Helena was a workaholic. Myka should've expected that; you didn't become as accomplished as Helena was by resting on your laurels. And of course she had to stay up and watch Helena to make sure she didn't blow up the world or something equally ridiculous. They talked idly about HG's books as Helena went through the gooery schematics—Myka trying not to sound like a fangirl at the world's longest autograph signing, but failing a little when it came to The First Men In The Moon. She just had so many questions, and wanted to know where (in her writing) Helena Wells ended and her brother began.

Helena hummed and nodded her way through the discourse, seeming to enjoy the company, eventually evolving from one-line answers to an engaging discourse. It came out that she was just as curious about the present state of the world, especially when filtered through the perceptions of a woman as insightful as Myka. A firm believer in the World State, she listened raptly as Myka described the shortcomings and triumphs of the United Nations and the European Union, as well as the United States itself, which had become a commonwealth in itself to Helena's eyes.

Myka must've sat down at some point and dozed off at some other. She woke up to the scent of hot coffee. "And what perverse sex act do you want in exchange for that?" she asked before opening her eyes and seeing it wasn't Pete.

Helena tittered at her blush. "It's on the house, but toast and jam will cost you."

"It was just a joke. A Pete joke. A joke Pete and I have. I'm not sleeping with him and I wouldn't really prostitute myself for coffee, even if that's the only way to afford Starbucks these days."

"Myka, honestly, if any more blood travels to your head, I fear you'll pass out."

Helena handed Myka the mug so both hands were free to sort through her papers, scattered as they were across the desk. Myka looked at the coffee, as if there would be a poison label on it. Helena had already drank, leaving a faint imprint of lipstick on the rim. Myka drank from the opposite side. It was stronger than she would've expected from HG. She liked it.

Helena thumped her papers on the desk, squaring them into an even stack. "I do believe I've found your problem. Someone's been growing cannabis in the Impediment Production Apparatus' ultraviolet room. Normally harmless, but the impurities in the PIL add up quickly. On the plus side, if you could find a way to smoke it…"

Myka laughed, her shoulders bouncing like a weight was off them. It wasn't just having the gooery fixed. It was having the gambit with Helena pay off. "I'm drawing up a list of suspects and it is long. But you can fix it?"

"Remove the marihuana, brew more goo. The problem resolves itself. I build my machines to last."

"And your coffee. I can feel it in my veins." Myka took a sip to show she meant that in a good way.

"You're not the first person to feel like I'm in their blood." Helena's eyes filled in her words' blanks. "All the others seemed to find it most enjoyable."

Myka imagined it for a half-second. Being drunk on Helena. She smiled uneasily, trying to show she wasn't scared by the notion. "We should get this to Artie. The sooner this is fixed, the better."

"And the sooner we can get to bed," Helena added with an artful yawn. She left the sleeping arrangements to Myka's imagination.

Artie wasn't overjoyed about the solution, but then he wasn't overjoyed about anything. He was, however, notably not grouchy. He gave Myka a pat on the head and mumbled about taking care of the weed in a way that, if this were LA Confidential, would make Myka suspect he was James Cromwell.

Helena faded into the background, only speaking when she was all the way in the shadows. "And what of me?" The question of the bronze hung above her like a landslide. Her face was set to register the impact.

Artie had obviously already thought about it. He answered without hesitation. "Myka will take you to the bed and breakfast. You can get some sleep, catch up on things while the Regents access your case. I plan on giving you a recommendation for active duty."

Helena didn't move, but Myka had heard her voice enough to know the relief there. "I'm always happy to be of service."

Still nursing the energy Helena's coffee had given her, Myka drove them to the bed and breakfast. She introduced Helena to Leena, who complimented her on her aura, and they were persuaded to take some fresh-baked cookies before retiring. Helena melted into the taste of the chocolate chips and the comfort of the sofa. Myka, collapsed on the arm-chair, wished she had a camera. It was the first time she had seen Helena with eyes closed, guard down.

A long sigh and a small sob. Myka knew then that Helena wasn't just relaxing. She'd been so expecting the bronze that the lack of disaster had actually come as a shock. Knowing her history, it wasn't hard to see why. So she needed a moment to center herself—or the privacy to collapse altogether.

Myka stood, cracking her back, objections from her joints noted and ignored. "Let's get you to bed," she told Helena, offering her hand.

Leena had been preparing a room for Helena ever since hearing she would be debronzed. Obviously there was only so much she could do, not knowing the woman yet, but she didn't want Helena's first night of freedom to be in motel room sterility. She put fresh flowers in the vases, filled a candy dish, and stocked the fridge with food Helena would recognize from the 1900s.

Myka led her inside, silently thanked Leena for her helpfulness. She went to the bed, pulling the covers back and patting the mattress. Even Myka thought she saw some Freud in that. Not that Helena would've noticed. She was bent nearly double over the vanity, supported only by her steepled arms. Her reflection in the mirror seemed unbearably private, a glimpse behind a mask Myka had no right to take off. Myka was drawn to her pain the same way light would go to a black hole. There was no choice in the matter. "What is it?" she asked, already having thought of an answer. She felt Helena didn't just need to be soothed, she needed to talk.

Helena saw Myka's face in the mirror, radiating compassion. She didn't turn. "I haven't seen my reflection in over a hundred years."

Myka put her head on Helena's slender and fragile-feeling shoulder. She squeezed just enough to make sure Helena knew she was there. "You look beautiful."

"Pete could've told me that," Helena quipped. "No. It's not that. I was smiling." She looked at her mouth as if suspicious of it. "It's been well over a hundred years since I smiled." Helena's face set in a decision. She uncinched her waistcoat, the same one she'd been frozen in, and shucked it off fast. Her body looked very frail without it. She rolled up her sleeve, revealing a pale arm, a garter belt, and secured by the garter, a knife. Myka sucked in breath, but didn't feel threatened. It seemed impossible Helena would hurt her.

"My last resort," Helena explained, setting it on the dresser. The knife had left a mark on her skin.

Myka let out that breath she'd been holding. "That's what you were going to do if they decided to bronze you again? Stab your way out?"

Helena looked at her reflection. Tired eyes behind limp hair. The face she'd expected to see. "It wasn't for someone else."

Immediately, Myka grabbed the knife and held it far away from Helena. The reaction was almost instinctive.

"Yes, take it," Helena said, burying her face in her hands. "I don't think I'll be needing it."

Myka set the knife down on a table and approached Helena again. She gathered up her straying hair, daubed the stillborn tears from the bags under her eyes, even scrubbed the old make-up from Helena's face. All the expended energy made Helena chuckle.

"Thanks for telling me," Myka said finally, now just petting HG's hair. "You're not alone. Ever. You can tell me anything."

"I fear I've told you too much already. Scared you off."

"I'm a Warehouse agent. I don't scare easy."

"Nevertheless, perhaps we should call it a night. I'm in a mood for solitude."

"I'll be right next door if you need anything," Myka said, nearly whispering in Helena's ear.

Helena stopped Myka from moving away, just by turning her head. Myka was caught by her eyes. They held her firm. "I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Were you the one who brought me back? Did you learn of my story somehow and know I could help? Did you free me?"

Myka smiled. It could be a joy to explain. "I read about you."