I don't own Warehouse 13, of course.

Myka watches, trance-like in the passenger seat of the SUV, as the sand dunes of Nebraska gradually shift into the badlands of South Dakota. A contented exhaustion weighs down her limbs and she's loathe to move, but the radio – in an act of unwarranted defiance – is playing the latest in aural torture. (Claudia might label it 'pop music' but call a tree a tree, Myka thinks.) She glares in the direction of the radio and like the mind-reader he sometimes is, Pete reaches over to shut it off. She makes a belated sound that may be construed as a thanks. One glance at him tells Myka that the sun-warm air inside the car has affected him just as much it has her – she'd be worried about his road reflexes, but they haven't seen so much as a kid on a bike, so she's willing to let it be.

In hindsight, it would have been easier if they had just gotten a hotel room for the night because there's no way they'll be home before the sun sets. Regardless, they're making good time, and the Warehouse isn't too far now. The artifact kept Pete and Myka very busy; they had to chase it from Minnesota to Nebraska to Iowa then back to Nebraska again. But snag it they did, and General A. Mitchell Palmer's letter opener will soon be resting on the shelves at the Warehouse.

Myka sighs, and tries to work out the stiffness in her neck. She misses Helena, the sight of her early in the morning, hair dishevelled and eyes bleary with sleep and love; the sound of her voice late at night as she mentors Claudia in the ways of inventing; the feel of Helena when she finally comes to bed, shifting restlessly to find the best position. (She generally winds up curled around Myka in a way that ensures some part of her body goes numb during the night, but Helena never fails to make up for it in the morning, so Myka can't complain too much.)

Except for short exchanges on the Farnsworth, Helena and Myka haven't spoken. Conversations wherein one of them is rushing around trying to keep rogue postmen from opening people's mail and then accusing innocent Nebraskans of communism while the other is trying to stop a minor disaster at the Warehouse do not constitute the type of sweet talk Myka has always thought would come naturally to Helena.

Pete rolls down the window. It's an effort to turn her head, but his eyes are clearer when they meet hers, so she doesn't protest the sudden rush of cold air. When they finally pull up to the Warehouse, Myka's half asleep and Pete's not much better off. They stumble in, place the artifact on Artie's desk, receive a bark of acknowledgement from the dog, a nod from the man (working late again, Leena won't be happy), and stumble out.

It's Myka who drives them back to Leena's, some of her energy returning when she sees the light pouring out of the windows at the inn, a beacon leading the way home.

She thinks Pete feels the same way, and their steps are lighter as they walk inside.

"We're back!" he calls, even before the door is fully closed behind them. Claudia cheers and Pete and Myka follow her voice into the living room.

They find their little family sprawled comfortably around the room. Steve strums his guitar in greeting from his place on the armchair. Helena reads at one end of the sofa while Claudia sits at Leena's feet, allowing Leena to braid her hair, short though it is.

Pete plops down too close to the innkeeper, complaining about his aching back, clearly looking for some sympathy. Myka chuckles along with Steve at Claudia's unimpressed glare, then her attention is caught by Helena's smile. She crosses the room, and Helena smiles wider as she bends to kiss her cheek.

"Hi," she says softly.

"Welcome home," Helena replies. And Myka will never get tired of hearing those words from Helena, so she kisses her again – on the other cheek. (There are children present, after all.)

She sits down, and Helena scoots right up against her. They're sitting too close, (then again, they're always too close) and Myka can't wipe the grin off her face. She tugs playfully at the hem of Helena's thin blouse and they all settle down to watch a rerun of The Golden Girls.

"Whoa, Myka, you're really tired, huh?" Steve's voice filters in through a sort of haze and Myka blinks sleepily at him. Myka sits up, rubbing her eyes. She doesn't have any memory resting her head on Helena's shoulder. She must have dozed off.

Helena pats a hand high up on her thigh and Myka blinks her eyes wide. "Steve's right, I'm afraid," she says quietly, and Myka opens her mouth to argue – "Myka." Helena cuts off her protests with just the one word.

Pete and Claudia titter and she would roll her eyes but Helena's smiling up at her in the way that she has so Myka concerns herself with trying not to blush too noticeably.

"I'll wait for you in your room." Helena's voice is low enough that the others won't hear.

Myka scrunches up her nose. "The heat's on."

Despite the almost magical qualities to the B&B – the bedrooms that pop out of nowhere to house their entire crew – it's an old building and as such heat is distributed unevenly between their rooms. In the winter, the hallways (and Artie's room) get very chilly, while Myka's bedroom quickly becomes the warmest in the entire building. She personally doesn't mind the transition from the chilly hallway to her toasty bedroom, but Helena is sensitive to temperature change.

"I know," she says. "It's alright." Myka considers her thoughtfully, then as inspiration strikes, she murmurs agreement.

