Author's Note: Okay, firstly, thank you guys, so much, for all of the birthday wishes! Secondly, this chapter gets kind of intense, but it explains a bit about both Myka and Helena's histories, so... it was definitely necessary. But not the fluffily magic that the story has presented so far, so bear with me on the fluffy-front until next chapter, okay? Reviews, please!

'Free for lunch?'

It was a short text – a text that had chimed its innocent arrival a couple days prior, and the second in a succession of three – but even the thought of it turned Helena's stomach into knots; heavy, leaden knots of guilt, and perhaps a bit of grief that Helena's pride refused to claim.

Each of the other messages had been equally short in length.

'Hope today's better,' the first had read. It was brief, and easy, and, though Helena was certain that Myka had hoped for a response, she was no fool; that message had been carefully constructed so that Helena could effortlessly get by without replying, if she so chose.

It had been sent the morning after they'd met for coffee. And it was a kindness, from Myka's end. A compassionate offering generously extended, following a tension-filled coffee date that, Helena knew, had been more than a little dissatisfying for her almost-lover, who had been eager to talk things through and establish something concrete about the relationship that the two had somehow begun to kindle. But Myka had stayed, in spite of disappointment and awkwardness and silence. Myka had stayed, in spite of insecurities and lack of personal contact. Myka had stayed, because Helena had asked her to.

But Helena wasn't even sure why she had kept that date at all. She shouldn't have. She should've called to cancel, really. It would have been more considerate, but Helena supposed that a lot of it was defiance.

Because she'd known, after Charles' visit, that continuing any sort of relationship with Myka Bering was a poorly thought out idea. She was reluctant to accept the concept, but she had known.

"Uncle Charlie," Christina cried with a wide grin, launching herself with outstretched arms into those of her uncle's, who was knelt on the floor and fully prepared to receive her.

"Well, hello there, sprout," Charles grinned in return. "How's my best girl, hm?"

Christina giggled, and nuzzled her nose against his cheek. "I had a sleepover last night!"

"You left your mother all alone?" Charles feigned a frown. "And what d'you presume she did without you, love? Moped about the house, I suppose, yes?" He teased, distending wide palms over Christina's tummy and flexing his fingers until raucous laughter vibrated through the house, and, from her position at her desk, Helena leaned back against her chair to observe with a cheerful smile.

"Mummy had a sleepover, too!" Christina announced, squirming and twisting within her uncle's grasp until she could escape the threatening waggle of his fingers.

"Oh?" Charles lifted a brow, but his gaze shot toward Helena with curiosity and a bit of skepticism.

Helena shrugged, but she was fairly certain that whatever cheerfulness had resided in her expression before had vacated and made room for another tenant; something that felt a bit like guardedness, mingled with shame.

"Yes!" Christina claimed, oblivious to the conversation that wordlessly travelled above her dark head of curls.

"Curious, that, isn't it?" Charles winked at Christina. "Now, I hear you have some new clothes to show off for me before you start this new school of yours, eh? Go try them on, love!"

"'Kay!" Christina agreed, because she'd been itching for a fashion show since Helena had carted the bags home Thursday afternoon. "Stay!" She demanded stubbornly, pointing sternly at her uncle.

Charles nodded solemnly and held up his palms in a gesture of innocence, before the small girl all but tripped up the stairs with her excitement.

"A sleepover, Helena?" Charles raised a brow.

"I overindulged a bit at the university football game," Helena chuckled, but, even to her ears, it seemed lacking in substance. "I stayed the night with a friend."

She'd tried for nonchalance, but Charles knew her. He knew she rarely trusted others after the incident at Cambridge – particularly after so short a time (and she had only been here a little over a month, after all). And he knew that 'nonchalance' was generally a card that Helena played very well. But even Helena couldn't deny that a bit of… something (fondness, perhaps?) had coated her words.

"A friend?" Charles pressed.

"Myka," Helena informed resignedly, sighing heavily and scraping her fingers back through her hair, in a gesture that both she and Charles knew often characterized her stress.

