#Socks McPherson
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Julian To Kieran
PRIVATE COMMUNIQUE: DO NOT SHARE ON PAIN OF DEATH
From: Julian Blackthorn of Blackthorn Hall
To: Kieran, King of Unseelie
Well, we’re back from the Seelie Court. Good news: we got the fish slice. Bad news: we didn’t learn very much and we raised a lot of suspicion. But I’m happy to share with you how things went in the hope that you will find it informative. I hope also that you will consider it sufficient exchange for the favor you now owe a phouka. (I am pretty sure that favor will involve asking you to buy a hat.)
We were pretty nervous about going, even with Adaon’s invite—the last time we were in Faerie, things were not great. It was all gray smoke and snow and moths and blasted areas of dead land. All of that seems to be over and done with; Faerie looks healthy again. It was autumn there, and the ground was covered in fallen leaves, all red and gold.
Anyway, we followed Adaon’s instructions and entered Faerie through an old barrow at Primrose Hill. We ended up in a forest clearing with two big wooden doors rising up out of the ground. And Adaon was there to meet us, which was nice of him.
But he did not look happy. He hurried over and explained that he had had to tell the Queen we were coming. “There isn’t much that occurs under her roof,” he said, “of which she is unaware. It is how she has maintained her power all this time, in part.”
He looked so miserable that Emma told him it was all fine and we weren’t doing anything that the Queen would disapprove of, or even care about. He just kind of shook his head. “One never knows just what her Majesty will care about. Or disapprove of. She has bid me take you both to the throne room upon your arrival, and so that is what I must do.”
Now I began to feel a bit more nervous. I reminded Adaon that he had guaranteed our safety. He said, “By the laws of hospitality, not to mention the Accords, she may not harm you or detain you, if your purpose be virtuous.” But he was shaking his head again.
“Let me guess,” I said. “The Queen has the exclusive power to decide if our purpose is virtuous or not.”
Adaon smiled thinly. “Quite.” But he brought us to the throne room.
The throne room was just as autumn-themed as the clearing. More so, really. But it wasn’t about the end of the growing season or being sad that summer was over. It was more like a harvest celebration. There were cornucopias, is what I’m saying, spilling over with gourds, apples, pears, corncobs. There were hay bales, which is kind of funny since nobody in that throne room has, I promise you, ever baled hay. There were pixies with fiery butterfly wings, circling the ceiling.
The Queen was, not surprisingly, on her throne. She wore a dress that I swear, was entirely made of glittering green scarab beetles sewed together. Her hair was like an explosion of red-gold flames around her face. She doesn’t look sickly or emaciated anymore, like she did when we last saw her, and she seemed to exude a power she’d been missing before.
There were the usual groups of faeries scattered around the room—courtiers, I guess—gossiping, tittering, sometimes just sitting around being louche. So everything seemed normal there. They barely paid attention to us, just kind of craned their necks over, realized we weren’t interesting, and got back to lounging.
I expected the Queen to immediately start insulting us, but she was actually quite cordial. Not warm. But not unfriendly, either. Of course, she did want to be complimented on the décor first. She waved her hand around at the throne room and opened with, “You choose a fair season to visit us.”
“It’s cheerier than last time,” Emma said.
“And yet you have chosen to return,” the Queen said, as though she was pleased about it, “despite the…lack of cheer at our last meeting.”
“It has been a long time since we saw our friend Adaon,” I said. “We sought the pleasure of his company.”
“Sayest thou such?” said the Queen, which I suspect is Faerie-speak for So, that’s obviously bullshit. “As you must know, it is not outside the realm of my knowledge that your brother is the consort of the Unseelie King.”
“Only one of his consorts,” Emma pointed out.
The Queen ignored her. “Surely you’ve anticipated that I would suspect you of espionage.”
“We are not here for the Unseelie King,” I said, “but rather regarding our interests in the Seelie Court. Indeed, our family is connected to the Seelie Court in several ways. As you know.”
The Queen ignored me as well. “Your best defense, it seems to me, is that you are such obvious choices for espionage, that surely Kieran Kingson [I think this was meant to be an insult to you, me or both of us] would be cleverer than to choose you as his spies.”
“That too,” Emma said.
“Well, then,” the Queen said. “Spin me a tale. What is your purpose here?”
I felt like we had nothing to lose with the truth—we really weren’t doing anything the Queen should care about. So I gave her the whole story: we inherited a house in London; the house is cursed; we want to undo the curse. I emphasized that neither the house nor the curse were fey-related at all. (I did not bring up Round Tom, as I thought it would be distracting to the main point.)
Breaking the curse requires that (among other things) we get our hands on this fish slice; we’ve learned the fish slice is or was in the possession of Socks MacPherson the phouka; we’ve come to bargain with him for it, and we arranged an invitation through Adaon because we had no way to contact MacPherson directly.
“All we need to do,” Emma said, “is barter with MacPherson for the fish slice. We can do it right here in the throne room, if he could be sent for.”
The Queen looked very interested all of a sudden. “You are willing to do the business here, and never enter the Court proper at all?”
I explained to the Queen that we strongly shared her desire for us not to have to enter the Court.
She seemed surprised, but she called over one of the courtiers and murmured to him. “The phouka will be sent for,” she said. “Prince Adaon, when the Nephilim have concluded their negotiation with him, you will escort them back outside and see them off.” Adaon bowed his assent. “And now,” she said, and her eyes flicked over to one side, “I must beg your pardon, as I see that I am needed.”
We stepped aside to let her descend the throne. I saw that a man had come in who I didn’t recognize—but he was clearly someone of importance given how differently he was dressed than anybody else there. Rather than garb appropriate to court, he was in a gray-green hooded cloak, and his face was obscured by a mask like a falcon head. His clothes were more appropriate to hunting in the woods than anything else, but they were perfectly clean. I didn’t know what to make of him—but I thought I had better pass along his description to you. You said to look for anything new or out of place, and I couldn’t help feeling like he was.
We waited around and chatted with Adaon for a couple of minutes and then Socks MacPherson showed up. We’ve met a couple phoukas before—one of them is the gatekeeper at the LA Shadow Market, as you might remember—and I had thought maybe MacPherson would turn out to be one of those, but no, totally different guy. He was wearing a huge round fur hat that his ears stuck through. It was a lot of hat.
He seemed surprised that the Queen had left us alone, and said he was sorry if we had been harassed overmuch on his account. I said she had probably meant to loom over us but had been called away unexpectedly. MacPherson shrugged and said, “She thinks everything is a move in some game of five-dimensional chess she is playing. But sometimes, someone only wants to trade me something for a kitchen tool. Speaking of which, I have the fish slice.”
