Fade To Black. Roll Credits.

Pairing: Bering and Wells (duh)
Disclaimer: I have no affiliation with Syfy, NBCUniversal or Comcast. (I wish I could punch them in the junk tho)

Rating: G

Summary: I half-assedly outlined this and people yelled at me to write it, so I'm writing it. This is how I envision the canon ending to the series if it could include Bering and Wells. (So no sex, sorry)

Thank you: To Typey, who is the most awesome beta a psycho abuser of run on sentences and metaphors like me could ever hope for.

Gravel crunched under the tires of a black, unmarked SUV as it rolled to a gentle stop in front of an inviting, brightly painted house with a sign that still proudly proclaimed "Leena's Bed & Breakfast." Turning the key in the ignition, the driver sat motionless for a moment, only the soft ticking of the cooling engine accompanying her thoughts as she stared out the windshield at her destination. Her features were composed, her demeanor cool, but the outward calm was a deception. The driver's thoughts were a chaotic jumble, shot through with conflicting emotions and memories of this place and the people inside. And yet underlying the chaos, beneath the slight tremor in her hands and the tightness of her chest was a pull. As subtle and sure as gravity, it tugged at her relentlessly until she could no longer resist it, the effect as sure and terrifying as freefall.

Even knowing it was cowardice to stay in the vehicle it still took the driver far too long to perform the simple task of unlocking the door and stepping outside. Elegant boots barely disturbed the gravel as the whip-thin woman disembarked, not looking behind her as she keyed the lock code for the door. The technology of this time had always been the easiest aspect of the 21st century for H.G. Wells to adjust to. After all, the rules by which electricity was bound hadn't changed any.

The breeze that tugged at her ink-black hair was biting and Helena pulled her jacket tighter around her slender frame, fingers brushing the ever-present locket at her neck. The action no longer brought a sharp surge of grief and guilt, however, and for just a moment the dark-haired woman closed her eyes, remembering. The chaos of her mind quieted as she opened and examined memories in an orderly fashion; a practiced fashion. The longing was still there, the empty ache in her chest where a daughter's love had been would never truly fade, but she no longer burned. Gone was the rage and the self-loathing and the doubt that had for so long crept like a poison through her blood, tainting each struggling beat of her heart.

Helena quirked her lips. Overdone metaphors were a sure sign that she was avoiding the task ahead.

Shaking her head the former Warehouse agent took a step away from the car. Then another. And another. Such an easy thing walking, the biomechanics of the human body so beautifully designed for efficiency. And yet when she was looking over the edge of an unknown future, teetering at the precipice between Joy and Terror and the door she rapidly approached held the answer of which would be her fate, it was easy to curse the fluid way her strides closed the distance between the car and the front porch.

Fall had arrived in South Dakota, and where the wind teased the trees surrounding the B & B the leaves were shaded like flames, in deep oranges and bright reds. Behind her the late afternoon sun spilled lazily across the browning lawn but Helena saw none of it. Her whole being was fixed on the simple wooden door with its brass handle and locks. Two steps up, her boots thudding loudly on the wood porch. And then a slender finger was pressing the buzzer.

Inside the B & B Helena could just make out the muffled sound of the doorbell, followed by equally distorted voices and footsteps coming closer, and closer. And then suddenly the door opened and Helena found herself staring at face at once familiar and strange. Eyes – green with gold flecks, like a sun dappled meadow – were widened in surprise. Lips, full and rose colored, were parted in shock. Messy coffee-colored curls spilled over slender shoulders clad in a faded grey sweatshirt that read YALE in cracked letters.

Something, some nameless dread that had remained like a shard of ice in her heart, finally melted as Helena stared at Myka, real and so much healthier than Helena last remembered her. Now, however, was not the time for reliving the sterile chill of hospitals and the beeping of monitors. That was the past, and the dark-haired woman was finally, slowly, painfully learning to leave the past where it belonged.

She was here to embrace the future.

"Helena," her name on Myka's lips was a question and a plea and, though her heart leapt almost painfully in her chest, Helena nearly smiled. Time and distance, it would seem, could not rob her of the knowledge of their silent language. She could still see the hope and confusion and uncertainty written in Myka's clear forest-green gaze as vividly as ink on parchment, the things written there far more complex than mere words could encompass and far more beautiful.