"And this… Myka," Charles paused momentarily, regarding Helena with exasperation and love and concern that seemed both overwhelming and overdone, as far as his sister was concerned, "does she know of Christina?"

"Not yet," Helena admitted sheepishly.

"And you intend to tell her?" Charles searched, frowning.

"I… Yes," Helena settled tentatively. "Yes, I do."

"Helena," Charles chided, folding his arms across his chest, as though he truly needed to express his disapproval in another form. Helena had received that emotion quite clearly, thank you. "How long have you known this woman?"

"That's hardly relevant," Helena deflected, because the actual answer would draw something close to anger from her brother, and she had no desire to conflict with that.

"Of course it's relevant," Charles scoffed. "You cannot just introduce Christina to strangers, Helena. Not given everything that's – "

"I need no reminders from you about the catastrophic effects that Cambridge had upon Christina," Helena intersected coolly.

"No, of course not," Charles sighed, allowing his arms to drop to his sides with his deflation. "I just – you've scarcely said two words about this woman, and already I can discern that she is more than a friend to you. It concerns me. I do not wish to see you hurt, dear sister – and I have even littler desire to see that hurt impact Christina."

"Charles," Helena said, tapping her pencil idly against the corner of her desk, "Myka is… She's kind, and generous, and naïve in all of the proper and endearing ways. She means to help," Helena insisted, drawing her eyes to her brother's and offering an ocular plea. "She has no intention to do me harm."

"Perhaps not," Charles acknowledged, taking two broad steps forward to rest his palm over Helena's shoulder, "but I presume that she is a student here?" Charles paused, waiting until he received a nod from Helena that served as her confirmation, and he nodded in return. "Even if she intends no harm, do you truly imagine that a university student would be prepared to take on a child?"

Helena frowned, and retaliated, "I cannot possibly know that if I do not offer her the opportunity, Charles. Additionally, I fear that's a bit presumptuous on both of our ends, brother. Myka and I have only just met."

"Yes," Charles said softly, tightening his fingers as a sad smile upturned the corners of his mouth. "But you've already mentioned your intention to tell her of Christina, have you not? So, what next, Helena? You introduce the two? If things between you progress, she becomes a frequent visitor in the household? And when your Myka graduates, she shall leave this city, no doubt, and move on with her life, as she should. Christina will be heartbroken, Helena. And you will be, as well."

"So what do you advise?" Helena inquired snappishly. "That I remain celibate and single until I graduate in two years' time?"

Charles shrugged. "Perhaps I am in no position to tell you what to do – "

"Indeed, you are not," Helena sharply replied, and accompanied the harsh tone with a glare that few would challenge. But, of course Charles would. Of course.

"But your arrival here is so fresh, Helena," Charles said gently. "As is your recent hurt, as well as Christina's. You know she fears that the failure of your relationships at Cambridge is of her doing," he said pointedly. "I do not believe that taking these things into consideration is too dreadful a notion."

"Then I shall consider it," Helena conceded.

"That is all that I ask. You know I only care for your wellbeing, Helena," Charles said quietly, bending to fold a kiss over Helena's temple.

"Yes," Helena recognized, sighing. "I know, Charles. Thank you. Perhaps you ought to go check on my daughter, now? A few of those bits of clothing will simply clash in color, I'm afraid, and a number of them have buttons that she often tends to bungle."

"Of course," Charles nodded, moving toward the steps. He hesitated, briefly, before adding over his shoulder, "I truly do wish you happiness, Helena. I have no desire to strip you of that. I just – "

"I understand," Helena nodded curtly, but as he ascended the staircase with a sympathetic glance over her left shoulder, Helena bowed her head and sighed.

So, Helena admitted internally, perhaps she had rushed things a bit with Myka. She had no way of being certain what it was, exactly, that they shared – but she valued her intellect enough to acknowledge that she was well aware how deeply it ran. It had descended over her hard and swift, and its impact could be felt even upon the mere mention of Myka's name.