He took it out of a kind of carpet bag he had brought with him, and immediately the Ghost Sensor went off like crazy and he kind of jumped away and hid behind one of the groups of courtiers. Although we could still see his hat. (And his ears twitching above the hat.) So we had to go over and explain that it was just a device that detected the cursed objects we were looking for and that the noise was good because it confirmed that the fish slice was the one we wanted. The courtiers shooed us away; they had some important luxuriating to get to that we were delaying.
Socks grumbled that of course “that miserable Spoon” gave him a cursed fish slice. “I don’t know why I took the deal,” he said. “I don’t have any use for this thing. I’m a vegetarian.”
Finally he asked what we were offering, we told him a favor from you and explained how it was we were qualified to offer such a thing. He said the offer was acceptable and we took home the fish slice.
To sum up: Socks MacPherson is protected by the Seelie Court but didn’t blink at accepting a favor from the Unseelie Court. The Queen remains suspicious, both in the sense that she suspected us and in the sense that her behavior was itself weird. The Seelie Court is definitely hiding something, given how relieved the Queen was the minute she realized we weren’t going to actually leave the throne room and enter the court to look around. I have a feeling, based on nothing really — that it’s not a something but a someone that they’re concealing—if it was an object surely they could just hide it somewhere we wouldn’t see it? But, it’s just a feeling.
So that’s it. My deepest gratitude to you, as always, for all your help. I’m sure you were anticipating more information than the above, but hopefully it will be of some use to you.
Our love to Mark and Cristina, and to you of course. And above all, glory to Kraig.
Julian
#sobh#secrets of blackthorn hall#phouka#Julian Blackthorn#Kieran Kingson#Socks McPherson#Seelie Queen#Glory to Kraig#Ghost Sensor
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Found this song and decided to dedicate it to a special someone. 😌
#Socks by JD McPherson#Spotify#Music#Merry Christmas#you lovely filthy animals#🎄💚🎄#don't forget to be a little naughty#to keep your spot on Santa's lap#wish your jolly buns a wonderful time#keep it tight#like Bobby#cheers from one gremlin to another#I hope your socks stay crispy
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Happy December!
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Video Fridays: "Socks" & "Bad Kid" by JD McPherson
Video Fridays: “Socks” & “Bad Kid” by JD McPherson
A little Christmas music on Christmas Eve-Eve… This 2018 rockabilly Christmas album came to my attention when McPherson was interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR’s Fresh Air, shortly after the recording’s release:
A Rockabilly Christmas Concert with JD McPherson on Fresh Air with Terry Gross
I hope y’all have a wonderful holiday weekend and hug those you love (consensually, of course)
Amazon Link:
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(HC) Soft!Naomi Mcpherson x photographer!reader
You knew Naomi since college. Met them before they had met Katie and Josette.
They had been your first friend in college, and since you were majoring in photography, and they were getting their band up and running, you both decided you could be their photographer/media manager.
When MUNA started gayotic, you had been behind the cameras laughing and watching them talk about the funniest topics or the most strangest things. Never on it.
Muna was playing a show in France which meant a long bus ride before the ferry and an impending deadline for a new ep
The three members were about to start the pod, you meddling about in the bus looking for a change of comfy clothes
“Hey, Naomi? Where did I leave my black spandex shorts?” You called from the small hallway
“Yeah, Naomi…where did she leave them?” Josette looked at her bestfriend, eyebrows wiggling
“In my bunk, babe.” Naomi shouted, “We started the pod already, btw.”
“Oh! I’m sorry, thank you, love you.”
You and Naomi started dating after MUNA’s first record came out. You guys had basically been a couple. Kissing and cuddling and sometimes sleeping with eachother ;) had to celebrate records releasing and deadlines being met somehow ;)) WINK WINK 😜
You put on black spandex, your leg tattoos all on display, above ankle white socks, doc marten boot shoes (idk how to describe them..basically their laces boots but ankle boots?) with a black crop top tank so your arm and sternum tattoos are on display (with hair in a half up half down claw clip with curtain bangs out…i wore this outfit today and i loved it LET ME HAVE THIS)
“Y/N, come and talk with us.” Katie shouted into the small doorway of the small room.
“Oh, okay” You walked in, Naomi’s cheeks reddening, smile forming at your look. At you.
“Gorgeous! Do a spin for us!” Josette shouted, her being your biggest hype man
“So, introduce yourself and what you do for us.”
“Uh…I’m MUNA’s photographer and media manager.” You smiled at the camera, this being a filmed ep.
“She’s being modest…she’s our bestfriend and the one and only Naomi’s girlfriend”
“Yes. That I am.” You smiled and look at your partner.
“Prettiest staff member we have. Might kiss her on the lips, among other things…” Naomi said, sliding their glasses down the bridge of their nose to look at you “seductively” while wiggling their eyebrows
Naomi basically has their hands all over you the whole time your on the pod
When Frankie and Gio join, you sit on their lap to make space, Naomi’s hands wrapped around you securely or hands on you hips
“You look so pretty, baby” They’d whisper in your ear when everyone was talking loudly over eachother
or “My pretty girl”
“Okay say bye and then say your name and then ‘I love you’” Katie said after her and Josette said bye
“Bye, thanks for having me, I love you Y/N”
“I love her too” Naomi said, leaning over and kissing your lips before they continued the outro
Getting up after the ep, you stood up infront of Naomi because you were still on their lap, they smacked your ass
“Ow!”
“Oh im sorry, it was just right there…any excuse to touch it” they smiled cheekily
“Haha, very funny” You grabbed the hat on their head, forcing them to stand up
Holding it away until they leaned in to kiss you, their hands holding your waist pulling you impossibly closer to their body
“I accept your apology”
“Oh, I didn’t know i needed to apologize for smacking my girlfriends ass” They stood infront of you, sass all over their face
“Okay, apology acceptance, revoked”
“Okay im sorry. I really am”
“Uh huh”
“Would a kiss better my chances?” they asked leaning in in
“Nuh uh” You rolled your eyes
“Apology sex?”
