FF: All Your Faithless Loyalties 4/5 NC-17 Myka/HG
The house is mostly dark when Myka comes home, although she can hear Claudia, Pete, Jinks and Leena in the living room, laughing as the sounds of a Monty Python movie echo from the surround sound Pete insisted on installing. She sneaks by them, too mentally exhausted to even put on a brave face or give them the myriad of explanations they deserve.
After Mrs. Frederic left Myka had gone for a walk in the Warehouse, wandering amongst the rows and rows of artifacts. Here, Da Vinci’s notebook, there Abraham Lincoln’s top hat. Everywhere the weight of history, the weight of secrets. It weighed on her, but not as heavily as the knowledge that even know Helena was trapped somewhere, as much a prisoner of her own actions as the machinations of a bitter and greedy man. And she had no idea how to free her. Hundreds of thousands of objects surrounded her, their powers untold, but not one could bring Helena back to her. Standing in the most powerful building in the universe Myka felt nothing but small and desperately alone.
Trudging upstairs, she quietly shuts her bedroom door, drops her briefcase, and crawls onto the bed. Her hand reaches under the pillow to pull out a slightly wrinkled shirt. She’d found it mixed in with her own, a forgotten garment intended to be retrieved later by Helena, before everything had gone to hell. She buries her face against it now, inhaling what she can of the remaining scent of Helena’s perfume. Is this all that's left, she wonders. All that remains of the woman she loves? Nothing but this shirt and a hologram.
There is no anger anymore, no betrayal, only love now as she thinks of all Helena endured to be with her. Every negative thought, every insidious doubt. Helena fought them daily, letting them build inside her, over and over until finally she nearly destroyed herself, and everyone else, in the fight. And even then she remained strong. Even then she refused to hurt Myka. Even in the midst of utter chaos and destruction, her love for Myka outweighed the most basic, primal instincts imprinted on her psyche.
Nothing Helena had done could eclipse that now. Nothing could make Myka doubt.
And nothing could change the fact that Myka was clutching an empty shirt, on an empty bed.
She sits up, brushing away the tears that have spilled over despite her best attempts, and reaches for the orb. Once she realized there was more to Helena's actions Myka hadn't been willing to speak to her until she was certain, until she knew the answers. She couldn’t let herself dare hope. Fear held her back, but not anymore.
The orb twists and activates, lighting up from inside, but Helena does not appear.
Myka tries again, twisting the orb off and on again. And again.
Nothing.
The orb glows, but there is no hologram, not even an empty space where Helena should be.
“What have they done?” Myka whispers.
There are secrets at Warehouse 13, secrets she is certain no one, not even Warehouse agents are allowed to know. Is this one of them? Have they moved Helena, cut off communication? Is this punishment for her discovering the truth?
She is already half off the bed, panic building inside her, when she hears the commotion below. A squeal of delight from Claudia, nervous laughter from Jinks, and Pete's soft baritone mumbling something.
Myka throws open the door, the orb left sitting on the bed, and runs for the stairs, stopping short at the landing.
At the bottom of the stairs, Helena stares back at her, frozen.
“Look who got let out of the looney bin, Mykes,” Pete says with far too much fake-enthusiasm. He is quickly silenced by an elbow to the ribs from Claudia.
Neither Helena nor Myka move.
“Is it really you,” Myka asks softly.
“It's me,” Helena assures, adding with a self-deprecating smile and tap to her head, “Only me.”
It's as if a spell is broken. Myka smiles and takes a step, and then another, and another, Helena matching her one for one until they meet halfway on the stairs. The force of Helena's body meeting her own nearly knocks her over, but Myka clutches Helena to her, relief flooding through her as Helena clutches right back, face buried against Myka's shoulder.
“I thought I lost you.”
“Don't you know by now I'll always find a way back to you.”
Slowly, Helena leans up, hands cupping Myka's face, holding her there, reassuring herself she won't disappear into intangible mist like she has every other time in her dreams. But this is no dream, and Helena can practically hear Myka's heart beating inside her chest, matching the frantic, thudding pace of her own as she presses her lips delicately against the younger woman's. Words long unspoken between them need no more expression as Myka's walls crumble, her arms wrapping around Helena tightly, kissing her fiercely in return.
