Chapter Text
Helena was alone at the small table on the porch. Through the dining room window, Abigail studied the woman, taking in the straight back but hunched shoulders; the tight grip on the cup of tea; the absent gaze, and the clenched jaw. Clearly, something was bothering the agent.
Whatever Helena had on her mind was one of the reasons Abigail was assigned to the team. The Regents had concerns about the agents after the traumatic events over the last two years. Abigail was to evaluate and counsel them. Shortly after being assigned her position, Abigail read the personnel files of all the agents; Helena’s being the thickest. Her file read like a fiction novel: grief, betrayal, murder, arrest, multiple methods of incarceration, second chances and reinstatements, and an attempt to end the world. Helena’s exceptionally long and tragic life had been dutifully logged right up to the last major event a few weeks ago when she left Boone, Wisconsin, and returned to The Warehouse without explanation. The files were a wealth of professional information. They were, however, completely devoid of any emotion, reasoning, or motivation behind the agent’s decisions. That was for Abigail to find out on her own.
She didn’t have facts, but she had suspicions. There were overlaps between Helena and Myka’s files; a cause-and-effect pattern between the two women’s careers. A betrayal and a resignation, an apology and a reinstatement, a relocation to Wisconsin and an extended leave before a hasty engagement to Agent Lattimer. Decisions made by emotion rather than practicality. Abigail would wager that their actions were driven by heartbreak, and she would double the wager that it was each other’s hearts they broke.
Observing the women in person strengthened Abigail’s belief. They rarely spoke to one another, often avoided being in a room together, and never smiled at each other. On the surface they were nothing more than work colleagues and reluctant housemates. Their aloof behavior should contradict Abigail’s heartbreak theory, but the truth was obvious in the subtle actions. It was the way Myka’s face softened when Helena and Claudia discussed invention ideas and how the corners of Helena’s mouth turned up when Myka made a sarcastic comment to Artie. It was the time Myka brushed the hair off Helena’s shoulder before jerking her hand away as though burned and Helena had briefly closed her eyes while taking a deep, sad breath. It showed in the undisguised pain in one’s eyes as she watched the other leave a room. It reflected in their forlorn eyes that lingered on the side of the other's face, always quick to flick away before they were caught. It was every time Helena almost placed her hand on the small of Myka’s back, always allowing the hand to hover for a few seconds before dropping it. Every moment between them hinted at old comfortable habits no longer free to express. They were pieces of a story that Abigail didn’t know. Helena and Myka’s professional lives may be well documented, but their personal lives were still a mystery.
Abigail was committed to doing her job well, including finding out why Helena and Myka were so obviously suffering in silence. Now, observing Helena on the porch and recognizing the rarity of finding her alone in the chaotic B&B, she walked onto the porch and sat in the chair nearest Helena. Without preamble, she asked, “May I ask you something personal?”
Helena slightly tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, “You may ask.” There was an implied “I may not answer” in her tone.
“What’s going on with you and Myka?”
Helena furrowed her brow in confusion, “Going on? How do you mean? We’re not having a disagreement.”
“True. You seem to get along, albeit it’s full of awkwardness and exaggerated politeness.” Abigail paused to gauge Helena’s mood. Claudia remarked once that Helena’s body may have returned from Boone but her personality didn’t. Despite not knowing Helena before, Abigail had to agree. The files implied a fierce, formidable, arrogant, and courageous woman. The Helena that Abigail knew had a broken spirit.
Helena didn’t appear to be reluctant to speak with Abigail, though she was wary. Deciding that the other woman wasn’t likely to become angry or refuse to answer, Abigail continued, “Almost as if the two of you are navigating a breakup.”
“You’re implying more than friendship.”
Abigail watched the corner of Helena’s mouth twitch before the neutral mask she often wore fell into place. Abigail sensed she was on the right track. “Were you more?”
“No.” Helena replied firmly.
“Do you have feelings for one another?”
“Perhaps we once did.” A small, sad smile crossed Helena’s face, “Any of those feelings are dormant now. She’s with Peter and I’ve hurt her far too many times to ever believe she would trust or care for me.”
Abigail disagreed, “I’ve read your file. The way she fought for you more than once indicates that she cares for you a great deal.”
“As a friend and fellow agent, yes. Not as she does for Pete. Besides, those events were long ago.” Helena waved her hand in dismissal. It was meant to be confident, to prove to Abigail that the past wasn’t worth discussing. Her face didn’t get the same message though, and Abigail could read the rejection and sadness in Helena’s turned-down mouth and evasive eyes.
“I don’t believe that you’re over your feelings for her.”
“Well, she’s certainly over hers.” Helena picked her teacup up and stood from the table. “There’s nothing to be done about how I feel.”
Abigail stood as well. “You couldn’t shoot her at Yellowstone. You killed others that impeded your plan. Why not her? If that confrontation had been with another agent you would have shot them, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes. In an instant.”
“So why didn’t you shoot her? Why did you allow yourself to be arrested?”
Helena blinked and shifted her weight, “You know about the Janus coin?” Abigail nodded. “Myka refused to destroy it, to destroy me. She was distraught over it.”
This was something Abigail did not know. The files included details about Pete’s suggestion to destroy the coin and the failure to do so after it was stolen by Agent Jinks and his purported partner. There was nothing about Myka’s refusal or emotions.
Helena swallowed, “I’d seen Myka upset before, seen her cry, but never like that. Never like she was losing a piece of herself. I believe it was then that she began to discover her feelings.” Helena licked her lips and swallowed again. With a scratchy voice, she finished, “I had done so long ago.”
“You didn’t shoot because you were in love with her?” Abagail knew the answer already. It radiated from Helena’s body language clearer than any other emotion she’d ever seen the agent express.
Helena leveled her eyes on Abigail’s. Her grip on the teacup tightened and her shoulders tensed. “That is not what I said.”
“If the feelings weren’t love then what were they?” Abigail kept her tone soft. She didn’t wish to sound aggressive or argumentative.
Helena’s eyes moved to the door. The rest of her body tensed and her weight shifted forward as if preparing to bolt for the exit. Instead, she murmured, “You’re right.” The decision to confess settled over Helena. Her body slightly relaxed and her eyes met Abigail’s again, “I was in love with her.” Her shoulders dipped with the release of a long-held secret.
“You’re not anymore?”
Helena gave the same sad, small smile as earlier. It struck Abigail then how often Helena revealed that smile when she was around Myka. Helena responded, “Myka is happy with Peter.”
Abigail wasn’t convinced. Myka’s eyes were full of sadness and she frequently wore a strained smile similar to Helena’s. Neither woman was happy. “That doesn’t mean you stopped loving her.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Helena quietly agreed.
“You want happiness for Myka?”
“Of course.” Abigail didn’t need Steve to read the truth in that statement.
“And for you? Are you happy?”
“Happiness has never been for me.” Helena entered the house.