Disclaimer: I own none of the characters represented in this fiction. They are the property of the SyFy and the creators of Warehouse 13.

Rating: K+

Pairing: Implied Myka/Helena

Spoilers: For the Season 3 finale

Summary: Helena Wells was the hero in this tragedy. And everyone knows what happens to the tragic hero.

NOOOOO! Say it ain't so, Jack! My poor, poor Helena…I am praying to the all-encompassing powers that this is not the last we see of the lovely Ms. Murray, but unfortunately, I must wait like all normal people until next season.

I always saw Helena as sort of an anti-hero. Or, as the story will tell you, a tragic hero. Being a lover of literature and books, I feel like Myka would pick up on that almost immediately. Therefore, this is a short ditty about Myka's thoughts during the last few minutes of the season 3 finale…or what I could see of it as I bawled like a baby.

Enjoy!

56 SECONDS

(The Tragic Hero Always Dies in the End)

56 seconds.

55 seconds.

54…

53…

Myka's heart plummeted to her stomach as the electric blue force field shimmered and crackled around her, Pete, and Artie. There was something amiss in this equation, more specifically someone. Her eyes locked on a pair of dark chocolate spheres twinkling from outside the barrier.

"Helena, what are you doing?"

"She's trapped us," Artie commented. It was a bit unnecessary.

Helena merely chuckled, the telltale twinkle her dark eyes indicating she had just solved something.

"Helena what is this?"

"I'm sorry." The force of the cables was too much, and Helena yanked the two conduits away, letting them drop to the ground. "It was the only way I could think to save you."

"What have you done?"

As Helena explained, all Myka could think about was the fact that Helena wasn't encased in the barrier. She was on the outside. Myka didn't even wish to think about the ramifications. Myka barely listened. All she could see was the woman standing outside the barrier.

"I just hope it lasts," Helena finished.

"You protected us from the blast," Artie breathed. For once there was no malice in his voice as he addressed the disgraced former agent.

"You should be safe now." There was a calm, triumphant tone about Helena's voice. The Victorian woman looked highly pleased with herself.

As the force field shimmered, Myka was hit with the stark realization. "But you're…you're out there."

"It had to be initiated from outside the barrier."

Pete and Artie burst into protests, but all that faded to white noise. Myka's eyes locked onto the deep, dark ones across from her. The melancholy reflected in Helena's eyes was tempered with an almost content satisfaction.

Myka drew in a deep, shuddering breath, feeling it tumble over the lump in her throat. Unlike the other two, she knew what was happening. It was a tried and true method, dating back to the ancient Greeks, stamped for certification by the great mind of Aristotle.

Helena was the hero in this tragedy.

And everyone knew what happened to the tragic hero.

The tragic hero is not eminently good and just, yet whose misfortune is brought about not by vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty.

Intrinsically, one couldn't label Helena Wells as a hero. She simply did not fit the guise. Heroes were infallible. Helena was undoubtedly anything but; she was human, flawed and broken. She was prone to her moments of selfishness, she was only noble when it suited her purposes, and she boasted a slight God complex evident in her attempt to destroy the world. Most of the time, she did things to serve the greater purpose for herself. For all that brainpower and that amazingly inventive genius, Helena acted just as irrationally and impulsively as anyone else. Her baser instincts often ruled over reason. Helena wasn't quick to anger, but when challenged, she responded with the force of a tempestuous storm. No, she wasn't a hero. In another time, she may have been, and she certainly had the potential to be. But one very significant event certainly pushed her from that path.

Helena was a survivor of the rigid, unrelenting mores set by Victorian England. She traversed the expectations set on women of the time to represent something modern and progressive, but she coveted her most traditional role as a mother. Helena personified the relentless protector warding over her cub with the ferocity of a jungle predator. With all was supposed to be an innovator. However, with Christina's murder, Helena found herself in a deep and unrelenting chasm. And in that chasm lay a very deep and unrelenting truth.

She had failed.

Her daughter was dead.

In being unable to provide her with a method or a means to amend that grievous mistake, the Warehouse had also failed her. In a place where miracles happened to other people, there would be none allotted to her.

Christina was supposed to be safe in Paris. She was supposed to enjoy a relaxing vacation while Helena was working. Instead, Christina had been killed. In a moment of utter vulnerability, Helena had spoken to her about Christina's death. The Victorian inventor likened the experience to a poem she had read about the Civil Rights marches of the 1960s. Instead of allowing her daughter to attend a children's Freedom March, the mother urged her daughter to attend church. That church was later bombed. Helena lamented that upon arriving in Paris, she had felt exactly the same way.

Even a hundred years later, Helena couldn't rid herself of her pain and agony. If anything, that pain and agony had only intensified. And it had been her downfall.

