Artie and Claudia stared at the enormous looking glass, fear starting to bubble up from somewhere deep inside him.
"Is that Myka?"
"Whatever it is…" he said, his heart beginning to pound and his head to ache, "it's not good."
It wasn't as if he liked shutting people out, exactly. Well, not entirely, anyway. It was just…difficult for him to let people in completely…or at all. Claudia would snort and say that was the understatement of the century, but all jokes aside, Artie had lost so many people in his relatively short lifespan that keeping people at a distance was just safer.
It didn't make losing them – as he, eventually, inevitably did – any easier, but sometimes, if he was lucky, it made it hurt just a little less. That was what he tried to do with Pete and Myka, and to an extent, even Claudia, although the little she-demon had wormed her way into his heart without his knowledge many years ago, so he was lost on that frontier.
Not that he'd ever tell her that…
(He'd never hear the end of it if he did)
However, try as he might to keep Lattimer and Bering at bay, they too endeared themselves to him and he found himself caring more about them than he had anyone in a long, long time. Leena, of course, ranked pretty high on his list of people he cared about (and yes, he had a mental, not physical, list, but a list nonetheless) but he had known the perpetually young woman since time immemorial, so that was old news.
But Pete and Myka…this was new, this was frightening. He had pretended, or tried to, at least, not to care about them, but he had failed in a spectacular fashion. And now that MacPherson had returned…and threatened them, ever so casually, as per his style…just to prove he could touch them, get to them, corrupt them…Artie didn't know what to do.
Myka was angry with him. He knew it. He hated it, but he couldn't entirely blame her. Was his past something he should have divulged to his new agents? No, he didn't think so. Could he have been more open with them, given them more information? In hindsight, yes, he could have.
He just wanted to keep them safe from MacPherson and besides, he didn't want to ring any alarms until he was certain that James was back, and even then, Mrs. Frederic had to be told before Pete and Myka, of course…
Completely separate from that, as far as he knew, his past had died and been buried six feet under a long, long time ago, with no chance of ever being resurrected, so why on earth would he have told Pete and Myka?
Oh, and by the way, I once was arrested on suspicion of treason, they thought I was a Soviet spy, here's your next case, goodbye.
Yeah, that wouldn't go over too well.
So, yeah, he knew Myka was angry with him. She had trust issues. So did he. They were more alike than he maybe wanted to admit and he was fully prepared to let her be angry with him. He knew from experience trying to temper someone's rage often only resulted in a blowout fight and he was exhausted as it was: he didn't really have the energy to go ten rounds with Myka Bering, nor did he want to.
But that was before the very instant that he saw what appeared to be Myka, trapped behind Lewis Carroll's mirror.
Fear, true fear, was not something Artie experienced on a regular basis (although with the addition of his weird, little family, he was growing quickly reacquainted with the emotion) but he felt it rising up from within when he saw Myka's (or not Myka's) panic-stricken eyes watching him, begging him for help from behind the glass of the mirror.
It didn't help that Leena and Claudia were shouting at him, telling him to help her, getting angry with him for hesitating when all he wanted to do was think for a moment and try to map out his next move.
He had to play carefully here; if this was Myka, then that meant that Alice Liddell was wandering about – he didn't want to think about the fact that she was almost certainly in Myka's body – somewhere completely unchecked and that was extraordinarily, phenomenally, catastrophically bad and no he was not being overdramatic.
If this wasn't Myka and they freed whatever it was, then they might accidentally unleash Alice Liddell onto an unsuspecting world. Alice was utterly depraved, this he knew for a fact, and she would wreak bloody havoc if they didn't catch and re-incarcerate her in time.
He felt like whatever he tried to do would be the wrong choice and this was one of those situations where being able to freeze time would really be helpful because then maybe he could just think for a damn minute and puzzle out what to do…
(Never mind that there was an artifact in the Warehouse that could probably do that and more if he cared to jeopardize life and/or limb like that)
When Leena laid hands on the mirror's surface, trying to read Maybe-Myka's aura, Artie couldn't even look her – it – in the eyes; the pain he found there was unbearable. She looked at him as though he had betrayed her in the worst way possible and it was hard for Artie to see.
(Truthfully, it broke his heart)
"Why can't we just talk to it?" Claudia had asked.
"Because we do not converse with reflected entities, okay?" he told her, his patience already slipping.
(He's not sure if it ever came back, or indeed if he ever had it to begin with, to be entirely honest)
And when he talked to Pete over the Farnsworth, he almost managed to convince himself everything was all right.
