AN: I don't own anything! I haven't even seen all the episodes so forgive me if i've missed something big! I also know nothing about anything Sci-Fi realted and thus this is merely a character story. Takes off mid episode 10 "Regrets" then diverges from canon. Myka-centric, and alarmingly Myka/Pete ish, despite the fact that I ship Myka and just about every other person on that show other then Pete...what can I say, the fic wrote itself! And Pete it is! Forgive my character assassination of Myka, i'm certain my fic Myka is far more pathetic and self pitying than the Myka of the show. Just a little angsty story that came into my head. Hope you like it.
This is goodbye
Reality and fantasy are swirling around her in horrid, vivid colors. She can no longer distinguish hallucination from truth.
In that one moment, everything seems so real.
Silently, she berates herself, for her inability to keep her grip. She, always the logical one, Myka- by-the-book- Bering. She, (according to Pete), who had 'no imagination what. so. ever.' She ought to have known better. She, of all people, ought to have been able to keep one foot firmly planted on the ground.
But.. it's.. Sam.
Even though she is standing there, absolutely horror struck, screaming at him to leave her alone, something in her doesn't want Sam to be gone. Something lights up inside of her when she sees him living, breathing, standing right infront of her. Some part of her doesn't want to let Sam go.
Sam knows it too, he is smiling smugly at her. Hurling accusations at her.
"You were late"
"You killed me."
I'm sorry , Sam
"Sorry won't bring me back."
Sam is angry. Sam is out for blood. And still, she doesn't' want Sam to leave. It feels right, it feels just. That she has to make her atonement. Let Sam have his moment. Let Sam take her life. A life for a life. What did it really matter?
But there is something in her that just can't lay down and die. A little voice inside her, telling her it- Wasn't. Her. Fault.
A strong, firm, voice telling her to fight. She feels it grasp hold of her, not willing to let her go under, to let her drown in self pity and self loathing, to be crushed under the excruciating weight of guilt.
It's Pete's voice. Calling her name.
And it's the one and only thing that is holding her together.
Earlier that morning...
"Did I do something?" Pete asked her, and at first he sounded sincere.
She turned away from him, refusing to answer. She had never been very good at the silent treatment, but she was stubborn, and she was determined not to let him win.
"Give me a break, Myka, just tell me what I did."
She kept up the facade of cold indifference.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw his wounded puppy dog face. It was almost enough to melt her. Almost enough to make her turn to him and smile. Almost enough to make her turn to him and hug him as she did that moment she realized she was free and no longer trapped inside the looking glass.
But she held firm to her stubborn resentment. She turned her head and asked Claudia to pass the salt.
"Whatever it is, I'm sorry, ok?" He told her. He was being a little too nice to her. They all were after the fiasco with the mirror. And so they should be.
"How can you be sorry if you don' t even know what you did!" She demanded angrily in return. She isn't so much angry at Pete now, she is angry at herself for breaking her vow of silence. Angry at herself that she let Pete get under her skin.
He was supposed to be her partner. He hadn't even realized that 'Alice' had taken her place. He probably never would have if not for Artie. She could have been trapped for eternity inside that looking glass, and Pete Lattimer would never have noticed, much less cared. She felt let down, betrayed, and yes, angry. But she didn't dare tell him any of that aloud. Didn't tell him that she still couldn't sleep at night, she was still afraid this life was all a dream, and when she woke up she would still be sitting there, inside that looking glass, cross legged in defeat, looking up at Artie, pleading with him to see her, to believe in her, to set her free. And Artie, turning a cold deaf ear. Artie insisting 'The real Myka is in Las Vegas with Pete. Surely Pete would know if Myka wasn't with him.'
And so she was afraid, exhausted, even a little hurt. And all of this somehow manifested itself in anger towards Pete. And somehow, it made her feel slightly better.
"Whoa!" Pete exclaimed, raising his hands to surrender. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed thismorning."
He turned to Claudia, who was thoroughly entertained by the bickering. He whispered, but deliberately loud enough for Myka to hear him "Are you sure that's the real Myka, and not the crazy chick from the mirror?"
He regretted his joke almost immediately, when Claudia only looked to him in stunned silence. Ok, bad move, he thought to himself. But he had not been expecting Myka to pick up her plate, and smash it to pieces right over his head.