But she feared that, with a fire so quick and hot as the one that Myka ignited within her, it would burn fast and it would burn cities; it would burn Helena, she was convinced – and, by consequence, Christina. And that wouldn't do.

The fact that the skepticism had hatched from Charles' mind, and not her own, had left Helena struggling against her dignity for several days longer than she should have allowed. And she had gone for coffee with Myka, when perhaps she oughtn't have. Because she could feel the truth behind her brother's words slowly churning in her gut, and despite that she had no desire to confess it, she thought that he might have been correct.

And Helena thought that it wasn't fair, or right, because she truly did care for Myka. She cared for that woman more than she should, even. So, no, it was not fair that she had to sacrifice this glimmer of potential; this glimmer of hope for herself.

But she'd been unfair in her handling of the situation, as well. She truly should not have gone for that coffee. And she should not have asked Myka to stay with her after she had offered to leave, because, though it had been spent in silence with little physical contact, that moment had meant so much to Helena that it would have been impossible for her to classify it as anything but intimate. It had been unfair of her to drag Myka through that, when she'd already essentially determined that they ought not spend time together.

But this wasn't fair, either, Helena conceded, reading through the final text that Myka had sent yesterday morning, while Helena had been slaving over Christina's breakfast.

'Hope you're alright.'

It was so very Myka, Helena thought. She knew, and had seen a week ago in the coffee shop, that Myka had been hurt. Bemused, and hurt by Helena's abrupt withdrawal, and rightfully so. And yet, Myka had offered to leave, though she desperately sought answers. And, contrarily, she'd agreed to stay. And she had acknowledged emotions in Helena that had flitted through her so briefly that Helena had been startled that the woman had been able to detect them – particularly with her aptitude for cloaking such personal feelings. Still, Myka had sent three messages in the past week to ensure that Helena was okay.

And Helena had been little more than cruel in return, she thought bitterly, adjusting the strap of her backpack over her shoulder.

Helena sighed and carried her fingers through her hair, but her inner musings were interrupted by the thumping of large – presumably male feet – that, oddly enough, did not continue to trudge by her. Instead, the thumping stopped, and Helena glanced up from the ground that she had been keeping steady eye contact with since departing from her Mechetronics class twenty minutes prior.

"Hey," the accompanying voice greeted, and Helena nearly cringed, because she recognized that voice. That was the voice of Pete Lattimer, and she was certain that speaking with him could lead to nothing favorable for her. She had no doubt that this boy could be quite protective of his friend.

But, "Hello," Helena echoed in reply, and brought her gaze upward out of politeness – or perhaps habit, but Helena wasn't sure that it mattered, because she was still met with a confused, yet earnest expression, and Helena didn't want to know the words that followed it.

"How come you're blowing Mykes off?" Pete asked bluntly, but it wasn't accusatory, as she had expected. It was an honest inquiry.

Helena sighed anyway, because how could she truly answer that question?

"I haven't intended to," she lied. "I've been rather busy this week, I'm afraid."

Pete was quiet for a moment, matching his pace beside hers. "Y'know, if you don't want to date her, you don't have to avoid her," he said sharply, eventually – and that was the tone that Helena had anticipated. But a moment later, Pete softened, and looked at her, gripping his fingers around her the strap of her pack to halt their motion forward. "If you just want to be friends, Mykes'll be the best damn friend you've ever had," he stated, determinedly.

"I do not doubt that, Mr. Lattimer," Helena replied softly. And she didn't. Myka was all that she had boasted to her brother of and more, and Helena had no doubt that if she elected to take their relationship down an alternate course, despite her claims for want of something more, Myka would allow it. And she would be a brilliant friend, even if Myka so obviously wanted more from Helena, as well.

"Then what's the problem?" Pete asked, pleading a bit for an answer that Helena didn't feel prepared to offer. "'Cause Mykes is… she's worried. I think her feelings are a little hurt, too, but she doesn't talk about that. She ranted for like… twenty minutes yesterday about how you could be dead, and she wouldn't know about it. She said you were weird last Sunday – which is cool," Pete said, nodding for emphasis. "I get having an off day. But Mykes…" He paused, and uncomfortably scratched the back of his head. "She's already got a complex, y'know."