Almost.
Except he knew it wasn't. He may not get vibes like Pete, but by now he knew to trust his gut and his gut was currently screaming at him that something was wrong. Yes, he knew to trust his gut; problem was he didn't always put that knowledge to practical use.
Claudia was stuck on the whole talking-to-the-mirror-creature thing. He was stubbornly trying to discourage her from "opening a line of communication" with that thing (that may or may not be Myka Bering).
It didn't escape him that his refusal to communicate was what got Myka angry with him in the first place. Irony was often a bitter pill to swallow. He tried to ignore it. It didn't work.
"That look on her face is somebody who's trapped. Believe me, I know that look," Claudia told him. He tried not to think about the last time Claudia would have seen that look on the face of someone she cared about.
Her next words echoed in his ears: And so do you.
Truth was, he had to know. He had to know if that was the real Myka…because if it was…well, the consequences didn't bear thinking about. Except he had to think about those consequences no matter how bloody or terrifying they may be. It was kind of his job.
"Looks like Myka, isn't Myka."
Those were his words. And words had power. That's why he couldn't risk giving voice to that thing inside the mirror, whatever it was. He was being stubborn, he knew that, but honestly, there was as much stubbornness in his body as there was blood.
It was something Myka shared with him. He had noticed that about her.
Something else he noticed…
"She pulls to the right."
When Myka was mad at him, her neck sort of pulled off to the right. When she was angry with Pete, it extended. It was a strange tell, but one specific to Myka, something that couldn't be imitated…something that Alice Liddell, had she taken on Myka's appearance, wouldn't know to do.
It was a long shot, maybe, but also possibly the only way to be absolutely sure that the figure in the mirror either was or was not his Myka Bering.
So, to use Claudia's phrase, he opened the line of communication with her again and found himself sitting and facing her, a dull ache pulsating around his heart, threatening to crush it into dust should his fears prove true.
(He already knew he was doomed to love Myka, Pete, and Claudia with all his heart and god only knew what would become of him should something happen to any one or all of them. He hoped it wasn't that obvious. He did have a reputation to uphold, after all)
She was regarding him coldly when Claudia turned on her laser sound machine and the realization hit him: he didn't know if this was truly Myka, but if it was, then it was Myka laid bare. Her walls were absent and she couldn't hide how angry, how hurt she was.
"You're really mad at me," he had observed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through his heart.
"I feel sorry for you, actually."
That intrigued him. "Oh? Why's that?"
"Because of all the things in front of your face that you simply refuse to see."
A strong, if bitter, shot of honesty. He supposed he deserved that.
"Like what?"
"Like me."
He felt like an ass. She had clearly been feeling this way for a while; this kind of resentment doesn't crop up overnight. He knew from experience.
He despised that he had to play Twenty Questions with her – possibly while Alice Liddell was in Las Vegas, easily able to kill Pete should the fancy strike her – but it was a necessary evil, it seemed.
(He never got around to asking her those questions)
"Here's what you and I both know, but we never talk about it," she told him, biting back tears. He had a feeling this was going to hurt.
"That I don't trust you."
He was right; that did hurt. More than he would ever truly let her know.
"That I need you…to tell me the truth…and not treat me like, like some chess piece that you move around on a board that only you can see."
He clearly had some re-evaluating to do. His recent behavior had only served to do exactly what he wanted to happen and yet the exact opposite at the same time. He had wanted to keep Myka and Pete at a distance, yes, for their own safety…but he hadn't counted on the distrust that had followed.
"That I'm valuable. That I matter and that I deserve to know everything I can about this world that you send me into every day so at least I have a fighting chance."
She thought – really and truly thought – that he didn't value her? Her? It was becoming all too clear to him now…
"You know, in spite of everything…in spite of everything, I like you."
Completely…
"I think you're great."
Utterly…
"And I want you to think the same of me."
Painfully clear to him now that…as he crouched down and pressed a hand to the cold surface of the glass…as Myka raised a hand to meet his…
It was so obvious now…
"I screwed up."
It was as close to a genuine apology as he could manage. But maybe…just maybe, Myka would see he had laid himself as bare as he could for her and maybe it would be enough.
(He hoped it was enough.)
Later, when they put Alice to rights and free Myka from the mirror, she rushes into his arms – well, arm, really, as he's in sling – and he discovers he has his answer.
(It had been enough.)