Chapter 8: HG
HG thinks about it sometimes, the way she would finally gather her courage to let her fellow agent know how much she cared. But even in her own imaginings she's not bold enough; she has to let Myka come to her.
Something would be on fire; a building they were snooping in have mysteriously caught alight and Myka would have been injured by falling debris. HG would pick her unconscious body out of the rubble, check her pulse and use an artefact to carry her out to the car without alerting the firemen to the fact that there was someone in the building that wasn't supposed to be there.
There'd be a safe house a few hours away HG knows about; she'd have spent some time there. There might be people looking for them. She'd open the boot of the SUV and gently roll Myka inside. She'd do a quick once-over of Myka's body; strap up Myra's ribs as best she could, tape closed the cuts on her face and forearms, strap the quik-cool icepack to the lump on the back of Myka's head and wrap her in a blanket before carrying her around to the back door and lying her down in the back seat, strapping the seat belt as well she could over the prone body.
The safe house would be quiet, empty when they arrived. HG would carry Myka in, deposit her on a couch then go looking for the first aid kit.
HG would put the kettle on the stove and dab at Myka's open wounds with an alcohol swab. She would stitch the worst of them while Myka was still unconscious so she wouldn't feel it; she'd been passed out this whole time and HG would be starting to get concerned. She would check Myka's pupils with a torch, relax when the pupils were the same size. She would cover the rest of the abrasions with flexi-tape, thinking impatiently of at least three artefacts Artie kept in his bag that would have healed any of Myka's injuries by now.
She would pull the Farnsworth from Myka's pocket and call into base. HG'd make her report after informing the team of Myka's condition and asking for medical assistance, shake the static bag with the box of matches in it.
HG would be drinking tea when Myka woke up. HG would rush to her side when she heard Myka rasp out her name. She'd run her hands over her colleague, urge her gently to sit up. Myka would recon the house in seconds; she'd know where they were immediately. Her eyes would snap back to HG.
"How did we get here?" she'd ask.
"I drove," HG would tell her, fingers on her pulse; one on her wrist, the other hand with the palm resting on Myka's chest as two fingers checked her jugular, hand rising and falling with Myka's breath, with the beat of her heart. HG would watch Myka's face.
"I remember the explosion, nothing more." Myka wouldn't be able to look away from the frank and open concern on HG's face, wouldn't be able to look away from a woman who looked smaller and younger and more afraid than she'd ever known her.
"We're safe now," HG would say mildly, removing her hands. Myka would do a quick inventory of her own injures before looking back at HG's face but the vulnerability there would have gone, would have been replaced with relief.
Only after Myka had closed her eyes again would HG tend to her own wounds. Minor cuts and scrapes, a wrenched wrist and a twisted ankle. She wouldn't have even noticed until that moment.
HG would put two frozen dinners in the microwave, go to put sheets on the beds. She'd wake Myka for dinner, do another quick check of Myka's wounds. Myka would manage to feed herself but she would look blankly at HG with her empty plate when she was done. HG would take the plate, put it in the sink and carry Myka to the master bedroom. She'd lay Myka down on the bed, take off Myka's shoes. She'd wet a cloth in the bathroom, wash the soot from Myka's face and arms. Myka wouldn't move, she'd just let it happen, still like a doll. Shell shock, HG's seen it before. Myka'd close her eyes again and even though she has a head injury and HG knows she shouldn't let Myka sleep any further; should keep her awake until the regents get there but she knows that for the moment only the sweet release of sleep will bring Myka any peace. But she would gently nudge Myka awake, pour a few ibuprofen from a bottle into her hand and then into Myka's mouth, trying to ignore the moist warmth beneath her fingertips. She'd hold a glass to Myka's lips, watch her swallow and wipe her mouth with her fingers. Once Myka swallowed, HG would take her own shoes off, climb onto the bed next to Myka and wait for the regents.
This is her redemption.
The trusting look in Myka's eyes when HG – a known killer – put her hand to her throat.
A dozen memories of Myka's misplaced trust before Yosemite blaze through her mind like the fire blazed through that building. A baker's dozen of memories of Myka's redoubled trust in her after Yosemite. The kind, gentle compassionate looks Myka gave her when she was nothing more than a hologram, the concern she showed over the hollow shell of HG's body.
Nobody will ever be able to replace Christina, nothing will ever lessen the loss of HG's daughter.
But when Myka smiles at HG, the burden of grief eases a little, and she remembers the way Christina laughed rather than the way she gasped when the life was taken from her.
Myka would roll over, suddenly awake and stare at HG.
"Did anyone die?" Myka would ask, and HG would shake her head.