"I'm sorry?" Helena inquired, brows furrowing inward.

"She just – Her family wasn't exactly the best," he said, laughing something hollow and scornful, all at once. "And her parents made it pretty clear, on a daily basis, that she wasn't really what they expected when they decided to have a kid – her dad especially. And he was always pushing her to be more, or better, or something, which is stupid," he hissed, "because Mykes is the best. But her dad would quiz her for hours on college-level stuff, beginning in elementary school. And he'd yell when she didn't get it right. And it went on like that until Myka left for college."

"But…" Helena started, with no small amount of incredulity, "that's abuse. Perhaps not physical, but it's abuse, nevertheless," she declared weakly.

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me that," Pete snapped, then inhaled sharply. "Look, I'm sorry," he apologized a moment later, and he looked sincere about it. "It's just… it did get physical a few times. Not often, but a few times. She came to school once sophomore year with a cracked rib and a dislocated shoulder, with some bullshit story about how she fell off the ladder at her dad's bookstore. But report cards had been sent home that week, and Mykes had an 'A' without a happy plus sign afterward, because her partner for our English project hadn't shown up on presentation day, and two weeks later – after a lot of pushing on my end, by the way – Myka told me that her dad had pulled her off the ladder, and she'd swung into the bookcase on the way down. It fell on her, HG," Pete said, eyes sad and helpless, and he looked like a boy.

But Helena had little time to consider that, because, damn it, she'd known that something awful had transpired between Myka and her father, but… she'd never thought – she'd never even conceived that.

And it was no bloody wonder that Myka questioned her intellect. It was no bloody wonder that she had such a difficult time accepting compliments for it. Because her intellect had been disparaged for years, and by her own family, no less.

"Mykes just… She always has this idea in her head that she isn't good enough," Pete sighed heavily, and the toe of his shoe scraped against the dirt and grass beneath them. "So, I get it if you don't wanna be her lady love, or whatever," Pete said, making eye contact to be certain that Helena understood that he was, indeed, being genuine. "But if you think you could, you know, at least tell her that she didn't do anything wrong…?" He trailed off hopefully. "She's worried about you," he repeated solemnly.

"I'll speak with her," Helena promised.

And maybe it wasn't her greatest idea, but she was beginning to reevaluate her entire stance on avoiding Myka, really, because she'd ignored the woman for as long as she'd known her, and the ache in her chest told her that her attempts to isolate the woman from her life had gone unnoticed. She wanted desperately to be in Myka's company, and, despite the short length of their camaraderie, she felt awful that she was responsible for igniting such terrible feelings of rejection within Myka.

The fact that Myka was no stranger to such feelings only increased her guilt.

"Thanks," Pete puffed, relieved. He took a step backward, as if to depart, but he paused, and said contritely, "And, y'know," he scratched the back of his head again, "maybe don't mention this to Mykes? I probably don't need to tell you, but it's not really something she likes to talk about."

"I would imagine not," Helena murmured, nodding her consent. And she reached out her palm to tighten her fingers over his forearm, and, unable to help the flood of emotions that quivered in her tone, she whispered, "Thank you, Pete."

"Sure thing," he grinned blindingly, as though he hadn't just broken off pieces of Helena's heart by the information that he shared, and he promptly muddled his way through the courtyard, offering a high-five to one of his teammates.

Oh, Helena, she thought to herself spitefully, could you possibly have devised a plan to wound Myka any further?

Helena rapped her knuckles against the frame of the door with courage that she wasn't entirely sure that she possessed. She'd mucked things up with Myka horribly, but she'd spent the majority of the afternoon contemplating this situation, and she'd concluded that Charles had been wrong. In fact, she had been wrong to allow his opinion to matter.