"Hello, Myka," she responded, finding her voice at last.

"You're here," Myka replied awkwardly, then winced slightly. Helena, however, was sympathetic. She had spent too long imagining this moment to not understand the doubt that it was really here and not only another dream. Her tone when she spoke, however, was a bit rueful.

"Someone very wise once me that this," her gesture taking in the B & B and Myka herself, "is who I am." And then, "I am finished walking away from my truth."

The declaration – for there was no doubt that it was one – hung in the charged air between them. Not a barrier any longer but a bridge, ready to be crossed. And in the end they moved together, into each other's arms, the distance that had seemed so great traversed, at last, with ease.

Despite the length of the journey to bring them to this moment, true physical contact had always been such a rarity that Helena nearly gasped at the feel of Myka's slender arms holding her tightly against her lean frame. So many of their moments, of their meetings and goodbyes, had been spent separated by cruel inches or met only with the desperate grip of hands: with a proximity or touch far too insubstantial to keep them in the same place for long enough, before fate pulled them apart yet again

But this…Helena's fingers dug at Myka's shoulders as she let herself sink into the other woman's embrace. This felt permanent. It felt like home. It felt like an ending…and a beginning. And for the first time, Helena felt no fear. There was no lie to hide, no motive to justify. There were no dangers looming, demanding the sacrifice of happiness or life. There were no Regents, no holograms, no astrolabes, no illness. Emily Lake was no longer needed.

For the first time in all their history there were no barriers between them. Helena and Myka stood together simply as themselves.

Helena thought that if it were possible she would be happy never to move from this point in time. Yet even as the knowledge flickered through her mind, Time smiled and tugged her forward and Helena, smiling, went. A commotion somewhere in the B & B suddenly resolved itself into Claudia pelting headlong toward the two women, Pete close behind and Steve following at a somewhat more decorous pace. Helena and Myka parted just in time for Helena to be nearly tackled by Claudia who hugged her fiercely, almost lifting the older woman off the ground. Pete did lift her off the ground, spinning her around and pulling her rather unceremoniously inside. Only when both Helena and Myka threatened serious bodily harm did he put her down, but Helena's eyes were sparkling and Myka's smile was soft. She still punched Pete in the arm though.

Steve's greeting was much more reserved but no less glad. When an elegant Asian woman joined the group and Pete tried to introduce Dr. Cho, however, Helena merely smiled softly. "Dr. Cho and I are acquainted," the artificer said simply, knowing Abigail would never reveal that without permission. She glanced at Myka and found understanding – as always – in the taller woman's eyes. Understanding and pride. A tiny nod was all Myka needed to tell Helena of her acceptance; that she knew this was only beginning and there was still so much to say. They would probably both be talking to Abigail in the future, but for now, this was enough. For once, the words that needed to be spoken could wait.

They had Time now.

A very irritated voice and familiar heavy tread interrupted the sudden silence and Artie appeared around the corner.

"Oh H.G., good, you're here. Now if the rest of you can stop acting like children we have a ping in Dallas." And with no further fanfare the perpetually rumpled older man turned and went back to the kitchen, waving a stack of file folders for emphasis.

Much good-natured whining followed after him as Pete, Steve and Claudia traipsed back to the kitchen. Abigail lingered only long enough to give Helena a swift, gentle hug and offer a "welcome home," before walking away, leaving the two women alone again for a moment.

"It's good to be home," Helena said softly, holding Myka's gaze as she reached out and carefully entwined her fingers with Myka's.

"Yeah," Myka smiled, softly at first but gaining strength until she was beaming. "It is."

She squeezed Helena's hand and together the two agents turned and walked through the B & B to join the others at the table where Artie muttered that they shouldn't make a habit of being late and Claudia hit him with a file folder and Pete used the distraction as an opportunity to steal a cookie from Abigail. Who punched his shoulder.

Two chairs had been left empty, side by side, just waiting for the last two members of the family. Helena and Myka took them, their hands remaining clasped under the table as Artie finally managed to start the briefing.

[Camera pans back, away from table, moves outside the B & B. Fade to black]