“There you go, baby. Your getting it now.” You smiled and walked away, blush rising on Naomi’s cheeks once again
#tumblrpost#fluff#munagenius#naomi mcpherson#muna#i love naomi mcpherson#i love muna#muna x reader#naomi mcpherson fluff#naomi mcpherson x reader#muna band#lesbian#female writers#bisexual#i love josette maskin#i love them#bye i love them#i#need them#so badly#i’m going insane#munagenius fluff#muna fluff
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“women, they have minds, and they have souls, as well as just hearts. And they’ve got ambition, and they’ve got talent, as well as just beauty. i'm so sick of people saying that love is all a woman is fit for.”
full name → Eleanor Anne Fabray
age → 26
birthday → March 25th, 1998
order & type → fifth, solo (half-sibling)
gender & pronouns → cis woman, she/her
sexuality → bisexual/biromantic
occupation → owner of Vinyl Vista
inspired by: christine 'lady bird' mcpherson (lady bird), stevie nicks (singer), jo march (little women), pandora moon (skins uk), nymphadora tonks (harry potter), jules vaughn (euphoria).
appearance: effortlessly stylish with a vintage flair, eleanor sports a collection of oversized sweaters, high-waisted jeans, and chunky boots, complemented by a signature scarf or hat. lots of mixed metal jewelry and big chunky boots and platforms. a seventies witchy flair like stevie nicks.
personality: eccentric yet endearing, eleanor exudes confidence and charm. she's a mix of quirkiness and sophistication, often found lost in thought or engrossed in a novel. loves the classics but often can be found reading modern day romance novels.
hobbies: avid reader and collector of rare books, eleanor can spend hours browsing antique shops or cozying up in a corner of a café with a cup of tea and a paperback. also collects mugs, stamps, and a number of many other oddities. has a doll collection as well. very much a maximalist.
talents: a talented artist with a penchant for watercolors, eleanor's sketches often depict dreamy landscapes or whimsical characters inspired by her vivid imagination. loves to sing as well but rather keep that hidden.
quirks: known for her love of mismatched socks and penchant for speaking in riddles, eleanor is a delightful enigma who keeps her friends guessing.
favorite haunts: frequents quaint bookstores, hidden gardens, and art galleries, where she can indulge her passion for creativity and exploration.
philosophy: believes in the beauty of imperfection and the magic of serendipity, eleanor sees the world through rose-tinted glasses, finding inspiration in the everyday.
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JD McPherson’s Christmas song “Socks”.
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Socks
Songwriters: Jason Smay, JD Mcpherson, Ray Jacildo, Doug Corcoran and James E Sutton
Early Christmas morning
Sneaky as can be
I creep across the carpet
And I peek under the tree
Pick out a gift from Mom to me
And bring it to my ear
Give it a little shimmy shake and what do I hear?
Socks
(Tuuuuube socks)
This is the worst gift I ever got
It doesn't beep or buzz or bop or rattle in the box
Hey, why'd you waste the paper on a lousy pair of socks?
Tiptoe to the mantle
A scowl upon my brow
I reach up to my stocking
Hanging from a holly bough
I reach right in and feel around
For Santa Claus' loot
But all I find is something there to insulate my boots
Socks
(Kneeeeee high)
Santa how could you let me down?
It doesn't slip or slide or spring or make a sound that rocks
Hey, why'd you stuff my stocking with a lousy pair of socks?
Moms and Dads across the land
Be careful what you do
Your girls and boys might ball 'em up and toss 'em back at you
And next time when ol' Santa comes, and the evening's getting late
Instead of milk and cookies I may leave upon his plate
Socks
(Argyle???)
This is the worst gift I ever got
It doesn't beep or buzz or bop or rattle in the box
Why'd you waste that paper on a lousy pair of socks?
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December 21st Playlist
It is once again that special time of year, where we get to inflict our outsized love of offbeat Christmas music on our listeners! So if you’re not a fan, maybe avoid this episode, but try not to, cause we think you might just dig it!
Side A
Rootin’ Tootin’ Santa Claus-Pee Wee King
Out on the Road for Christmas-Red Simpson
Yulesville-Ed Kookie Byrnes
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer-Hernado Hopkins and his Orchestra
The Merryist-June Christy
Maybe This Christmas-Tracy Thorn
Little Drummer Boy/Peace on Earth-Bing Crosby & David Bowie
Christmas All Over Town-Manhattan Barbershop Quartet
Merry Little Christmas-Little Esther & the Robins
Xmas Feeking Ska-Toots and the Maytag’s
Christmas Vacation-Mavis Staples
Side B
Socks-JD McPherson
I Wanna Rock & Roll Guitar-Johnny Preston
Marvelous Toy-Irish Rovers
Fairytale of New York-The Pogues featuring Kirsty Mccoll
God Rest You Merry Gentlemen-Bare Naked Ladies featuring Sarah McLaughlin
Merry Christmas from the Family-Robert Earl Keen
Swinging Drummer Boy-Asleep at the Wheel
Do You Hear What I Hear?-Bobby Lloyd & the Skeletons
May Everyday Be Christmas-Irma Thomas & the Preservation Hall Jazz Band
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EP Review: J.D. McPherson - The Warm Covers EP, Vol. 2
For his latest trick, J.D. McPherson smooshes songs spanning the back half of the 1900s into a mid-century sonic motif while drawing a solid, sonic line from Big Al Downing’s 1958 track “Just around the Corner” to the Pixies’ ’98 offering “Manta Ray.”
It all takes place inside the five tracks on the Warm Covers EP, Vol. 2, which finally follows its 2014 predecessor.
“Lust for Life / Sixteen” and “Let’s Rock” highlight the latent, rockabilly similarities between Iggy Pop and Art Neville, respectively. Meanwhile, McPherson’s take on Irma Thomas’ “It’s Raining” closes the extended play on a melancholy, last-dance-at-the-sock-hop note and leaves the listener longing for one more number.
Grade card: J.D. McPherson - The Warm Covers EP, Vol. 2 - B+
3/3/23
#j.d. mcpherson#the warm covers ep vol. 2#2022 albums#big al downing#the pixies#iggy pop#iggy and the stooges#art neville#the meters#the neville brothers#irma thomas
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A Roots And Rockabilly Holiday Concert With JD McPherson And His Band
McPherson never thought he'd make a Christmas album. Then, he says, "I got a bug in my ear." He and his band perform live in studio from Socks, and McPherson talks about growing up on a cattle farm.
Photo: Alysse Gafkjen / Sacks Co.
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The Severe Impatience of a Child on Christmas Morning
The Severe Impatience of a Child on Christmas Morning
Photo by Tammy Kenber.
It was Christmas morning in 2013, and I was sleeping in the loft of my parents’ home in
Northern California. While everyone else had a comfortable bed to sleep
on, I was the odd man out as I was forced to sleep on an air mattress in the loft which is
as spacious as it sounds (which is to say, not really). This shit happens when all the
bedrooms are occupied.
