Author's note: Thanks for all the lovely reviews, I'm glad people like this. I hope you enjoy the series and please feel free to tell me what you think. All the mistakes are mine - it was written late at night while I was exhausted - and again, I hope you enjoy :)
Helena lay in bed for what seemed like years, tossing and turning in an attempt to find comfort, but she was restless. Eventually, she slipped out of bed and crept downstairs. Passing Adelaide's room, she paused and a small smile crept onto her face, before she continued. Her light footsteps made barely a sound and soon she was sitting on the couch. Reluctant to risk waking the others by switching on the television, she decided to scour the bookshelf for a decent read. Her finger brushed lightly over the spines of the books, until she froze, her finger resting on the copy of The Time Machine. A gasp escaped her lips as a memory resurfaced, after months of suppression.
Helena crept down the stairs of the B&B, hoping not to wake any of Leena's residents. It was very late at night, or very early in the morning depending on personal view. Her bare feet padded across the wooden floor, a couple of creaks sounded from the stairs. Her tank top and shorts did little to prevent the cool air from washing over her, a gentle chill coursing over her skin. Not that she minded; her room was much too warm for her liking. Walking slightly faster, she arrived in the living room, where she saw a tired but content looking Myka Bering sitting on the couch, book in hand. Helena stopped in the doorway and paused just to look at her friend; the way her dark curls fell over her shoulders, her hand gently caressing the page absent-mindedly as she chewed on one of these 'Twizzlers' she was so fond of. Helena also noticed that Myka's face was stretched into a lovely smile that she had never seen before. It was almost doting, incredibly fond and incredibly loving. It took Helena a few minutes to fully realise she had been staring at the agent, so she cleared her throat a little louder than necessary. Myka's head whipped around, her curls flying, her green eyes alert. When her gaze fell on Helena in the doorway, her frown settled into a gentle smile.
"Sorry to startle you, darling," said Helena quietly, returning the smile fondly.
"It's fine. Why are you up at this time of night?" asked the agent curiously as she placed her bookmark into the pages and put the book on the sofa cushions next to her.
"I had trouble sleeping," replied Helena vaguely. The real reason was that she still struggled to sleep in the darkness on her own. Nightmares of her time in the bronzer still plagued her after all this time. A handful of times she had woken up screaming and crying, only to feel a warm embrace around her, the scent of Myka enveloping her. She immediately associated it with comfort, and she would sometimes fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep with Myka's arms still wrapped around her. Other times, she the nightmares would return, but fade as soon as she felt Myka's grasp tighten a little around her, letting her know unconsciously that she was still there for her.
Helena snapped out of her little reverie when Myka patted the sofa beside her. Helena obediently sat, a little closer than was necessary. She noticed Myka was similarly clad in her sleeping clothes, her bare legs covered by a fluffy blanket. She also noticed that Myka ever so casually slipped the book under the blanket.
"What about you?" asked Helena, a slight smirk forming on her face.
"Pretty much the same," she replied, though she was loathe to confide in the Victorian that it was complicated thoughts about their relationship keeping her from sleep.
"What are you reading?" asked Helena, curiosity getting the better of her. Myka looked a little embarrassed as she replied cryptically:
"A book," her emerald eyes sparkling as the faint blush crept into her cheeks.
"My Lord, a book! Who would have thought?" retorted Helena, sarcasm dripping from her words. Myka rolled her eyes and laughed, playfully smacking Helena's leg.
"Yes, a book!"
"And what, pray tell, is the title of this book?" asked Helena. When Myka shook her head, Helena grinned and leaned over Myka's body, reaching for the far corner of the sofa.
"What are you doing?" asked Myka, a tad sharply. Helena realised how close she was to Myka, her arm stretched over her legs, Helena's face inches from Myka's.
"I'm curious as to what genius of literature made you smile so fondly," replied Helena. She couldn't quite suppress the jealousy in her voice. She was, after all, a writer, and she wanted Myka to love her works the most. Childish, yes, but Helena couldn't help it. Helena reached closer and Myka shifted so now she was lying on the book.
