A Little Bit Mad

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warehouse 13 fanfiction, myka/h.g. - through all the rooms of my body.
gen: book and glasses.
recycledstars wrote in alittlebitmad
Through all the rooms of my body.
Notes: Oh my god. Less than 48 hours til the premiere. Nope. I am not freaking out at all. Kay, so this is the shortest thing I have written in ages and the one of the only things I've written in months so idk, I'm just glad I produced a thing. LOOK MA, A THING. I MADE A THING. (A possibly slightly angsty thing? I'm sorry.)

Title from this highly appropriate piece of poetry. Read it and feel the hurt in your soul.

Afterwards she is almost unsure if it was reality or a dream; in the aftermath she has so many.


It happened somewhere between sleep and waking. Helena’s tongue was precise as it mapped the figure eight, an invisible brand over the more obvious one. She settled down onto her elbows and followed the wet trail of her mouth with the pad of one finger. Her eyes were focussed on the pattern she was tracing; Myka watched her, her restless hands and moving lips. “When did you get this?”

“A long time ago.” She abandoned her scrutiny, turned her face to the ceiling. “College, when I was too young to know better.”

“And what does it mean?” A pause. “To you, I mean. It’s mathematical meaning is ubiquitous through the considerable amount of history that separates us.”

Myka shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Infinitas,” she murmured. “Unbounded. Was it for a lover?”

There was a quiet laugh, an elbow thrown over her face to hide her expression. She was inexplicably embarrassed at Helena paying so much attention to old detail. It was a remnant of a former self that she no longer felt truly connected with. Even at the time it had been impulsively out of character, something she had done to rebel against herself. In truth, it seemed childish and in front of a woman who had for all intents and purposes lived for over a century, she was worried it would be perceived as such.

She shook her head, curls dragging against the sheets. “No. It was for me. ”

The rise of her chest with the sigh eclipsed most of Helena’s expression from view when she glanced down to watch the impact of her words. “I guess it was meant to remind me of the possibilities. It was senior year. I wanted to remember that I was and always could be on the verge of something, change, love, I don’t know.” Myka paused to chew on her lip. “It’s silly.”

Helena bent her head to kiss it again, ran her hands up Myka’s shins leading with her fingers. They hovered mid-thigh but continued to be distracting in the barest and smallest touches.

“Not really,” she said. “Insightful actually. I thought about that a lot when I was building the time machine: the possibility of time fracturing at every moment, splitting into distinct realities in which our choices and their consequences all played out, that infinite possibilities co-exist.”

“Alternate universes.” Myka smiled at her. “Science fiction and quantum physics have added to that thinking in your absence.”

“Quantum physics. Yes, I do believe I’ll have to add that to the one hundred years of reading I have to do.” Helena shifted until her hands were folded low on Myka’s stomach, chin resting where they steepled. She was smirking, but there was a seriousness undermining the mischief of her tone and her lips were soft, reverent against her skin.

(After, she will wonder if it was her or the end of the world that made Helena thoughtful.)

“You are quite the captivating puzzle Myka Bering.” She moved again and her mouth and breath was suddenly hot against Myka’s thigh. “And I do think I will enjoy figuring you out.”

It was still new and Helena’s tongue was still exploratory, searching out responses which Myka catalogued: teeth in lip, breathy moan, rising hips, and travelling fingers. The journey was as follows: over her own tensing stomach, along the hard crest of her hip to Helena’s hair, thumb over hairline, nails against scalp. And back to her own chest, her palms flat and then pinching.

The heat was unbearable but they were tangled in a mess of sheets. In her attempt to escape, she twisted onto her side, off balance until Helena braced her knee. The sun was brighter at the edge of the curtains, spilling across the bed in a shifting arc. It played over Helena’s face when Myka smiled at her, and she smiled back. It was pure happiness until it turned wicked. The motion drew a surprised gasp which became a groan as she settled, leg hooked over Helena’s shoulder, gravity pressing her clit harder against Helena’s tongue.

It was love and she was beginning to know that it was, love that let the pressure flood out and dance on her skin and wrack her thighs and she was mouthing nonsense into the sheets against a wet patch made by her keening mouth as her fingers tried for purchase.

They collapsed against the mattress and Helena’s laugh trembled between her legs and had her curling forward again in an unexpected echo of pleasure. Helena moved up her body until their legs were entwined and they were face-to-face.

Myka closed her eyes, anticipated the kiss but it didn’t come. Helena was looking at her, and she couldn’t tell if it was wonder or sadness or surprise. She felt full to bursting with words and they were too much and too soon and so to stop them, she pressed her mouth blindly against Helena’s, eclipsing the corner of her mouth until her tongue was busy in silent pursuits.


In her remembered version, she sometimes alters events and this is where she re-writes the ending. Because that would be the moment; if she had seen the future and how it ended, if she had known, that would be when she told Helena that she was loved, that their infinite possibilities could be shared.

It would have been between the kisses which were lazy, that tasted of sex, that didn’t seem to begin or end. Breathing felt like kissing felt like breathing.

She would have said it quietly, hoping to be heard and not to be heard in equal measure.

Most of the time she doesn’t think beyond the words, but sometimes, she tortures herself: with the quiet smile that they might’ve elicited, the kiss that would have followed, or the opposite, the awkward pause or the gentle dismissal. She doesn’t know which thought is worse, that they loved each other like she thinks they did or that they didn’t, that she loved a woman who was good and bad, only she was blinded to the latter by one-sided feelings.

She wonders if it would have changed things, if Egypt and Yellowstone and the months of self-imposed exile in Colorado Springs could have been avoided.

(She wonders if somewhere, in an alternate universe, it was.)


In their reality, in her past, the words she chose were simple: “If that’s how you intend to figure me out, I think we’re both going to enjoy it.”

The moment was too overwhelming for those other words anyway.


The stars seem closer to earth in their corner of South Dakota, so far from cities and all their lights. In the nights after – (Steve, Helena, Sykes, Mrs Frederic, the warehouse) – she’s drawn to them, to the evidence of their place within the cosmos. The light is old, older than her, even older than Helena, but it winks down at her until all she can see is the space between the stars. It seems empty, limitless and she worries that oblivion and infinity are the same.


Other times, in the dark, she the thinks she already knows infinity, that it’s the limitless feeling in her chest: the ache of joy and the bliss of grief.

(She hopes that in one of the infinite possibilities, they are together.)

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Oh god, what are you doing to me.

CANNOT ACTUALLY DEAL WITH ALL THESE FEELINGS SO CLOSE TO SEASON 4. This is so fucking sad and bittersweet (and BEAUTIFUL AND GORGEOUS), and basically my heart can't take it. You're an awful person. And by that I mean you're an awesome person who writes stuff that makes me cry.

I'm sorrrrry I know this is an emotional time. Thank you though. I am flattered.

Well fucking hell, that was gorgeous.

She wonders if it would have changed things, if Egypt and Yosemite and the months of self-imposed exile in Colorado Springs could have been avoided.

(She wonders if somewhere, in an alternate universe, it was.)

What wonderful, aching melancholy.

Wow. Just wow. This is beautifully written.

Really wonderful fic, sad but still beautiful. Thanks for sharing.

That last line. jfc. This is also strangely familiar to me because I've wanted a broken infinity tattoo since I was fourteen, and the whole thing, with infinite possibilities and hope for them in another life is something I've thought about a lot. Very cool.

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