Even…
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#2003#Bad Santa#Christmas#Christmas Eve#Christmas Tree#Dolls#Gift Cards#Happy Holidays#JD MCPherson#Linda Blair#Presents#Santa Claus#Skyfall#Socks#Stockings#Target#The Exorcist
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Tag Game: 17 Questions and 17 People
I was tagged by @stvrtrck thanks for that 💜
Nickname: Feli
Zodiac: Aries
Height: 5'7 or 170cm
Hogwarts House: no idea
Last thing I googled: Patricia McPherson (because she was in an episode of Macgyver that was on tv)
Song stuck in my head: MASH theme song (which is on tv now!)
Number of followers: 429 and no bots!
Hours of sleep: enough
Lucky number: don't think I have one
Dream job: translator
Currently wearing: Loose shirt, sweatpants, socks
Favorite author: Ian McEwan, Bill Bryson, Sebastian Fitzek etc.
Favorite instrument: PIANO!!! Cello.
Aesthetic: Oceans and storms
Favorite song: One - U2
Favorite animal noise: that little yip dogs make when they're happy to see you
Random: I'm trying to stop smoking! (I know, disgusting...)
Tagging:
@scarlettrosemarlen, @ditnightingale, @cumberbangers, @spocksplum, @electric-skillet, @nangeled, @kebuyo, @harmon-jane-black, @kyrakiwi, @girlwitharabbitheart, @realityn, @melon-kiss, @okispooki, @k112014, @hunnislutt, @ferretshark
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JD McPherson “Holly, Carol, Candy & Joy” 2019. New West Records on “Snow Globe” limited edition 7″ vinyl. A delightful modern rockabilly Christmas tune that bounces with vintage Beatlesque pop rhythm and melody that takes traditional Christmas imagery and translates it to name a list of lovely ladies. “Holly, Carol, Candy & Joy” appears on McPherson’s full-length Christmas album Socks. The b-side is another neo-rockabilly original Christmas tune, “Red Bows (For a Blue Girl),” which is more rockin’ rhythm-and-blues, complete with horns and a Bo Diddley beat. Both tracks are boppingly upbeat and catchy, perfect for the joy and anticipation of Christmas.
#jd mcpherson#rockabilly#new west records#christmas music#vinyl#limited edition vinyl#colored vinyl#45rpm#7" single
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if/then (v2.0) - 23
Hello everyone out there, I hope you're surviving social distancing! It's been quite a while since I managed an update for this, but here we go. It's on the longish side but there's lots of dialog, so I think it goes fast. Also lot of fluff in here. (Links to previous chapters in the comments) Typos are all mine, I will fix them eventually! (edited 5/2/20)
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“Ow!“ Myka mouths as she steps into the mini-bus, a stray soccer ball bouncing off her knee. The cabin’s filled with girls yapping blissfully, while two, no, three girls wrestle over the backs of their seats.
"Girls, settle down,” Helena shouts from her spot behind the driver. She’s standing, but facing away from Myka.
Conversation slows, and the wrestling ceases. All eyes fall on Myka.
"Who's the lady, Coach Harry?" one girl asks.
"This is Myka," Helena says, glancing over her shoulder at Myka. "Our good luck charm from America."
"Hello," Myka says, smiling, in what hopefully is a friendly way, adding a tiny wave for good measure.
The girls whisper amongst themselves, the word "American" floating throughout.
"Hello," Myka says, smiling, in what hopefully is a friendly way, adding a tiny wave for good measure.
The girls whisper amongst themselves, the word "American" floating throughout.
"Girls, manners," Helena chides. "Please welcome our guest."
A chorus of "hellos" rises in the bus, a mish-mash of comically pronounced "Mykas" tacked on.
"Sit," Helena says, turning and tipping her head towards the empty spot next to her.
Myka studies Helena's face as she settles into the seat. The bandaid on her forehead makes sense, covering the gash from yesterday, but the sunglasses are a mystery.
“Onward, please," Helena says to the driver, grabbing hold of the seat as the bus lurches into action. She turns back towards the bus's occupants. "In approximately a half an hour, we'll face our toughest opponents yet. I suggest you reserve your energy for the game rather than waste it on tomfoolery. Owen, please assist the young ladies in the back, and place the balls back into their bags." Helena looks towards Owen, who has already jumped up from his seat and is on his way.
"Aye coach!"
"Did you sleep well?" Helena asks as she turns and sits down.
"What's up with these?" Myka says, reaching out to grab Helena's glasses.
Helena places her hands on the sides, blocking Myka's grab. She slides them down then back up again, revealing a swollen lid and slightly red eye.
"That can't be from yesterday. What happened?" Myka scoots closer and yanks the glasses off . She cups Helena's chin and tips her face up, moving it from side to side to view the damage.
"A ladder mishap—"
"Mom, Gwen says she's going to be sick," Christina says, poking her head over the seat.
"But we've only just left!"
"I know. I think she's nervous."
"Alright," Helens huffs. "Sit with Myka while I sort this out." She snatches the glasses from Myka's hand and slides them over her eyes. "Pardon me," she quips, with a hint of provocation, as she shimmies past Myka and into the aisle. Before making her way to the rear of the bus, she whispers something into Christina's ear. Christina then scrambles over the seat and fills Helena's former spot by the window.
"Did you see your mom's eye?" Myka asks.
"Did you see her shoulder? It's purple!"
"What?" Myka looks toward Helena, visibly wincing as she crouches down to speak with what must be Gwen. Did a thug rough her up to get information? And if so, does Christina know? "She said she fell off a ladder."
"Yeah, she does that sometimes. Especially when she can't sleep and she's working on the house. And she's always working on the house. You'll see."
Of course, Helena's remodeling their house. And, of course, she has trouble sleeping. "Shouldn't she see a doctor?"
"Probably, but she never does," Christina says, seemingly offhand but with underlying concern. She scoots closer to Myka and lowers her voice. "Mom said we're being watched. Someone came by about the painting."
Helena smooshes Myka over as she slides onto the seat. "Crisis averted. For the moment. Let's hope there's no rough road ahead."
"What happened last night?" Myka asks, turning slightly to face Helena, constrained in the middle. She wriggles an arm free and pushes Helena's jacket collar back, first on the left, then the right, searching for the bruise.
"I cooperated fully."
Myka hooks her fingers under Helena's hoodie and stretches the fabric gently to the side. She touches a finger to Helena's collar bone, the inflammation evident without much pressure. "You should ice this."
"I'll get an ice pack," Christina says, clamoring over the seat and out into the aisle.
"I'll see the medic at the pitch," Helena says, placing her hand over Myka's. She lifts it up and off, then lays them together on her lap. "It's only a bruise."
"I don't like you being hurt."