"Everyone else got out safe, the firemen didn't know we were there, they had the whole place evacuated before the floor fell."
Myka would nod and reach for HG, who wouldn't be able to turn her down, not like this. If Myka needs comfort, HG could never withhold it. She'd prop herself up against the bedboard and Myka'd curl into her lap, head on HG's belly. HG would run her hands in what she'd hope is a comforting manner over Myka's back, would tangle her hands in Myka's hair.
Myka would stare up at HG, hand coming up to snag one of HG's wrists. Her thumb would rub across the sharp bone and HG's breath would catch but she would just carry on stroking her free hand down Myka's back. Myka's eyes would slowly close, her hand would fall limp into HG's palm and HG would keep petting Myka until the knock on the front door followed by the front door opening - Mr Kosan's voice echoing through the house - woke her from her silent contemplation, silent admiration.
This is her redemption, her haven. Here, in Myka's trust.
HG's ankle would get strapped, her wrist would be wrapped; meanwhile Myka would have refused to leave the sanctuary of HG's lap and her pupils would be getting examined by Dr Calder.
"Concussion seems be the worst of it," Vanessa says finally, still hovering over Myka. "How long was she asleep?"
"A few hours," HG would tell Vanessa, flinching as Kosan stitched closed a cut above her eyebrow. Vanessa would nod, hand Myka some Vicodin. Myka would turn away, look up into HG's face, looking as lost as HG's ever seen her. HG would instinctively cradle Myka's head and Mr Kosan and Vanessa would nod at each other and evaporate from the safe house. Myka wouldn't be able to look away because in HG's face she would see the full range of HG's emotions and right now HG is looking at her like she is the most precious thing in the world, the way HG looked at her when she held the a gun to her head (not once, but twice – at Yosemite at Myka's insistence and in the regent's sanctuary, at Syke's instance - and the look was the exact same both times – she could never, would never pull the trigger; she could never destroy something so valuable to her), the way HG looked at her before she closed her eyes as a hologram (not once, but twice - in the warehouse after a case, where HG nearly said what she wanted to, and another time in the woods, HG's demise imminent but still unable to say what she wanted to, saying she wanted the last thing she saw to be the sky but closing her eyes on Myka's face) - the way HG looked at her all the time, but condensed into one incredibly intense moment.
They'd spend the night in the safe house, Myka curled into HG, silent and restlessly snoozing while HG dozed, waking at every movement from the woman using her as a pillow. Vanessa had said to watch over Myka, and that was a duty she was willing to uphold even if it meant sharing a bed with the woman she harboured a deep and barely hidden love for.
HG would drive back to South Dakota the next day after apprehending the culprit. Myka would sit silent in the passenger seat, staring out the window. HG would know by now that she'd completely given herself away, but Myka would be wearing an Oscar-worthy poker face.
HG would be heading back to her room after finishing her report when Myka would step out of her own room. Myka would say nothing, just pull HG back into her room with her. Myka'd slip her arms around HG's waist, pull her close and kiss her, just once, full on the mouth.
"Thank you for taking care of me," Myka would say breathily, and HG would tremble.
Even when she's only imagining it, she can't quite believe that Myka could ever care for her.
But HG perseveres, closes her eyes again in the confines of her tiny bed in the bed and breakfast.
HG would raise her arms around Myka, aware of the way she was shaking, and pull Myka closer, pretending to ignore the kiss and embracing her colleague, her friend instead. Myka would be warm and yielding in her arms, and Myka's hands would wander HG's back reverently.
"I could hardly neglect you, darling," HG would manage to choke out, then pull back to look at Myka, to see if that kiss was just badly aimed but Myka's thousand mile stare would have been replaced by a soft look of absolute affection tinged with love. HG would feel her knees give out a little, and Myka would catch her, concerned.
"Your ankle?" Myka would ask, concerned, taking HG's weight.
"No. My heart," HG would say in wonder, and Myka would kiss her again, slowly, languidly, like she had all the time in the world to do this.
HG rolls over in her bed, sighs and gets up to make herself a cup of midnight tea. Myka is in the lounge, staring out the window in an eerie duplication of the expression in HG's little illusion. Myka jumps a little at HG's entrance, then her face lights up into a glowing smile and HG has to clutch her chest. She hopes Myka thinks it's just surprise, but she knows Myka can read her face better than that.
Myka drinks tea with HG, leafing idly through the books in the lounge. The sit on the sofa together but neither can broach the distance, still too unsure of the expressions they keep reading on each other's faces. But for tonight, the sense of serenity she feels in this shared solitude is enough. If she closes her eyes, it almost feels like the intangible absolution of her dreams.