She wasn't sure what possessed her to make her way to the library at 3 in the morning; all she did know was that she couldn't keep lying in bed trying not to see a certain woman's face in the cracks on the ceiling. Time had moved differently of late, it was if every artifact she was sent for was a joke, laughing at her inability to get beyond her crush. First it was the scarf of a 19th century mistress that made the wearer remember their moments of greatest temptation. That made for an awkward moment when it was wrapped around her neck in front of Pete. Then there was the eyeglasses of Copernicus, which made her see what she most desired in the universe. Both times Helena Wells burned in her mind and behind her eyes. She could not escape it.

It wasn't fair. H.G. Wells had wormed her way into her heart years ago. Myka couldn't count the nights she spent reading over H.G. Wells' novels, her fingertips grazing over a particularly poignant passage wondering where the author was when he – or she as Myka later discovered- the idea entered his mind. The memory of their first meeting overtook her thoughts. She stopped her journey down the darkened hall and leaned against the wall. She sunk down it until she could tuck her arms around her knees and grab at the confusion of curls obscuring her face.

Her surprise that day, her surprise to find that H.G. Wells was not only not a man, but a statuesque woman carved from marble, and chiseled with cheekbones Aphrodite herself would envy. She knew the moment she laid eyes on Helena Wells and that low curling fire awoke within her, that her job had just gotten much more complicated. And even though the propriety, loyalty, and maturity in her flared up in defense, a more childlike and primal side of her kept creeping up and messing with her. Here was one of her "ought to be dead" idols in the flesh. A woman obviously more foreword thinking than her time, obviously strong and brilliant. A woman whose intelligence and wit was only matched by her charm and beauty. Part of her knew when she threw H.G against the wall that she was doomed; she simply enjoyed it too much. The tingling where her fingers grazed Helena's neck, the heaving of her chest, she wanted to run away and never move at the same time.

And yet again the beguiling Helena Wells immobilized her. Chastising herself, she pulled up off the floor and headed on towards the library. Helena. She tried her best not to call her that, it was too personal. It made that curling fire intensify, and Myka would have to get out of the situation before she acted on it. It didn't help that she would often catch Helena looking at her. At first it irritated her. That smirk she'd catch after she bent down to pick something up, or had just jumped a bad guy. She hated it most because when Helena was caught she was never embarrassed, her grin would grow and her eyes would hold hers until Myka ended up looking away, cheeks flaming. Then one day she wasn't doing anything. Just sitting, drinking coffee, and she caught Helena looking out at her out of the corner of her eye. She didn't turn to look at her, because this time, the gaze was different. It wasn't appraising or lecherous, it was soft and vulnerable. It filled Myka with a warmth that heated her up far better than the coffee in her hands. That was the first time Myka knew it wasn't just about sex. Helena had feelings.

While this ought to make it better, it just made it worse. If it was just about sex, Myka could just avoid it or even let herself give in and not think about how it made her feel. Maybe. So far she'd tried her best to avoid being alone with Helena, which she'd been fairly successful at.

Unfortunately this meant avoiding the library. Helena seemed to love dwelling in the dusty rows and old couches as much as Myka. The library had always been a refuge. She could lose herself in the books and the stories they told. Only now, even when she did hazard coming to the library, she found herself drawn to the works of the same brunette that plagued her mind.

She was too tired to fight the compulsion now. She traversed the rows until she found the one she wanted. Picking up a worn copy of "The Soul of a Bishop," she settled into the corned of the couch, choosing to forgo the lights and read by candlelight instead. She lost herself in the pages, but was soon shaken from them by the sound of footsteps.

"I thought I heard someone about." Myka started, of course, Helena.

Myka quickly closed the book but didn't miss the hint of a smile on Helena's lips as her eyes took in the title.

"I couldn't sleep." Helena's smile widened,

"So you choose to read about a story involving mental crises and insomnia? Intriquing." Helena drew closer, but stopped about two feet in front of Myka. She knelt down until she was eye level. Holding Myka's gaze, she slowly pulled the book from Myka's lap. She drew in a shallow breath as she felt Helena's nails lightly scraping down her thighs as she pulled the book from her grasp. Still kneeling, Helena began to flip through the book, obviously searching for something.