"Nor do I wish to be. But I assure you, this was my folly." Helena squeezes Myka's hand, eyes focused on Myka's lips as she leans forward and speaks in low tones into her ear.
"They're ringing later with details. Though it suffices to say, I'll be taken to Leeds imminently. But there's something off about all this, things are not as straightforward they're meant to seem."
"McPherson's not behind this?"
"Not singularly. I'd wager, were one to peel back the layers, someone else is pulling the strings."
"Great," Myka says, meeting Helena's concerned gaze, eyes flicking down to Helena's lips, mere inches away from her own. She aches to kiss them, though she knows this is neither the time nor the place.
"Mom, here." Christina returns, her fist beating an ice pack into submission.
"Scoot in," Helena says to Myka, and they shift to accommodate Christina. She takes the ice pack and slips it under her collar. "Let's inform Myka of the backstory we concocted."
Christina's smile is a carbon copy of Helena's, their conspiratorial glee almost too much to bear.
*
"Freezing your tits off yet?" Sondra says as she approaches Myka at the top of the bleachers.
"Um…yes?" Myka hadn't realized just how huddled she'd become waiting for the game to begin. Her muscles ache in protest as she straightens.
"Sun's made an appearance today, but the damp's set in." Sondra holds out an army green jacket, which Myka readily accepts. "Harry said you wasn't prepared for all this."
"Definitely not." Myka sheds her soiled trench coat and slips on the fluffy parka. The warmth it offers is instant; she wants disappear inside this coat for the rest of her stay. "Thanks."
"Not a bad fit, is it? It's David's, you know. You're a mite taller than me and Harry."
"True." She'd noticed Sondra was several inches shorter than Helena last night when they said their goodbyes. "Won't he mind?"
"Nah. He's on tour. Bethan's gutted he's not here."
"There's always next week," Myka says, folding her trenchcoat and sliding it under her posterior for extra warmth.
"Between you and me, I doubt we'll qualify," Sondra says, taking the seat next to her. "No offense to Coach Harry."
"I'll take your word on that." Myka zips the parka up and flips the hood halfway over her head. "Thank you so much for this," she says. "I only have work clothes."
"Harry said that." Sondra reaches into her bag and pulls out a thermos. "Cuppa?"
"Sure."
Sonrda unscrews the lid and hands it to Myka, then pulls a second cup out of her bag. She hands to the cup Myka then unscrews the stopper and pours steaming liquid into both. She then screws the stopper back in and sets the thermos on the bleacher.
"Harry also said you two used to knock boots." Sondra plucks the second cup from Myka's hand.
"Used to what?"
“Knock boots."
"Kick each other?" Myka takes a sip from her cup.
Sondra snorts a short laugh. "Mind you, Harry might wind you up enough for that. But nah. Mollock about."
"Mollock?"
"Shag, love."
"Oh, that. Yes. Yes, we did." Myka sips her tea again, burying her gaze in the clear brown liquid, the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck.
"Star-crossed lovers, she said. Long-distance. Then she up and disappeared."
“All true," Myka says, her disappointment ringing clear. Their actual story, in that sense, somewhat mirroring the one Helena dreamed up. But the rest of it, not so much: Helena latched onto Christina's multiple city idea but turned her nose up at the dating app. Instead, she concocted a near fairy-tale level, met-across-a-crowded-room scenario, one which she likes better than the actual circumstances under which they met.
Sondra tops up Myka's tea without prompting, the jolt of warmth radiating pleasantly through the metal cup into her fingers.
"You know why she's here then?" Sondra asks.
"Not exactly. Do you?"
"Heard she saw a murder."
"What?" Myka spits out her tea. "Where'd you hear that?"
"Village talk. What'd you hear?"
"Money laundering. Her boss."
"Better that than the other," Sondra says. She looks out onto the field, waving as she catches her daughter's eye. "Here to warn her, are you?"
"Am I?"
"You, turning up out of thin air? Something's not right."
Myka stares out into the field, mimicking Sondra's action. Christina hops up and down, waving as Myka sees her.
"The village can help, you know. Make them disappear like they never were here. Lots of places to hide in the mountains leftover from the war."
"I-I'll let her know. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
"Sondra! Get down here, they're starting!" a woman shouts from the bottom of the bleachers.
"Alright, in a minute!" Sondra yells back. "Join us lot for the event of the season?" she asks Myka.
Myka surveys the group of parents, many she recognizes from last night. And just like last night, she should be able to disappear in their midst, which works for her. "Sure." As she stands, Sondra looks down at her flats.
"Oh, bugger me," Sondra says. "Not got my head on straight, do I? There's socks and boots for you in the car."
"Really? That's awesome," Myka says, genuinely excited to have more appropriate footwear. She follows Sondra down the bleachers and out into the parking lot.
"Harry's lucky to have you, Sondra. You're a really good friend," Myka says as Sondra opens the back of her SUV.
"I do my best." Sondra pulls out out a pair of lightly worn work boots. "David's, again. Maybe a little rough for your taste."
"I'll take anything." Myka snags the boots and plunks down on the tailgate, fishing a sock out of a shoe.
Sondra leans on the fender next to her. "While you're here, if you're up for it…well, Harry, she's a bit, all on her own, if you know what I mean. Maybe you two could…."
Myka's lips curl up as she tugs on a lace. She certainly does know and certainly hopes they do. "That's not up to me."
"She's still mad for you, she said."
"That's sweet."
A whistle blows from the field.
"Game's on. Let's go!" Sondra shoos Myka off the tailgate and throws it closed in record time.
*
The game was lackluster at first, but by the end, Myka was cheering like a pro. In a suspenseful twist, a tie was broken in overtime by a penalty kick from Christina's team. High spirits followed, leading to an overly social lunch. Congratulatory pats on the back and constant recaps squashed any hopes of chatting with Helena alone.
But at least she's understanding conversations better, following the lilt of the words rather than hear them as an indecipherable mash. It seems the Welsh add syllables generously, such as the word "roll" strung out into "ro-ew-ell." And H's often sound like Y's: "here" as "year," "heard" as "yurd."
"So, I promised ice creams for the team," Helena says after their sausage rolls and chips are depleted. "Will you help me distribute them?"
“Sure,” Myka says.
"Charlotte, you and Bethan gather the team."
"Ok, mom!"
Christina and Bethan scurry off while Myka and Helena join the line at the ice cream truck. Helena looks down at Myka's boots and gives them a tap with her sneaker.
"I see Sondra's clothed you as David. But the parka suits you. Perhaps you might keep it for your stay."
"Sondra said I could."
