Title: Broken
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Infringement is not intended, if you think I am infringing just send me a cease and desist email.
A/N- This is a short, rambling, word vomit piece. I'm told it's a bit morbid, too. I don't know where it came from, but it's out now, and I wash my hands of it.
Also, I know I need/should be working on power is always key, but I cannot focus at the moment. So, yeah.
Helena felt Myka reach into her chest, worming her fingers past her ribs and wrap her hands around her heart, cradling it. That wet dark thing, beating in time to a cadence only it understands. Full, near to brimming, with the viscose fluid of life; blood pounding through veins swollen to the point of rupture, in order to handle the increase in volume. The rushing tide nearly overtaking her in its fury, leaving her quivering and defenseless in its wake. Only Myka could shelter her during this storm. Only her firm hands tethered her to earth, providing a tangible lifeline to follow back to safety. Myka was her safe place, she wanted to crawl inside her and curl up next to her heart, kept safe and warm by the blanket of her love.
Myka knew that Helena hid behind a veil of sarcastic wit and defended herself with her mastery of language. Masking her pain with walls erected over a lifetime of anguish, solitude, and rage. Her anger was a visceral thing, it was as second nature as breathing, and as fluid as the blood pumping in her veins.
Buried deep in Helena's being, covered and buried away from anything that could harm it, was what she kept from the world. Hidden - no light reaching it and protected by sly wit, silver tongue, and brash ego - was her love. Somewhere along the way she had been broken. Shattered in bits whose fragments were dispersed by the wind and lost in the atmosphere, never having been truly healed. The jagged edges of her pain were sewn together with threads of anger and hate. Only kind hands had found the threads and unwoven them. Skillful fingers plucking at the strands, separating and unraveling them, undoing her. Those same deft fingers locating the pieces of her soul and carefully fitting them back together.
Compartmentalizing was a way Helena learned to deal with matters without actually having to deal with them. Place an item in a box, close the lid, and put it in a location that even she couldn't find if she were to try. Only when her guard was down did any true emotion surface. Only when she lay naked and exposed, everything about her torn asunder, did the boxes open.
Helena knew how she felt about Myka, but like everything else she cared about, she did her best to lock it away. It's only when you have nowhere else to hide, have no means of defense left, are you able to start healing. Finding someone that can understand you, that can accept all that you are is a rare thing. Lucky for Helena the bronze was a just mistress. 100 years of punishment for her sins, a century of imprisonment in a soundless, motionless, silence was time served. Upon her parole, early by some counts, she was given a parting gift. Understanding. Empathy found in warm green eyes, eyes that looked into her heart and saw something worth saving. Saw and chose to eradicate the darkness that plagued her.
Myka felt the moment she breached Helena's walls, the release of years of hate and distrust came tumbling out. The first few tears that trickled down Helena's face soon became a torrent. Holding tightly to the small body, she gently rocked her. While she knew that Helena was broken, she also knew that she was not beyond repair. As long as they stayed true to one another, and put their faith and trust in whatever this was between them, they would heal, together. Myka knew in her soul that they belonged to each other, and she would do everything in her power to make sure Helena believed it, too.