Title: I almost found a place
Spoilers: Through the end of season three.
Summary: The first thing Myka hears, after, is silence.
Author’s Note: Post finale fix-it fic, cuz god knows we need it.
The first thing Myka hears, after, is silence. The kind of silence that presses in on your ears like you’re at the bottom of the ocean, the water pressing in all around you, and you might never see the sun or hear the waves again. She takes a step when the force field fades, then another, shaky on legs that don’t seem to support her weight. She thinks she’s forgotten how to breathe, or she’s breathing too fast, her chest rising and falling shallowly, the air never seeming to reach her lungs. Her breath hitches in her throat, catching just before she starts to sob, when she gets to the place where Helena stood a moment before.
There’s nothing. Nothing left. And it’s all she can do to press her shaking hand against her mouth and try to stifle the sound, halfway between a moan and sob, that’s threatening to claw its way out of her throat.
After a moment, Pete’s hand brushes against her back gently, and it’s more than she can stand in the stark whiteness where the warehouse used to be, where Helena used to be. She pulls away quickly, and hugs herself with her free arm, her fingers curling into her shirt and gripping the fabric tightly.
She doesn’t know how long she stands there. Time seems like some kind of joke now. Before the bomb, with Helena, she thought there’d never be enough, and now, here in the silence, there’s too much, stretching out in front of her endlessly. She sniffs, and wipes her sleeve across her face, not caring how childish it looks or who can see her.
She’s almost forgotten Pete and Artie are there, until Artie pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to her. It’s a pocket watch, an old one, and she wonders why he’s holding it there until Pete speaks up behind her. “What’s that for?”
Artie sighs heavily, his eyes looking anywhere but at Myka, like he can’t believe what he’s about to say, and then, “It turns back time.”
Nobody moves for exactly five seconds, and then Myka makes a grab for the watch.
She’s disorientated for a second, wondering why there’s shelves and artefacts where seconds ago there was only space. It worked just like Artie said it would; the bomb’s on the bench in front of them and Pete’s got a blowtorch in his hands, doing a spectacular job of causing no damage whatsoever. He stops, and Myka pushes at him, trying to get him to move, so she can see – “Helena!”
HG doesn’t even look up, just keeps pulling at wires and moving them around. Myka takes a step and shoves at Pete again, at Artie, at everything between them, until she’s standing in front of Helena with the bomb in her hands. “I know what you’re doing,” she chokes out, “And you can’t.”
Helena finally turns away from the fuse box, a bunch of hastily reorganised wires in each hand, and looks down at the bomb then back up at Myka’s face in confusion, “Myka, what on earth are you—“
“Put it around the bomb,” Myka shouts over her, “Stop being so fucking noble and put it around the bomb.” It’s the only thought that’s been in her head since the explosion, and it seemed so obvious after that she can’t believe HG didn’t see it. She drops to her knees and carefully slides the bomb across to where she, Pete and Artie were standing before and watches as the other two hastily back away from it. She looks up at Helena with pleading eyes, aware that they’ve only got a few seconds left, and all she says is, “I can’t do this without you.”
She watches Helena swallow and then push the two bunches of wires together, and the barrier springs into life around the bomb, re-enacting in miniature what it’s supposed to be doing outside. There’s a few seconds on the countdown, and she hears Helena draw in a shaky breath and whisper, “I hope this works,” before the bomb goes off.
It’s different on the outside, and though the force of the blast is contained by the barrier, the vibrations spread through the floor and Myka braces herself against the cold concrete with the palms of her hands until the aftershocks fade.
Everything is silent again, only it’s not the same as before; this time she hears Pete starting to laugh in that relieved-we-just-escaped-certain-death kind of way, before Artie joins in. And then she hears the only she thing she wanted to hear after the bomb went off before, but never did, “I can’t believe that worked.”
“HG!” Myka twists, and looks for her, and she breaks into a happy grin when she sees her sprawled on the floor, straightening her clothes and trying to sit up. Myka crawls across the space between them and cups Helena’s face in both of her hands, her thumbs pressing against cheekbones desperately as she pulls Helena closer to examine her, “Are you okay?”
Helena’s hands come up reflexively to prise Myka off, but they betray her at the last minute, one settling in her hair, the other wrapping around her wrist, “I’m fine.” She grins and her eyes flash, “Why, were you worried?”
And that’s all it takes; one of Myka’s hands slides round to HG’s neck, the other settling on her jaw, fingertips urging her forward until their lips meet. Myka sighs into the kiss, something like relief flooding through her as Helena licks into her mouth slowly and tangles her fingers in Myka’s hair. It goes on for longer than it should with Pete and Artie so close, but Myka doesn't care because HG is here, and alive, and kissing her, and it's all she's wanted for the past year. She's already forgetting that there was another time when the barrier protected her instead, and when she wakes up in the morning with Helena next to her it'll seem like a bad dream of a thing that never was.
When they finally break apart, Myka still has her hands pressed against Helena’s face like it’s something precious, and she drops them self consciously, aware of the way she's breathing hard and flushed in a way that has nothing to do with the flood of adrenaline in her system or their near death experience.
Helena takes in the faint blush on her cheeks and then smirks, “So you were worried?” She asks with something of her old bravado, the way she used to the year before.
Myka’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, and then she bites it as her face breaks into a grin, and shakes her head, “Not at all.”