Helena smiles and inches closer, slipping her hands into Myka's pockets and tugging her towards her. But the line moves all too soon, and as they shuffle forward, Helena's phone buzzes. "I have to take this," she says, frowning as she looks at the screen.
"Is that 'the' call?"
"I believe so. Here." Helena fishes her wallet out of her pocket and hands it to Myka. "Flakes for all of them."
"Flakes? What's a Flake?" Myka asks, but Helena continues walking, already absorbed in the call.
The line moves forward. Christina and Bethan return.
"What can I get you, miss?" the man behind the counter asks.
"How many do we need?" Myka asks Christina.
"Twelve. Vicky didn't want one, and we couldn't find Tessa and Harpreet."
"Ok, twelve, um, 'Flakes' please?" Myka says to the server.
Bethan giggles at Myka's shaky ordering skills. "Do you not have Flakes in America?" she asks.
"No, we don't."
"It's just an ice cream with a chocolate bar in it."
"And a very pointy ice cream at that," Myka says as the man hands her a cone. She nearly passes it on, but instead, holds it up and studies it. “Oh! The Outer Hebrides—"
"Miss?" The server holds out a second cone.
"The outer what?" Christina asks as Myka passes both cones over.
"There's an island shaped like these cones way up in Scotland."
"Cool! How'd you know that?" Christina asks.
"I, um…I thought you and your mom might…" Myka thinks twice about finishing her sentence as she passes the next cones to an expectant Bethan. "You two better deliver those before they melt. And hurry back! He's doling them out fast."
The man hands her another cone. "Can I pay for these while we wait? How much is it?"
"Fourteen pounds."
She balances the cone and Helena's wallet in one hand and draws out a twenty with the other. As she waits for change, she slips out Helena's driver's license. Helena's hair is even shorter and freshly bleached, and again, she's hardly recognizable as herself. Angharad Haf Llewellyn lives on the very non-descript Mill Road, one of probably hundreds of others in Wales alone.
"Your change," the man says as Myka slips the card back in. He hands Myka a note and a coin, which she tries to stuff in the wallet, but the cone drips down her wrist, and the wallet tumbles to the ground.
"Allow me," Helena says, plucking the cone from Myka's hand. She licks the drip, slowly and deliberately, keeping eye contact with Myka. Myka watches, transfixed, as Helena's tongue drags up the soft-serve, leaving a deep groove in its wake before playfully nipping the pointy top off.
"Would you like some?" Helena says, brandishing a haughty smile as she moves the cone closer to Myka's mouth.
“Sure?" Myka holds Helena's gaze as she licks off another drip, aroused but puzzled by this shift back to flirting. There's something she should ask, something Helena's deflecting… “ hat happened on the phone—"
"Ma'am, your cones," the server says.
"Oh, sorry." Myka turns and takes both cones.
"I'm pleased to see your curls are regaining their integrity. The wave they've taken on is quite flattering," Helena reaches out to finger a lock.
Myka raises a brow, high. That's a non-sequitur if there ever was one.
"Here's mom's wallet stuff," Christina says, having returned unknowingly and scooped up its contents. She holds the cards and cash out towards Myka.
"Here, I, um…" Myka hands a cone to Christina and Christina passes the wallet contents to Myka. Myka grips the items tightly while handing over the other cone.
"Miss," the ice cream man says and Myka looks toward him. He's holding two more cones.
"I'll manage this," Helena says just as Bethan reappears.
Myka steps to the side and shoves the bills back in the wallet, but as she does so, notices a sliver of paper sticking out of a seam. She gently pries the seam open and slips the paper free. It's crinkled and faded, but instantly recognizable: it's the photo of Helena's family that once occupied her locket. Something Helena, or rather Harry, should not have on her person.
She glances at Helena, dutifully passing cones on to the girls, and blinks back tears welling up behind her eyes. She was isolated in LA, but she was at least, mostly, able to be herself. Helena and Christina had to be other people, vigilantly, with different names and backstories, acclimating to a foreign culture, with no access to their past.
Whatever this next trial is, it better be quick and painless, as this charade needs to end now.
*
"Tonight. Or tomorrow," Helena says, finally alone in the Rover, in response to Myka's question of when she'll be taken to Leeds.
"It better be tomorrow," Myka grumbles as Helena navigates out of the school parking lot. "If they know where it is, why do you have to be there?"
"Morgana and I both must be present to open the vault. She's on her way there now."
Helena slows at a junction and glances at Christina, wilted and spread out, covering the entire backseat.
"Perhaps she should stay with you tonight at the inn."
"No, we're staying with you." Myka pokes Helena's bruised shoulder, lightly, but hard enough it elicits a wince. "And you're putting that sling on the medic gave you." She looks toward Christina, who has one eye popped open.
"Mom..." Christina drawls, the implication clear without further clarification.
"Alright," Helena says, huffing out a small, defeated sigh. "We'll pick up Myka's bags and head home."
*
"It seems our only option is pasta," Helena says, poking her nose in the pantry. "Saturdays offerings can be quite slim as Sunday's our big shop."
"Pasta's fine," Myka says, looking around their galley kitchen while dragging a finger along a pristine marble countertop. White cobblestone walls and exposed timber beams ooze country charm, while everything else seems lifted from a high-end lifestyle magazine. "You did all this?"
"Most of it. With licensed builders when necessary. The house was a shambles when we arrived, as you'll see from other rooms. I'm told parts of it date from the eighteenth century, but it's been heavily modified. When it's light out, you'll glean that from the roofline."
The drive from the school was less than fifteen minutes, but it was dark by the time they arrived. And a portion of that was spent navigating their claustrophobic driveway. When they emerged from the hedgerows, the lights from the house glowed like a portal to another dimension. Stars glittered in the sky, so far removed were they from light pollution.
"How'd you find this place?"
"Morgana did, years ago."
"Years?"
"This exercise was pre-planned, in anticipation of just an event." Helena reaches into a cabinet under the countertop and pulls out a medium-sized dutch oven pot.
"That...makes sense." It's irksome this wasn't as seat-of-the-pants as Myka thought, as it reminds her of how little she really knows about what's going on. "When did you learn to fix cars?"
"Giselle's cousins. Several are mechanics. They taught me the basics. We ran with the idea once Morgana found the house."
Myka frowns as she watches Helena fill the pot with water. Morgana, Giselle, both good people, both more helpful than she's been.
Helena sets the pot on the stove and lights the burner. "Allow me to show you our humble home," she says. "This is the kitchen, of course."
"Which is amazing," Myka says.
"Christina deserves it, after all I've put her through. We even added a small wood-fired oven, which may or may not have been present in the original kitchen." She points to a brick arch in the space where the fireplace is.