Helena gets to her feet with an easy smile and Myka's heart aches with adoration and passion and enchantment and the vast multitude of emotions Helena can inspire in her. She waits until she hears Helena's soft footsteps going up the stairs, then darts into the kitchen.

Myka walks in to find Helena perched on her bed, flipping through Myka's copy of The Return of the King. She hasn't undressed. That's good, Myka wants to do that tonight.

She sets the bowl she's carrying on the nightstand and draws Helena up toward her before she can see what's inside. Helena smiles into the kiss, but breaks away when Myka tugs open Helena's belt buckle.

"You're tired," Helena chides. Still, her eyes are fixed on Myka's lips.

"Sh." Myka is focused on her task, and Helena tucks a curl behind her ear.

"Myka," she tries again, whispering directly into that ear.

"I have better uses for your mouth," Myka says, and Helena's breath hitches at the growl in her voice. She wraps her arms securely around Myka's neck and Myka takes it for the surrender it is.

Before long, Helena is naked save for bra and underwear.

Normally, Myka takes a special pleasure in figuring out how to deal with Helena's bra every time they do this. Sometimes she won't take it off until Helena is on the cusp of orgasm and depriving herself of Helena laid bare before her is a punishment too severe, or sometimes she won't take it off at all, to better enjoy the way Helena's breasts heave in the constraints as she falls apart, shaking and keening under her.

This time, the undergarments stay on, and she urges Helena onto the bed.

Myka's not tired anymore, if anything she's hyper awake. She casts a brief glance to the bowl she brought up with her, and hopes its contents will last while she prepares them both.

"I know you hate my room in the winter," Myka begins, pressing her lips to Helena's neck. Helena hums, arching under her. "It's hot, isn't it?"

"Yes," Helena mumbles, turning her head to the side. It exposes more skin to Myka's mouth and she runs a line of kisses down her neck.

"Too hot?" Helena hums again, scratching lightly down Myka's back. "Do you want to cool down?" She's already reaching for the bowl.

Helena chuckles, eyes closed. Myka is grateful, it will make the surprise that much better. "Being with you rarely cools me down, darl – oh!"

Her eyes spring open and she stares wide-eyed at Myka, then at the ice cube Myka's running above the line of Helena's underwear. Myka bends to tug Helena's bottom lip between her teeth, and Helena's fingers tighten around her bicep.

"No," she orders breathlessly, and Helena moans. "Hands above your head." Helena's fingers wrap around the headboard and Myka loves her like this, arching and so very willing.

Helena knows not to move her hands now, not unless she wants the game to end. Myka drops the already-melting ice cube on Helena's collarbone and watches it slip downward when Helena rolls her shoulders. Myka guides its progress down to her breasts, tracing a path toward the peak and enjoys the hiss that tells her Helena's losing herself in the pleasure.

She'll have to get a new ice cube soon, this one wasn't very big to start with and now it's practically gone. She runs her finger around Helena's nipple a few more times anyway, mesmerized by how the high it rises.

Myka slides what's left of the ice down her belly and Helena hisses as it traces the outlines of her underwear.

"Take it off," Helena says, gasping.

"Don't tell me what to do," Myka snarls and Helena presses her lips into a tight line, though dark eyes plead wordlessly.

She is in full control here and Helena is not. So Myka takes another ice cube, a fresher, colder one, and rubs it on top of Helena's nipples and she cries out immediately, back arching off the bed. Myka whips off the bra impeding her way and now she's positively relentless, she keeps at it, until both her nipples stand out farther from her body than Myka's ever seen and Helena is keening into her own arm, shuddering and shaking. They could have been in this room, in this moment, forever or for five minutes – Myka has lost all sense of time.

"Let me hear you," is Myka's next order and Helena turns her head to face Myka, whimpering. She writhes as Myka moves the ice downward, ever downward, painting the underside of her breasts, and around her navel then downwards still. She leaves the cube on Helena's trembling stomach as Myka takes off her underwear, and it slips and slides with every breath she takes. Air moves over her body and makes goosebumps rise, especially those areas made wet by the melting ice. Myka moves back up, a feral grin on her lips and it's only a little thing now, the ice cube. But Helena knows where it's going and welcomes it, hips coming off the bed to aid Myka.

It's small, but she feels its sting as Myka slips the ice inside. And Myka's surprised it doesn't steam as it comes into contact with Helena's heat. She looks up to find Helena's knuckles white on the headboard and her head tilted far back. She surges upward, hands on either side of Helena's torso and she sucks at the skin of her neck, marking and biting as Helena gasps for breath, overwhelmed by the heat of Myka's mouth on her and the ice melting quickly inside her.

Myka moves down to Helena's breasts and as she sucks a nipple into her mouth, she marvels not just at the contrast between the heat of her mouth and the chill of Helena's skin but also at the cry Helena lets out. This room is not soundproofed and the whole house will know what they're doing.

