in my mind that you can be very intimidating, Wells," she said. "But I'm mostly nervous about Myka," she confessed softly.

"Then let's see if we can't do something about that, hm?" Helena asked, standing and brushing off the backs of her jeans before extending her hand to the artist on the floor.

Savannah's eyes sparkled with a mischief that Helena felt probably matched her own, and then she sighed somewhat dreamily, "Man, I love a woman with a plan. Mykey's lucky she got to you before I did."

Helena tossed her head back with her first free laugh of the day. "Come," she beckoned, waggling her fingers until Savannah accepted the gesture and allowed Helena to pull her upward. "Let's find our lovely Miss Donovan and see if this plan of mine has any merit, shall we?"

"And, dear God, she is lovely, isn't she?" Savannah winked conspiratorially, and Helena noted that her moments of sharing were, for the moment, in the past. Here was the woman she had imbibed tequila with – the feisty, teasing woman she had been introduced to. And, although she had enjoyed the insights into Myka's history, she was a bit relieved to be released from the intuitive side of Savannah's personality. She was in no state to be emotionally assessed, at present.

No, she needed to discover what was happening with her lover before any more of that occurred, because she was simply overflowing with concern and worry that needn't be brought any further to the surface than they already were. That, she was certain, would lead to chaos.

And chaos had not served Helena Wells nicely in the past.