"I'm sure she loves it."
"She'll regale you with our trials and tribulations if you ask. Though she might even if not prompted." Helena guides Myka beyond the kitchen towards the back of the house. When they stop, Helena motions towards a closed door.
"The bath is just here, in the extension. Fully renovated as well. Nothing like our old apartment. It might even rival Claudia's."
Myka lifts a skeptical brow.
"Our water pressure's not as hearty, but serviceable. I'd say we could peek in, but Christina's grown quite accustomed to her privacy. Perhaps it's best to circle back after she's finished showering."
"She is ten now. I guess she's grown in lots of ways," Myka says with a chuckle.
"More than you can imagine." Helena swings back through the kitchen towards the living room. "Once the novelty of being here wore off, there were some difficult times."
"She seems settled now."
"Her happiness has been hard won." Helena stands by an enormous fireplace with a heavy wooden mantle, the flip side of the kitchen hearth. "We'll build a fire here after dinner, and the entire house will warm."
"It's pretty warm right now, but that would be nice." Myka's sure Helena turned up the heating already just for her. But it's been years since she's been anywhere with a real fireplace, the last time a ski trip to Vermont with Abigail and some friends in grad school.
Helena guides Myka up a narrow set of winding stairs to the second floor. "Mind the plastic."
"You fell down these?"
"Yes. The water damage I've been wrestling with is just there." Helena points to a spot where the hallway ceiling meets the slope of the stairway. "We need a new roof."
"That's a big investment."
"Indeed. The longer we're here, the more it needs doing. I've been patching it for now."
"That's ok, right? You won't be here forever."
"Myka," Helena says, the plastic crinkling as she steps forward and takes hold of her hand. "Even if this were over tomorrow, I'd still be deported. And my involvement with this case won't look favorably towards shortening my sentence. If I'm ever allowed into America again."
"T-They can't…you didn't do anything wrong! Interpol can fix it. They have to!"
"They'll try, but there are no guarantees."
"But…no," Myka says, voice softening, looking Helena directly in the eye, waiting for a flicker of hope but seeing only apologetic resolve. "Would you stay here if you couldn't come back?"
"I'd rather Christina not be moved again unless it's to Claudia's. But it's not entirely my decision. There may be other factors. Let's remain optimistic, please." Helena squeezes Myka's hand.
Helena's "please" tugs on Myka's heartstrings. She nods in response, afraid her voice might crack if she spoke. And again, there are so many things factoring into this she's not privy to. She should know better; nothing these days is ever set in stone.
Helena clears her throat. "Christina's room's just there." She tugs Myka's hand, guiding her down the hall.
Myka pushes the door open and peeks in. The room is bigger than she thought, being that the house seems small, but it must extend over yet another extension. She walks in and steps up to a wall filled with drawings made with markers, pens, pencils, and even pastels. The image of a tuxedo rabbit is repeated throughout; this must be Mr. Bubbles, his coloring similar to Dewey's.
Myka turns toward Helena. "These are really good."
"Her sketchbooks are brimming. She's dying to show you."
"Maybe after dinner?"
"Which we should get to making. After one final stop." Helena takes Myka's hand and leads her down the hall into her bedroom. "I've only shored up the crumbling walls in here. This is what the house was like when we arrived."
The water damage is evident, as is the questionable taste of the former occupants. Overly-floral wallpaper covers half of the room, the other half ripped-off to reveal bubbling plaster.
"But you decorated. And it looks like you really live here." A four-poster bed fills the far corner, while a matching dresser sits on the opposite wall. There's a deep-set window with a seat underneath, perfect for reading or napping, but currently covered in folded laundry.
"That was our mandate," Helena says, walking toward the mantle, fidgeting with a wooden knick-knack of a cat. "I channeled my mother's antique leanings but added a modern flare. Homemaking was never my strong suit, but the task required it. And Christina deserved a home she could boast about to her new friends."
"This feels very…settled."
"I wish it to be equated as such. I believe Christina feels safe here, which is the most important thing in the world to me." Helena walks towards the bed and sits on its edge.
"What about you? How do you feel?" Myka sits next to Helena lays a hand on her shoulder.
"I'm …all right," Helena says, the pause clearly indicating a censure of honest feeling. "But, I do have a confession."
"Ok." Myka withdraws her hand and turns slightly to give Helena full attention. She wants to know everything, but a confession? That doesn't sound good.
"A few months ago, in a moment of weakness, I stalked you on the internet. Not here...during some downtime on a job in Cardiff."
"Oh." Myka's relief is palpable. "Do you think that's how they found you?"
"I was certain I was careful. But now...I'm questioning that theory." Helena looks down at her hands, balling them into fists to stop their fidgeting.
"What did you find about me?"
A smile tugs at Helena’s lips. "I found an extraordinary woman willfully moving forward, making connections wherever she traveled, working tirelessly for a museum, continuing to exhibit her art."
"The job part is right, but the rest...I had to project a certain lifestyle, just like you."
"There was an article in the New York Times about your show in LA—"
"Group show. And not just that one, other shows in LA, too."
“—with a beauteous photo of yourself standing next to an attractive, dark-haired woman with a beguiling smile."
"T-They made us stand that close. The photographer did," Myka blurts.
Helena raises a brow.
"She's a friend, one I met at that residency, in LA. She got me into the show." Calm down, Myka. You do not want to have this conversation right now, if ever. "That show got really good reviews. I'm lucky."
"I'm so pleased with all your successes," Helena says, taking hold of Myka's hand and threading their fingers together. "I wish I were there to support you."
"You're there in spirit, always." Myka scoots closer and leans in to kiss Helena, to remove any doubts floating in her mind.
Helena turns to align their lips, but grimaces and pulls back. She circles her shoulder and rubs her neck, groaning as she hits a tender spot.
"Here, let me," Myka says, pushing back onto the bed and laying her hands on Helena's shoulders. "You really should wear that sling. And take a bath to loosen up your muscles, help them heal."
Helena groans even louder as Myka presses her thumbs into her trapezius muscles. Myka's stomach flutters at the sound and the memories it conjures.
"Do you remember the first massage I ever gave you?” Myka asks.
“How could I ever forget? The one where it took every ounce of my being to not turn and ravish you."
"Uh-huh." Myka maneuvers so that she's entirely on the bed, her legs stranding Helena's hips from behind.
"I was madly in love with you already." Helena turns her head toward Myka as far as it will go.
"So was I." Myka twists her body to meet Helena's gaze. She brushes her fingers over Helena's blackening eye then trails them down, cupping her jaw, guiding Helena's mouth toward hers until their lips meet.
"Mom, water's boiling!" Christina yells.