Behind them, Jinks and Claudia share a grin, while Leena simply smiles in delight, noting that both Myka and Helena have the soft pink glow of those in love, and for Helena, the intermixed blue and yellow flashes hinting at the peace and joy reestablishing themselves in the balance of her spirit. Pete stares on, a mix of confusion, distrust, and, well, a little voyeuristic delight, before pushing it all aside. If Myka can forgive Helena, he thinks, then he should at least consider the possibility. After they get done making out.
There is a not-so-subtle cough, a few whispers, and then a general chorus of “okay that’s enough” and “get a room will ya?” before Helena and Myka finally pull away from each other, joyous grins spreading across their faces.
“How… how did you get here?”
“I believe they’re still called cars Myka, unless I’ve been gone much longer than I was told.”
“You don’t know how long you’ve been gone,” Pete asks. This, out of everything, is what bothers him the most: the interminable nature of Helena’s imprisonment. It’s not so much punishment as torture.
“The men in dark suits and lab coats were not exactly forthcoming,” Helena answers, putting on a brave smile.
“Are you all right,” Myka asks, running her hands over Helena’s lithe frame, noting the weight loss, the loss of muscle mass, the dark circles under her eyes, all of which she files away for a much longer conversation with Mrs. Frederic at a later time.
Helena squeezes her hand, her smile genuine even if her words are forced. “I’m perfectly fine, darling.
Jinks wants to respond with his usual “lie” but holds back, understanding well enough that Helena’s falsehood is simply an attempt to be reassuring and not a further deception. He doesn’t know Helena, but his gift and curse has always been an uncanny ability to read people. Watching as Helena steps minutely closer to Myka, her grip tightening on the younger woman’s hand in both possession and comfort, he knows there is nothing to fear from the rogue agent.
“How about some food then,” Leena offers brightly.
“Thank you, but I think for the moment I’d rather just have a cup of tea and place to lie down if possible. I’m sure it seems silly, but I’m rather exhausted at the moment.”
“Your old room is still made up, but I’m afraid the regents removed all of your personal effects.”
“Well, perhaps Myka will be kind enough to share,” Helena smiles, “until other arrangements can be made.”
Myka smiles back, squeezing Helena’s hand tighter. “I think we can find something for you to wear.”
Helena receives one more giant squeeze from Claudia before the gang, as discreetly as they have ever been, shuffles back into the living room, the volume on the movie practically maxing out to give Helena and Myka as much privacy as possible from prying ears.
Myka just smiles and tugs Helena toward the stairs and back up to her bedroom before shutting the door to gain a modicum of silence.
Helena’s eyes track across the room, taking in what small differences she can find before settling on the discarded orb in the center of the bed. She shudders, and Myka wonders but does not ask, how much Helena remembers, how much she knew while trapped in her ethereal prison. Myka quickly shoves the orb under her jacket on the chair. Tomorrow she will return it to the Warehouse, or if Artie approves, let Helena destroy it in whatever manner she deems best.
They stare in awkward silence, neither sure where to begin. Words seem inadequate to describe the vast journey they’ve been on together. Myka begins to say something and falters, too afraid of the declarations ready on her tongue, the tears starting to burn behind her eyes. “Wh-why don’t I go make you that cup of tea?” She starts for the door, almost past Helena when the other woman reaches out, the lightest of touches against her wrist.
“Don’t go,” Helena whispers. “Please?”
Her fingers are cold, but that’s not what makes Myka’s pulse race. No, it is the look in Helena’s eyes - the quiet desperation, the yearning for contact, the need for absolution. False bravado got her in the door, kept her standing, but here in the quiet of the bedroom Myka can see the other woman is barely hanging on.
Softly, Myka reaches up, brushing her fingers over Helena’s face before cupping her jaw. She leans in, placing a delicate kiss to one cheek and then the other, and another on her forehead before finally kissing Helena’s lips. It is the barest hint of contact, whisper soft, but it is the last defense before Helena crumbles and wraps her arms around Myka’s body, her head buried against the younger woman’s neck.
“You don’t hate me,” she asks harshly, her breath hitching as she clutches Myka tighter to her.
“I can’t hate you,” Myka answers, hugging her tighter. “I love you too much.” She pulls back enough to tip Helena’s head up, kissing her more firmly now, not holding back as she lets her hands hold tightly to Helena’s waist, grounding them both as they reacquaint themselves with the curves and lines of each other’s mouths.