Helena wasn't sure why she'd done it. She'd always been firmly of the mind that she was an independent woman of free thought, but… Christina made things different. She had no desire to see her little girl hurt anymore than she had been in the past. But that was certainly no reason to deprive either of them of potential happiness.

It shamed her – and belittled her, Helena thought with injured pride – that it had taken such a heartbreaking story from Pete Lattimer, of all people, to pull her head from her arse. But, perhaps she could still make something right from all of this.

And it had been that thought that had brought her to Myka's door that evening, after a quick call to Sophie, who insisted that she didn't mind caring for Christina a while longer – or overnight, if Helena required it. She had promised to text the nanny later on, but she truly had no idea how her confrontation with Myka would play out, so she didn't want to deny the offer until she had ascertained that she had no use for it.

When the door parted several moments later, Helena held her breath. Myka was stunning, as per her usual, sporting nothing but a pair of sleep pants and a tank top – but her eyes looked wary, even as she offered a warm, but tentative smile, and Helena was nervous. And damn her pride if it didn't want to admit it, because Helena was here to bare her soul, and pride had little to do with that at all.

"Helena?" Myka inquired softly, leaning against the jamb of the door.

"Hello, Myka," Helena greeted cautiously, sweeping her fingers through her hair in a gesture that, in the past week, had become quite common for her. "I wondered if we might… talk?" She queried earnestly.

"Um… Yeah," Myka nodded hesitantly, exerting enough pressure on her left shoulder to boost herself from the doorframe, and she opened the door a bit wider. "Yeah, that's fine. Come in," she invited.

"Myka," Helena breathed, folding her leg beneath her on the sofa as she turned to face Myka, who – somewhat purposely, Helena suspected – sat atop the coffee table in front of her, as opposed to taking a seat on the couch next to her, "I owe you an apology."

"No, it's fine," Myka shook her head, offering a sheepish laugh. "I can get a little… overbearing sometimes, I think. It's fine, really."

"It isn't," Helena denied carefully, stretching her arms forward to take hold of Myka's wrists with her fingers, caring little for the boldness of her gesture. And if she'd thought that perhaps the time away would loosen the intensity of their contact – of Myka's mere presence – then she'd been terribly wrong, because heat surged from her fingertips and into her toes when their skin met, and Helena swallowed so that she could remember where she'd been going with all of this. "I – I haven't been entirely truthful with you, Myka. I haven't lied," she sighed softly, but admitted, "but I have certainly not been open about my life."

"It's okay," Myka shrugged, and Helena thought it was perhaps meant to be careless, but the gesture ran slowly through Myka's shoulders, and all but demonstrated the weight that she'd been carrying. "We haven't known each other all that long," Myka pointed out quietly, eyes locked on their hands, where Helena grazed her fingers down Myka's wrists to cradle the woman's palms in her own. "I don't expect you to share everything about yourself."

Helena sighed. "I suppose you're correct," she hesitated. "But I – I've hidden something quite significant."

"You're not married or something, are you?" Myka asked, aghast, and making a swift attempt to withdraw her hands, but Helena smiled indulgently and kept a firm grip on them. "Oh, God. I didn't even think about that," Myka rushed to say, shaking her head. "I'm so, so sorry, Helena. I didn't – I wouldn't have – "

"Myka," Helena interceded, chuckling just a bit, simply because she could not help herself. This woman was charming and sweet and adorable, and Helena could scarcely believe that she had been willing to sever ties with Myka Bering. But Myka still might not forgive her for her indiscretions, Helena considered, and that thought sobered her instantly. "I'm not married, I assure you."

"Oh, thank God," Myka breathed her relief. Then she promptly scowled, and murmured, "You could've said that before I started tripping over my own words, you know."

"It was endearing," Helena insisted, surprised at how easily they had slipped into playful territory.

"If you're not married, then what – ?"

"I – " Helena paused, sighed, and resumed again, determined. "I have a child, Myka."

She'd expected to wait a moment; to allow the notion to settle in Myka's mind. And she'd been prepared to do that, as well. But Myka nodded slowly, frowned, and inquired simply, "Is that it?"