"Curiosity killed the cat," Myka quoted, looking up at Helena, who had basically crawled on top of Myka. Both women were attempting – badly – to not notice the physical closeness.
"Do you plan on killing me, darling?" asked Helena, her voice low and sultry.
"If you don't get off me, I might," she replied with a small, almost nervous laugh. Helena suddenly found herself staring into emerald orbs, and they were staring back. For a moment, she considered the implications if she were to…
"No," she whispered, not realising she had spoken aloud.
"What was that?" asked Myka.
"Nothing, darling," she replied, leaning back a bit. Taking a shaky breath, she let out a laugh and climbed off of Myka, who looked a little sad, if truth be told. But Helena could just be imagining it. She tried to ignore the loss she felt in her heart as she pulled back, sitting with her legs tucked into her chest, like a wall to hide behind.
"You really want to know?" asked Myka, running a hand through her curls as if trying to collect herself. Helena nodded and Myka smiled that 'dorky' smile, or at least that's what Claudia called it. Myka reached under the blanket and handed the tome to Helena, not looking at the Victorian. Helena took it, resigning herself to the fact that she was being very immature in not liking whoever wrote this, simply because it wasn't her. However, with a quick glance over the cover, her face broke out into a wide, genuine smile. Oh, she knew this author intimately.
"The Time Machine. Really, Myka?" she asked, looking at the bashful agent, who was finding great interest in a loose thread in the blanket.
"It's always been my favourite," she said, shrugging. Helena couldn't stop the tears that formed in her eyes at this. "Helena, are you alright?" asked Myka, concerned.
"Yes darling. I'm just… touched," she replied, refusing to let tears fall. "It's been a while since I've read this," she said as she read over the blurb. After a moment, Myka spoke:
"Would you like to? I know it basically by heart," she said, blushing again."… And I'm only a few chapters in, I don't mind starting again." Helena paused for a moment, but when she opened her mouth to speak, Myka cut her off. "Or, you know, you could just read it yourself, that's probably better, I was just wondering in case you wanted to-" Helena was a little lost before she worked it out.
"Myka," she said, stopping Myka's rambling before it went too far. "You're babbling, and of course I don't mind reading it with you. It's lovely to finally be appreciated for my works." Myka smiled – blushed – yet again and lifted up the edge of the blanket. Helena scrambled over and settled herself next to her friend as the agent opened the book at the start.
"Just say when you want the page turned," said Myka.
"Certainly," replied Helena, snuggling slightly into Myka's shoulder.
When Helena woke to the sound of gentle birdsong from outside, the golden sunlight pouring through the windows, she felt a foreign warmth beside her. Turning a tad awkwardly – as there was a weight on her – her eyes fell on the sleeping Myka beside her. The Time Machine lay discarded on the sofa, precariously close to the edge, and Myka was lying on her side across the sofa cushions. Helena found herself to be beside – mostly on top – of her friend, her arm draped over Myka's waist, Myka's arm around her shoulders. The blanket trapped her in a cocoon of warmth. Sighing happily, she laid her head on Myka's shoulder, nuzzling her neck, trying to remember when she'd last been this peaceful.
Helena snapped out of her daze, taking a few steps back as if attempting to physically distance herself from the memory. Myka seemed to be everywhere around her – she saw the agent in almost everything she did. When she was at work, there was her co-worker with the long, curly brown hair that looked like Myka from certain angles, except she permanently wore glasses. She was a lovely woman, but every time Helena saw her, she both hoped and feared that it was Myka. She would get this rush in her heart, but then she would turn around, and it was gone. No, enough was enough, she decided. She had been playing at being Emily Lake for too long now. Myka was right, as always. She had to stop running. Not even caring that it was the middle of the night, she padded into the kitchen and found her coat on the hangar just outside of the door in the hallway, grabbing her phone and dialling the one number she knew off by heart. Placing the phone to her ear, she found she couldn't be still, pacing anxiously between rooms as the phone continued to ring at the other end.