Helena nips at Myka’s bottom lip instinctually, remembering how well the other woman liked it, and is rewarded by a soft moan that cuts through the shyness and uncertainty. This is Myka, she realizes, the woman she has been dreaming of, yearning for, needing like oxygen for months. Myka. The only person in the world who could save her from herself.
Myka gasps but Helena is right there, kissing her again, deeper this time, hands fisted in Myka’s shirt as she hangs onto the younger woman for dear life. “Helena…” Her name sounds like a question on Myka’s lips, a plea, a prayer. Helena kisses her again in answer.
Pushing her back toward the bed, Myka turns them until the backs of Helena’s knees hit the mattress and with a gentle push, she falls back onto the downy soft comforter. Shoes are kicked off; Myka wastes little time discarding her shirt before crawling onto the bed after Helena.
Leaning down, she kisses Helena slowly, letting her hands wander over her body, convincing them both once more that this is real. Myka takes her time, tracing Helena’s skin with her fingers, mapping with lips and tongue that which she has been denied for too long. Clothes disappear an article at a time, shirt… bra… jeans… panties… like slowly unwrapping a present. They take their time rediscovering each other. And once rediscovered, indulge.
Myka rocks against Helena’s body, her knee sliding between Helena’s legs creating a delicious friction as they move together on the bed. There is a rhythm, a cadence all their own, unforgotten despite the many months of absence. She nibbles along Helena’s jaw, licks in small, flickering tastes across the hollow of her throat before letting her teeth sink into the luscious confluence of skin where neck meets shoulder. Helena simply gasps and digs her nails into Myka’s hips as they mark each other in their own way with teeth and nails before Myka takes a meandering journey lower. She feasts on Helena’s supple breasts, teasing and pinching her nipples until the older woman is nearly senseless, but still Myka holds back, knowing this gift of time they share is too precious to waste by hurrying on the end. It isn’t until Helena is begging, hands fisted in Myka’s hair, arching against her, that Myka finally buries her fingers inside Helena’s body, both of them gasping in pleasure at the sensation.
There’s a moment’s pause as they hold together, eyes meeting, like always a mere look saying more than words ever could between them. And then Myka is moving, their bodies rocking together, fingers sliding in and out in rhythm. It doesn’t take long, the buildup too much, and Helena is calling out her name, body arched and bowed against Myka’s as the younger woman drives her over the precipice of pleasure.
Collapsing in a heap of exhaustion, Myka doesn’t let go of Helena but simply nuzzles in against her, drawing the sheet up over their sweat-soaked bodies. It is only then Myka feels the continued shudders and realizes Helena is silently crying against her. It feels as if the weight of the world is lifted from Helena’s shoulders, the relief flooding through her as she buries her face against Myka.
“I know… I know it wasn’t all my fault, but Myka… I’m still so dreadfully sorry…”
“Shh,” Myka soothes, rubbing Helena’s back as her tears slow. “He took advantage of you, manipulated you, and brainwashed you… there’s very little you have to be sorry about.”
“If I’d only been stronger-”
“You were strong enough to break through the programming. When it counted most, you were the strongest person on earth.”
“You were my strength,” Helena admits softly. “You are my strength. The hope of one day returning to you is all that has kept me going the last few months.”
In the darkness, Helena finally reveals the details, as she remembers, of her imprisonment. There was a chamber, nothing she’d recognized, and a contraption much like an iron lung. Mrs. Frederic had promised there would be no pain and for that she’d been grateful, until she realized that with no pain came no feelings at all. Nothing. For months she floated in emptiness, numb, her only moments of contact coming from her infrequent encounters with Mrs. Frederic. But there had been some reward, something to keep her going - the promise of Myka waiting for her. Those few hologram encounters when they’d spoken, when she’d been allowed to interact and almost feel normal again. She couldn’t go mad from the loneliness, couldn’t really feel anything at all, but after she saw Myka there was one emotion that couldn’t be stripped into the abyss of numbness: hope.
Sometime around dawn Myka drifts off, wrapped in Helena’s arms, safe and content while Helena watches the sun rise, the hope that sustained her for so long blossoming into the reality that she is finally whole once more, and home.
Part Five