"What?" Helena demanded, perplexed and startled. "I – I mean, I suppose it is, but – What do you mean, 'Is that it'? That's – It's a fairly big deal, Myka!" She managed indignantly.

"Helena," Myka said softly, "I'm pre-med…" She said, like that should mean something to Helena. And it did not. "I know how to recognize the scars from a C-section," she offered hesitantly, upon spotting Helena's continued bemusement. "And you've had a pink giraffe wedged into the back seat of your car since the first time we met, so I didn't really get the feeling that you gave your kid away, or anything…" Myka trailed off, shrugging.

"And – " Helena tried, the edges of confusion refusing to make way for her muddled thoughts, "And that doesn't bother you? That I have a daughter?"

"You love her, don't you?" Myka asked, furrowing her brows inward, seemingly unable to understand the question.

"More than anything in this world," Helena defended abruptly. "She is sweet and stubborn, and a royal pain, if you ask me, but she is… She's mine. She is my Christina, and she is lovely."

"Then…" Myka paused, shaking her head softly, curls quivering at her cheeks, and as soon as Helena noticed it, Myka swept them away with a brush of her fingers before summarily returning them to Helena's, as though by instinct, "why would it bother me that you have a child?"

Helena remained silent, but her eyes scoured over Myka's face – her cheeks, her brows, her eyes… those beautiful, honest green eyes – and she could detect no hint of insincerity.

"I have done you a disservice, Myka Bering," Helena murmured, and she was certain that it positively leaked with affection and gratitude, but she made no effort to hide it. "I have been… misguided, in the past, in trusting others. I – my Christina was not conceived in an act of love, but in an act of violence. Her father was – "

"Violence," Myka interrupted, face flushing and eyes sharpening, flashing with a fury that Helena hadn't thought her capable of. "Rape? Helena…" she breathed remorsefully, anguished, "were you – were you raped?"

"I'm not sure that you could go so far as to call it 'rape,'" Helena said dryly. "Her father – Nate – was… a bed companion, on occasion. Not often, but every few months or so, we'd find ourselves in compromising positions. But we'd been out that particular night, and he had been drinking more than would be considered responsible, so I allowed him to stay in the guest room of my parents' home. I – I believe he might've thought it was alright, considering it was not an uncommon act for us, but when I awoke, and he was… in the act, I suppose," Helena settled with a wry smile, "I was frightened. I screamed a bit, I admit, but he did not relent. It was… not the worst experience, as I knew him, and it was not unfamiliar for us to engage in such activities. But… it was certainly not what I would call romantic.

"He did not apologize, come morning. He smiled, actually," Helena scoffed. "It was a thin, emotionless thing, that implied both challenge and warning, but I rose to neither, and I discharged him from my home. We did not speak after that, but I never said much of it, either. Not until I found out about the pregnancy. And Christina – she's so innocent and free-spirited. And even before she'd developed such traits, I had no desire for her to spend time with a man capable of such… indiscretions," Helena sighed, raking her fingers through her hair, but as soon as they returned to Myka's, they were squeezed tightly in a firm grip that nearly rendered Helena's fingers numb. But it was oddly comforting, as well. Reliving this particular experience was not something she did often, and it did not leave her entirely at ease. "I never intended for the two to meet."

"So he doesn't know?" Myka asked gently, meeting Helena's eyes with compassion and sorrow and… such understated anger, and it surprised Helena, but it flattered her, as well.

Helena felt a bit silly, feeling as passionately for Myka as she did after so little time together. But it was comforting to so visibly be able to assess that Myka shared those feelings of intensity.

"He does know, now," Helena divulged quietly. "It was several years later, at Cambridge, that he encountered us. He'd recently received a transfer from a smaller university, I'm afraid. Bastard though he was, we'd initially befriended one another because he was, actually, rather bright. Christina mostly… she looks like me," she said, and could do nothing against the pride behind the remark. "But… her jawline, and the shape of her eyes – those are irrefutably Nate. It did not take much to put the two together, particularly with Christina's age. She's five, now, by the way," Helena asserted, smiling softly. "Anyway, he took offense, and I believe he presumed that I'd made a great deal about the manner of her conception to our friends.