Myka should have used this opportunity to gather her wits and calm the fire in her body, but she couldn't help but use it instead to study the other woman, this raven-haired beauty kneeling before her in a knee length silk nightdress. A pale hue of blue, bringing out the ivory of her skin and the tinge of pink gracing her collarbones. Her hair was more disheveled than she remembered ever seeing it. She'd either been tossing in bed, or perpetually running her hands though it. Either way, it seemed she wasn't the only one restless tonight.

Helena's lilting accent broke her musings, "Again in a slight detail he marked his strange and novel detachment from the world of his upbringing. His hallucination of disillusionment had spread from himself and his church and his faith to the whole animate creation." Helena didn't look up from the book to meet Myka's questioning gaze, she instead spoke on while watching her hands picking at the tear in the binding,

"You want to know what I see in you. I see it when you catch me looking at you. It's like you don't know why you've captivated me so," she paused and let out a small self-deprecating laugh, "I think we're both past the point of denying the dance we've been doing, and my manner has hardly been subtle." The left corner of Myka's mouth quirked into a half-grin even through her shock; no, Helena certainly hadn't been subtle. Although truthfully, she knew she had been almost as obvious. She wasn't used to seeing this side of Helena. This wasn't all confidence and charm; this was soft. This was the Helena that she'd sometimes catch looking at her during those quiet moments. The awareness that she was finally talking to the softer less assured woman behind the infamous H.G. Wells, sent the fire in her burning with an intensity yet unfelt. It immobilized her. She couldn't move or it would send her towards the other woman. She was caught in her gravity.

Helena still hadn't looked up and was thus unaware of this change in Myka, she continued on, "I was disenchanted by the world after my Christina died. Nothing could spark my interest, not the new artifacts, not new inventions, not writing, nothing. I went into the bronzer hoping to wake up differently. But while I love the computer, microwave and especially the electric kettle, it still wasn't enough. I couldn't see colours anymore. And then there was you, and my world exploded. You were the tether that brought me back to the world. And you didn't even realize it. You were everything I hoped for women in my future. A job, determination, brilliant, forward thinking, the fact that you were beautiful was a delight as well. All of this, and you had read my work. I had existed on. I had remained a part of this world even after I had forsaken it. It was you that helped show me that it was worth being a part of. Your silent strength and open snark, even those silly red rope candies you hoarded fascinated me." She broke off again, clearly having said more than she had wanted to, but not regretting it either. It was clearly going to be let all on the table now, and Myka knew the decision of how to move forward would rest with her.

Little did Helena know that the decision was made the moment she had knelt down beside her. Myka was enraptured and every word that fell from the other woman's lips just increased her yearning. Her nails were now tearing slightly into the arm of the couch, trying to hold herself back. Trying to absorb every word rather than cover Helena's lips with her own. Helena of course chose that moment to bite down on her bottom lip, causing Myka to stifle a groan. And she had been so good at being quiet.

Helena looked up at her. Myka had expected a smug grin or smirk, but instead, Helena just looked at her. She held her gaze with such an open intensity, that Myka felt herself falling into their depths. They were so dark, almost black. In the flicker of the candlelight, she couldn't make out where the iris ended and the pupil began. Something inside Myka snapped. She sprung off the couch like a tightly wound coil and had Helena's face in her hands before the other woman could blink.

Pulling her up Myka backed her until she was pinned against the nearest bookcase, their lips colliding as Helena's back banged roughly against the bindings of books. Myka was like a starved lion, and she wasn't sure she could ever sate this hunger. Of course, one must try. The nightdress slid under her fingers like water as she traced over Helena's hips and rose to stroke the underside of her breasts. Myka could tell that Helena was trying to catch her breathe between each kiss, each one a little longer and more ardent than the one before. Myka smiled into Helena's mouth as she realized how much she liked seeing Helena this way. She decided at that moment that she must see her come completely undone. She'd never wanted to see something more, and she wasn't sure that the sight wouldn't be the end of her and whatever control she had left over this situation. But this thought was too quiet to be heard over the thudding of her heart in her chest and Helena's panting in her ear. Lifting her mouth from the woman's neck, she saw a mark already forming,

"My room, now." For once Helena didn't have a witty response at her disposal. Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, each inhale raising her cleavage just a little higher out of the nightdress. She just smiled, and took Myka's hand.