They'll hear how Helena is at Myka's mercy and while normally Myka would be mortified, right now she's high on Helena and no thought could please her more.

She fumbles for another ice cube, pressing it down hard on Helena's body and Helena pleads incoherently, she wants it to continue forever, she wants release right now. Myka chases the ice's trail with her lips and tongue and Helena thrashes at the feel of her mouth on her, sucking up the chill and leaving behind searing heat.

Myka straddles a leg and even through her haze, Helena pushes up with her thigh, body on autopilot. Because it's as natural as breathing, giving Myka pleasure and taking from her pleasure in turn.

Helena watches as Myka sucks what remains of the ice cube into her mouth and shuts her eyes against it because now cool lips trace shapes on Helena's body and Myka is two fingers deep in her.

"Myka, don't stop," Near delirious with pleasure, she worries that Myka might think it an order and halt to punish her. "Please," she keens. "Please, don't stop please."

Myka drops her head on to Helena's shoulder and her breathing is harsh and laboured as she moves over her. "Helena," she murmurs, blindly pressing kisses to her neck. "Oh, Helena."

So it is that Helena comes undone, not quite screaming but close enough and Myka follows soon after, muffling her release in the crook of Helena's neck.

She has an odd, internal dichotomy when it comes to Helena, Myka knows. Like a day personality, and a night personality. During the day, anyone and their plumber can tell how she's wrapped around Helena's finger, but at night someone might think the opposite, that Myka is in charge. They'd be wrong. Myka presses an idle kiss to the back of Helena's neck. Both times, her actions are always, always born out of love for Helena and a desire to protect Helena and a willingness to give her whatever she wants.

The woman in question shifts under Myka's touch and wriggles closer.

It's like an evening of scales, Myka decides, stroking lightly down Helena's arm. A balancing of temperaments. Maybe. She's not sure.

Helena pushes back into Myka, jarring her out of her musings. "I can hear you thinking," she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. "Stop it."

Myka stifles a chuckle and murmurs an apology against the warmth of Helena's shoulder.

Helena has just gotten out of the shower when Myka wakes up. She lies still, watching Helena dry her hair and pretends sleep when Helena catches her reflection in the mirror.

"Goodness," she says playfully. "I do wish Myka was awake. I've been meaning to tell her something. But of course I can't reveal the big secret to her now, she's clearly fast asleep."

"You're the worst," Myka groans, pulling a pillow over her face to hide her grin. "What big secret?"

She pushes the pillow aside in time to see Helena pounce on her. Myka oofs in response, body curling automatically around Helena's.

"What big secret?" Helena repeats, voice (breathy and overly innocent) and hair (soft and overly seductive) tickling her neck as Myka squirms happily.

"The big secret," Myka insists. "The one you were going to tell me. That one."

Helena nuzzles closer. "Darling, make me breakfast." She bumps her nose against Myka's, ignoring her request completely. Myka groans, arms tight around Helena's waist.

"No. Do it your-" she winces, remembering the last time Helena had been allowed in the kitchen unsupervised. "Never mind."

She pouts at Helena's triumphant smile.

"I think I'd like those waffles Pete raves about," Helena muses as she walks into the kitchen with Myka in tow. "Is the mixture in the top most cabinet?"

Yes. It's also where Myka is keeping Helena's Christmas present. (She had thought it a safe place since Leena had all but banned Helena from the kitchen.)

"No, no, wait." Myka stretches out an arm and catches Helena, hand on the flat on her stomach. Helena returns to Myka's side willingly and yawns, wrapping a hand around Myka's forearm and leaning into her.

Myka smirks. "Tired?"

Her skin tingles as Helena grins against her shoulder. "Are we feeling overly boastful this morning?"

Maybe.

Myka recalls her theories from last night, about how they work, together as a couple. The morning has brought clarity and now she's fairly certain: their relationship is one based on give and take, demonstrated differently not based on the time of day, but on whether they're alone because Myka and Helena belong to each other more fully when they're alone.

Or something. It's difficult to understand, but Helena is pressing a kiss to her chin and Myka thinks maybe it's okay if she doesn't, completely.

"You've been quiet lately," Helena says. "Is everything all right?"

"Just thinking," Myka whispers. She kisses Helena, short and chaste, feeling lips curl upwards under her mouth. Pulling back, she finds Helena looking at her through eyes half-shut and glittering. She's beautiful in a thousand different ways and all the poetry Myka has ever read suddenly falls into place. "I love you," she says, stroking along her jaw. Helena looks surprised for a moment (Myka doesn't blame her; they've never verbalized this before, they've never needed to) then she smiles. Her hand is reaching to smooth Myka's hair when Pete strolls in with Trailer at his side, chattering about breakfast.

They don't move that far apart (they never do) but the moment is definitely broken. Myka knows, without looking, that Helena is smiling fondly at the glare she's aiming at Pete, just as surely as she knows, without looking, that Helena loves her too.