"I hadn't, of course. I'd scarcely mentioned it to anyone, aside from my brother, Charles," Helena shared. "But Nate made it his intention to inform my friends – formerly his friends, as well, from secondary school – about my rather… loose morals, I'm afraid. I wasn't particularly selective with my bedmates in youth, darling," Helena admitted, averting her gaze to Myka's hand, where the woman's fingers abruptly drew up the length of Helena's palm, until they met with the pads of her fingertips.

Myka then lifted her palm upward, and, though she was clearly unsure and very, very insecure in the motion, she kissed the heel of Helena's hand, and Helena's eyes watered.

"You owe me no such kindness, Myka," Helena choked reluctantly, meeting her gaze evenly, but she was grateful and floored, and couldn't mask it. "I haven't been… I've avoided you," she confessed reluctantly. "I – I just… My friends in Cambridge were inclined to believe Nate, you know. They were inclined to believe that Christina was merely a result of my questionable behavior, and they often called her… they called my daughter a bastard, Myka," Helena sobbed quietly, and folded the fingers of her free hand over her mouth. "I didn't – I couldn't let Christina bear the consequences of Nate's actions. And so we moved here," she said, inhaling, attempting to regain some semblance of control. "Charles has several homes in the area, and he generously offered to allow Christina and I to stay in one. I – I could complete my education here, and Christina would be free of… ridicule from her classmates, when she became old enough for school. As it was, her playmates overheard more than they ought to have from their parents…"

"Helena…" Myka murmured sympathetically, shifting from the table to the sofa, and folding her arm around Helena's waist.

Helena didn't mean to. She didn't. But she sank into the contact, and whatever composure she'd thought she might have achieved crumbled to pieces at her feet, because she swallowed thickly, tucked her opposite leg beneath her, and all but dove into the warmth that Myka's firm embrace provided.

"You're brave, and smart, and beautiful, and kind, Helena," Myka whispered in her ear, and, though Helena felt a brief twinge of want in her gut, she mostly allowed the indulgent, soothing tones to cloud over her heart and rain comfort and support and reassurance as she lightly fisted her fingers in the material of Myka's top. "And I'm sure that your Christina is all of those things, too. It doesn't matter how she was conceived; I'm positive that you're a wonderful mother, and that you give her more than she needs to thrive. And no matter what anyone else says, she is yours. And you don't have to defend that to anyone. And you definitely don't have to defend it to me, okay?"

"Alright," Helena sobbed softly, lips brushing against Myka's collar. "Alright."

"Okay," Myka nodded softly. "Come on," she urged gently.

"What?" Helena demanded, swiping her fingers beneath her eyes. She was certain that she looked like a raccoon, at best, but she was beyond caring, in this moment.

Myka Bering had surpassed her every expectation, and Helena was… confused, and vulnerable, and, God, so appreciative for Myka's compassionate nature.

"Claudia will be home soon, and… I think we should go upstairs," Myka insisted. "Unless you need to get home?"

"No," Helena shook her head. "No, I – I need to send word to the nanny, but I can… stay, if… if that's alright? I know that I haven't been exactly efficient in handling this, Myka, and I – I understand, if you – "

"Call the nanny," Myka said simply, rubbing Helena's arm softly. "You can stay the night here. I'll get you to class in the morning," she promised.

Helena parted her lips to speak – to voice something, anything of her remorse for the poor manner in which she'd treated Myka, or her gratitude for Myka's kind reception – but Myka shook her head, and contended, "Just call the nanny. We'll talk more in a little while, okay? Come on."

And Myka led her upstairs by the hand, hugging soft, slender digits over Helena's wrist and forearm sporadically, and – like a lost puppy, finally introduced to a home – Helena trailed obediently behind her.