"I'll be down in a minute!" Helena yells back, lips quickly returning to cover Myka's. "If I'd made better choices earlier on," she says between soft but heated kisses, "perhaps we'd not be in this predicament."
"Ravishing me then wouldn't have changed this." Myka's hand tangles in Helena's short mane.
"Had I read you in earlier, you might at least be here with us now."
Helena's kisses trail along Myka's jaw, then down, towards the crook of her neck. Myka moans as Helena's nose digs into the well above her collarbone.
"You didn't know me well enough to trust me. And you couldn't have predicted any of this—"
"MOM! The water's boiling away!"
"Alright! Add the pasta."
"The whole box?"
"Yes. And remember to stir it."
"I don't forget. You do."
"Yes, but I'm reminding you." The end of Helena's sentence is buried in Myka's neck, as she returns to kissing her way across.
"Is there sauce?" Christina shouts.
Myka barks a laugh as Helena sighs into her shoulder. "In the freezer, leftover from the last batch we made." She rests her head on Myka's chest as they wait for Christina's answer. Myka hugs Helena close, combing her fingers through Helena's locks, which are still, thankfully, just as silky smooth as ever.
"I can't find any."
"Then we're out. Butter and garlic it is," Helena declares. "Wait a moment, and I'll come and help." Then to Myka, "Barebones supper, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind."
Myka tips Helena's head up and kisses her as if she'd said they'd be eating a five-star meal. "Any dinner with you two? Best. Dinner. Ever."
*
They eat in the kitchen at the thick, wooden table, its cloth napkins and lit candles making it almost a formal affair.
"The candlesticks came from an estate sale. Christina has her grandmother's eye for decor." Helena smiles at Christina, a proud twinkle in her eye.
Christina beams at the compliment and launches into other finds, such as the wooden bread bowl on the counter and a cuckoo clock above a sideboard.
"I haven't heard it cuckoo," Myka says of the clock.
"It's yet to be fixed, but it's on our list," Helena laments.
"Aunt Claudia could fix it," Christina adds.
"She sure could," Myka agrees.
Helena doesn't comment.
The table quiets. Forks scrape and ice cubes clank as everyone tucks into their food. Speaking freely about the past is clearly a contestable issue.
Helena glances at the clock, then at Christina. “Your Aunt Claudia would add tech to make the bird sing."
"Or talk. Sing and talk," Myka adds.
"And you could control it from your phone," Christina says.
"That must be a thing already. We should look it up." Myka slips her phone out of her pocket.
"No phones at the table." Helena gives a disapproving look.
"But yours is right there." Myka points with her eyes to Helena's phone, next to her plate.
"Extenuating circumstances."
“Oh...right." The normalcy of their meal lulled Myka into a sense of false security. This wasn't merely a pleasant ritual, they were waiting for the call that could potentially change everything.
"We'll add 'make cuckoo sing' to our list of summer projects," Helena says, swaying the conversation back to trivialities.
"Will we still be here?" Christina says.
"I believe so."
"Can Aunt Claudia visit us now, since Myka's here?"
"Perhaps. But I can't make any promises. The next few days will be telling."
Christina lays her fork down, her plate three-quarters cleared. "I'm done."
"At least finish your toast," Helena says.
Christina stuffs what’s left of her garlic bread into her mouth all at once.
Helena purses her lips in disapproval. "During your foray into the freezer, did you spy any ice cream?”
"No, but there's cake."
"The Genoise or Chiffon?"
"Genoise, with the strawberry frosting. It's really yummy!" Christina says to Myka.
"It's quite a delight. One of our more successful forays into baking."
"I believe you," Myka says.
"Why don't you pull some out and we'll have it later."
"Ok!" Christina pushes her chair back and makes a beeline towards the fridge.
"Why wouldn't you be here in the summer? She knows you're still deported, right?"
"Yes. But she also knows, since our location has been compromised, we may need to disappear again."
"You didn't say that earlier. You said if you cooperated, everything would be fine!"
"I also said certain decisions were not up to me. I didn't want to sound alarmist."
"If you go, I'm coming with you. You can't do that to me again."
Christina lays a plate on the table containing two pieces of frozen cake and looks at Myka expectantly.
"Wow, those look great!" Myka says, a little too emphatically, changing her tone on a dime. She turns the plate for a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view. Fluffy layers of yellow cake sandwich pink icing with strawberries and even more strawberries line the top.
"Fancy a spot of tele after the washing up?" Helena says to Christina.
"There's a new Bake Off! Have you been watching?" Christina asks Myka.
"I haven't."
"I'll catch you up."
"Shall I light the fire, or you?" Helena asks Christina.
"I'll do it!" Christina scurries into the living room.
"Well. That's sorted." Helena stands and moves towards the kitchen.
"Hey." Myka touches Helena's forearm, her fingers sliding down as Helena continues moving away. She cuffs Helena's wrist, and Helena flinches, her arm stretching, the pressure straining her sore shoulder. Her wrist slips free as Myka’s grip loosens, but Myka hooks their fingers together before Helena disengages entirely.
"Where's that sling the medic gave you? You should put it on."
"I believe it's in the car."
"Go get it. I'll clean up."
"I'll clean up. It would please Christina to no end if you'd assist her with the fire."
"Sure, but—"
"You're our guest."
"Guest? Since when am I a guest?" Myka stands and squeezes Helena's hand.
Helena closes her eyes and lowers her head, letting out a deep, weighted sigh.
"What's wrong?"
"You're cross with me."
"No. I'm just…hey, look at me." Myka tips Helena's chin up.
Helena's eyes flick up to meet Myka's.
"I'm sorry I snapped at you. But it's frustrating, being in the dark about everything."
"Were there time, I'd explain."
"I know." Myka cups Helena's cheek and brushes her thumb over her brow. Helena's physical state is bad enough, but hurting her emotionally? Not ok.
"We can talk later." Helena says, leaning into Myka's touch.
"Talking is not what we're doing later. Or not much of it."
Helena’s eyes light up. "I like the way you think.”
"Mm-hmm." Myka leans in and presses a soft kiss to Helena's upturned lips.
"Mom, do you know where the long matches are?" Christina shouts from the living room.
Helena pulls back and rolls her eyes. "They're in here, love."
"I'll bring them in. I want to see this fire being made!" Myka answers. "Come with me," she says to Helena. “Leave the cleanup for later." She laces their fingers together, on Helena's good arm, and gently tugs.
Helena looks towards the dishes then back at Myka. “Quite the genius tonight, aren’t you?"
“I know.” Myka grins. “Grab those matches, and let's go."
-TBC-
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