A/N : A series of oneshots from Myka's POV. Enjoy.
I felt it since the first time I saw you. You didn't fit here, in this raw and cruel world. Everything about you was out of place. Your seducing accent, your knowledge from another time… your outfits. Your broken smile only seemed to belong to the present.
I had to say goodbye and couldn't. I couldn't find the words then, and I can't now, now that it's time to say hello again. I missed you. That's what I want to say. Instead I just stare at you, hoping my eyes will convey the words stuck in my throat.
It's here again, this dreading feeling that you will have go. It's as if the world is trying to erase the interference that you are. As if your presence here is only momentary, just the time for you to do whatever mission you're supposed to accomplish. You're my moment in time, destroying the walls of stiffness that everybody built for me. When you hold out your hand, mine reaches for it automatically and gets a tight hold of your scarf. I can't find the right words to express a love that I have not acknowledge yet, so instead I let the fear show, and hope that you will read through it. "Please don't disappear."
She's this curly strand of hair that won't straighten like the others. You do your best to hide it under your otherwise perfectly straightened hair, but it's still there, you know it is. She won't go away, no matter how hard you try. She's that scary part of you that you haven't heard yet. You don't want it to start expressing itself, to start blowing because if it does, if you start listening, there's no going back.
And yet. It comforts you to know it's there. To know she's here. She's your exception. She's what makes you different. She's what makes you unique. She's from another time and she's yours. She was yours to meet, yours to seduce, yours to connect with. When you brush your hair, you see that rebellious strand of hair and it makes you smile. Maybe the next day you won't try so hard to straighten it up. Maybe you'll start showing the world who you are. Curly, complex. In love.
Inspiration was a curious thing she thought. She had always been the down-to-earth one in her family. Her sister was the creative one, she was the one whose numerous paintings were hanging on the fridge's door when they were kids. She was the one making horrible ceramic vases for mother's day, not Myka. Yet here she was, writing word after word on a page about a story that didn't seem anywhere near the end. Ever since that breach in time, ever since HG had arrived, she had felt this strange foreign feeling. She didn't know how to name it at first. It was like she suddenly had this crazy aura around her, following her every step and adding a bright shade to her not-so-ordinary life. At some point it became too much, she felt like this "surplus" was going to make her head explode. She had to let it out, by one way or another. She tried fighting and training, she tried running but nothing would do it. She then sat in front of computer and started writing. It was all new to her, this writing process. It wasn't her usual way to let things out. She had wondered where to start for a moment until it all came naturally. Which words to choose, which story to write. Inspiration was now much clearer to her. She couldn't have said how it felt nor how it worked, but she could tell when it was here. And it was mostly here when HG was at her side. There was this invisible bond that pushed her towards the woman and, at the same time, created this utter need to express herself.
Time is such a relative notion. You come to this realization for the length of a song. It reminds you of her. And for a few moments, you're torn apart between nostalgia and guilt because the leap back in time is so easy to take. You were supposed to be way over this, to have moved on. All the way you've come disappears with every note and you're left with more past memories than present sensations. The world around you seems distant and fake and the past universe is building new walls, new feelings from a past life. You go with it because it helps you breath, you listen carefully to every sound because somehow it reminds you of who you are. Who you were. A smile appears on your lips and surprises you. The pain from the past has given its place to feelings. However painful, however hard, it's still feelings and you welcome them because when the song goes to an end, you're all the more happy to be where you are now.
At her side
Artie and Pete are talking but you don't hear anything. Anything but her, her scared smiled and shiny eyes. There's tears in your eyes too now. You read her thanks on her lips and you feel yourself smiling back at her. There is not one ounce of happiness in that smile. You don't smile to her, you smile for her. You smile painfully and involuntarily because of all the images playing in front of your eyes. The grappler, the late-night talks with Helena, your blossoming feelings for her, her smile, her touch, her scent. Before you know it, your upper lip is curving and you're staring at her like she's the first and last thing you've ever seen clearly. She says something about apples and you look down because you can't watch it. It took you so long to belong somewhere, to find a home, and now that you're finally there, it's being taken away from you, right in front of you and you can't stop it. You look down because your home is being torn apart in an explosion wave that doesn't begin to describe the violence of what you're feeling inside. You look down because the only place you belonged to is taken away as Helena disappears in a torrent of flames.