The hero must be noble in nature, but imperfect so that the audience can see themselves in him.

Still, despite everything, Helena had her moments of nobility. They were few and far between and they often served a selfish purpose, but in times of eminent peril, she had shown a greater care for others than herself. Perhaps it was more a reckless disregard for her personal safety knowing that a tragic end would reunite her with Christina, perhaps it was a mere selfish attempt at penance for the hurt she had caused before, but when push came to shove, Helena was a good person. She may have been a bit misguided, maybe a bit too superior in her arrogance, but despite it all, she had been willing to sacrifice herself from the beginning, allowing them to destroy the Janus coin so that Sykes would be barred from her consciousness.

It had been the only time Myka had cursed the emergence of Helena's nobility as they stood in that forest clearing and argued whether or not to destroy Helena's Janus coin. As they bickered over the fate of the Victorian inventor, Myka was certain she would never make a more difficult decision in her life. The emotionally irrational part currently ruling over reason couldn't bring herself to destroy Helena even with all that the Victorian agent had done. Helena represented too much. She represented the traditional brilliance of the mind somewhat lost in this era of technology. She represented the wealth of knowledge in a lost art, through insatiable curiosity and a fervent love of literature and books.

One of the things that Myka felt connected her and Helena was that Myka could see her own struggle paralleled in Helena. For all intents and purposes and taking account the restrictions of the times, Helena had been a successful woman in a man's world. She may have hid behind the guise of her brother, but Helena's ideas changed the face of fiction. During an era where women were prim, proper, and deferred to the men, Helena fought the norm. Myka herself fell under constant scrutiny because in the good ole boy's club there was no way a mere woman was able to efficiently protect the President of the United States.

No, Myka couldn't bring herself to destroy Helena's consciousness on sheer principle alone. The brain of HG Wells was simply incomparable. The wealth of ideas hidden in the cavernous scope of Helena's brilliant mind waiting to be unlocked and made possible would never see the light of day again. The astounding intellect that was capable of such wonders as anti-gravity shouldn't be destroyed in a world where such innovation would be coveted by the engineers and scientists of the modern world. Who knew what else Helena could be capable of if given the resources? The possibilities meant too much. Helena meant too much.

The hero must be physically or spiritually wounded by his experiences, often resulting in his death.

All one had to do was look in the beautiful dark spheres and see that Helena Wells bore great sadness. Myka would bet the entire Warehouse library and all of its glorious first editions that Leena's reading of Helena's aura would render a result of tortured or guilty. Helena might have hid it well behind a blasé demeanor and her casual, rakish charm but Helena Wells embodied the tortured soul. No one else had seen it, and Helena had never voiced her angst, but to Myka, it was as plain as day. Claudia had been too blinded by a dual armament of fear and awe, Pete had been torn between his Kelly situation and the conflicting vibes, and Artie had let his personal vendetta against Helena overwhelm all other emotions. Her sadness was lost in that shuffle.

The world had lost its sheen to Helena after Christina's death. For as much as Helena's life had brought her joy, most of that joy was minimized without her daughter. Helena had said as much herself. She would never be truly happy living in a world that did not include her beloved Christina. Myka strongly believed that every step of Helena's existence was geared towards seeing Christina again.

Maybe that's why all this made perfect sense.

The hero must see and understand his doom, as well as the fact that his fate was discovered by his own actions.

Myka didn't know how much time was left. She just knew that when the clock ticked down to zeroes, what would happen next was inevitable. There was just so much to say, so much to confess.

There was no time.

It was not to be.

Their eyes locked.

Myka could feel the tears well in her eyes; she didn't offer any protest, just a small, sad smile that was nothing more than a quirk of her lips.

Helena mouthed her thanks, attempting to convey all the turbulent emotions through the simple phrase.

Myka could only stare, resigned to taking in Helena Wells for the last time.

The raven hair.

The twinkling brown eyes.

That impish smile.

The peaceful look of contentment – Christina was waiting.

In her final moments, Helena was as stunning as she had been in the prime of her life.

The smell of apples wafted. The sole indication of the impending doom.

An incessant beeping sounded.

It was time.

Myka closed her eyes, ducking her head, refusing to allow herself to see as the raging inferno rushed around them.

There would be no happy ending in the saga of Helena G. Wells.

Because Myka knew, like any literature buff knew…

The tragic hero always dies in the end.

Ideally, the hero should be a king or leader of men, so that his people experience his fall with him.

END

And there we are. As stunning as the finale was, I admit my heart broke into a billion-zillion little shipper pieces. The whole scene with Myka and Helena in Helena's final moments was completely breathtaking and superbly done. I only hope that this next season of Warehouse 13 yields some happiness for our ladies…I suppose we all shall see.

Thanks for reading and feel free to leave a comment!