A/N: This is literally the first fiction I've written in several years, so, you know...don't expect too much! It exists mainly to practice 1. characterization and 2. "smutty" writing, which is something I've never taken a stab at. I wasn't going to continue it but suddenly I'd written six pages and then it kept going. It does feel kind of weirdly disjointed in tone because of not planning to continue originally. Maybe someday I'll rewrite Chapter 1.

"Angle grinder. Ten seconds. Quick."

With a sigh, Myka opened her eyes and lazily pushed off of the desk with one foot, letting the desk chair roll across the room to take her over to the toolbox. "You know, you could just get these things yourself, Helena," she pointed out. "It was closer to you than it was to me."

A loud clattering filled the room as H.G. Wells slid out from beneath the complicated contraption she was repairing. A wicked smile danced across her lips, which Myka noted were as flawlessly ruby red as ever, contrasting against the ash and grease that stained her face. The sleeves of her blue dress shirt had been rolled up to her elbows, making visible the grease marks that continued all down her forearms; her thick mane of black hair was dirty, tangled, and limp with swear; Myka seriously doubted whether that shirt would ever be clean again; and yet H.G.'s eyes shone with delight at her work nevertheless. "Well, Agent Bering, now you're closest—so do be a dear and hand me my angle grinder."

Myka shot her an irritated look, but she knew they were both aware there was no true malevolence to it. "And to think, Pete complains about me being bossy. Hmmph."

Of course, Myka thought, it would be terribly hard to truly be irritated with H.G. when she was smiling like that, even with the sharp command and the gentle mockery of "Agent Bering." Being mad at Helena would be a challenge for Myka, despite the façade she regularly donned when they teased each other—a teasing that dated all the way back to their first meetings and could only have arisen between two people who were so alike. Certainly there had been plenty of opportunities to be mad, to be sure, even furious…and she had been, but…. She twirled a strand of curly hair around her finger, brow furrowing.

"Angle grinder! Myka!"

Myka jerked back into reality. Today was one long struggle to stay awake, and it was only midmorning. She surveyed the collection of tools.

"I see a hammer. A screwdriver. Pliers, maybe? Are these pliers?"

"Ah, would pliers be a new word for an angle grinder? Has that change taken place in the past century? How exciting, if true! How delightful, the way language evolves! If not, however, I simply don't think those shall be of much help, and I eagerly suggest that you step up your pace in finding that for me."

Myka turned to glower at her. "Perhaps you should seek out a career in comedy instead of the Warehouse. That crowd might be more receptive to your—" Myka paused to make a face at Helena, her fingers curving in mock quotation marks. "—jokes, if you can call them that. Maybe you should tell me what I'm supposed to be looking for here." She turned back to the toolbox, but not without muttering, "As if they even had electrical grinders or whatever they are in the 19th century. You've probably only known what this device is for a few days yourself."

Helena's laughter reverberated through the high-ceilinged room as she pushed herself to her feet, stepping over to stand behind Myka. Squeezing her friend's shoulder with one hand, she reached over her to pick up the tool with her other. "True. I looked up how to use it yesterday. I suppose such a thing would never slip by the ever-so intelligent Myka Bering."

"It's true, I'm the most brilliant agent in all of history," Myka joked, spinning in the chair to face H.G., "while you're barely a step above Pete. He's who you should save those awful one-liners for."

Helena groaned and clasped her hand to her heart. "My God, Myka, how could you say such a thing? How could you wound me so? A step above Pete?" She smiled again, hesitating only to run her eyes over Myka as was her constant and disconcerting habit, and then turned back to her machinery. "Thank you for my tool, darling. Someday I shall educate you in the ecstatic joy of grinding angles."

"Oh, grinding angles! Is that what the angle grinder is for?"

They both laughed at that, though Myka's laugh slowly faded away as she watched the back and forth sway of Helena's hips as she crossed the room. Lately she was so very easily distracted.

The morning was fading into afternoon swiftly and it had been a long day of handing H.G. tools and parts. Myka was exhausted and she couldn't keep up with Helena's unwaveringly upbeat attitude. She was always like this while she worked, and while Myka loved seeing her friend happy without any hint of sadness or anger, she could only pretend to understand the rapid-fire tech talk for so long before she had to detach. Claudia would be better suited for this job (that is, if sitting and listening to Helena's occasional cursing over a problem or gushing over a success counted as a job) but Artie had her running around doing inventory today. So Myka finally vacated her chair and went to pick up the crate full of tools.

"You'll have to get your own things for a bit," Myka said, setting the box down by Helena's machine. She bent down to peek under it, curious about what exactly the other woman was doing, but all she saw was the top of H.G.'s head and her outline, lithe arms outstretched to work on the underbelly of the apparatus. And, Myka noticed, following the lines of her arms down, the curves of Helena's breasts were also exasperatingly visible. The blue shirt looked about to tear, pulled tight across her chest from the awkward position on her back under the machine.

That was a nice shirt, Myka thought. One of her favorites on Helena; such a rich lovely blue made the complex tones of Helena's eyes sparkle. Somehow it looked fetching even so dirty—was that a rip in the sleeve?—and it would have irritated Myka how beautiful Helena managed to be in these conditions if she hadn't been busy admiring how beautiful Helena managed to be in these conditions. She blinked away the thoughts.

"But I was having such great fun making you fetch them."

Myka sighed and stood upright. "Hold on, let me finish my thought. I'm off to curl up on the couch. It's been an exhausting week after Kansas City. Have fun working on your…ah…mysterious device."

"Mm, yes. I understand. Alright." Helena scooted out, flat on her back, to flash an upside-down smile at Myka. "Sweet dreams."

Myka woke up slowly and groggily, becoming aware of her environment in small pieces. It took several moments for her to realize a hand was grasping hers.

"Ah! Helena! What are you doing?" Myka gasped, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open. She tried to pull her hand back but Helena had a firm grasp on it.

"I'm so glad you've awoken!" H.G.'s voice was softer than usual and her eyes looked black as pitch. She caressed Myka's hand, tracing gradual circles with her thumb. "You see, I've noticed how you've been looking at me all day, Myka."

Before Myka could open her mouth to voice an objection, H.G. had captured her other hand and begun to speak again. "I've seen the desire in your eyes, and, well…I shan't deprive you of something you want so badly." She pulled Myka's hands together, tugging them up to her lips, and began to leave a smattering of light kisses all over them. "Let me make love to you," she whispered, peering over Myka's fingertips and directing an almost coy look at her friend.

"Well," Myka began, but she was stumped with there to go from there. There was a stirring in her gut that she was all too familiar with, though it had been a while since she had felt it, and it was ever increasing as Helena began to move her lips to Myka's wrists, never breaking eye contact. A veritable horde of butterflies was rioting in her stomach. "Well, I…you know, alright, I think I would enjoy that." She'd hardly meant to respond but the agreement had come out involuntarily.

Helena smiled, showing her teeth. She slid her hands up to grab Myka's shoulders, shoving her back on the couch and pulling herself up to straddle her. "Let the dance begin."

Their lips met in a flurry of sparks. The kiss was hard and full of lust, and when Myka began to struggle to flip H.G. over and switch their positions, Helena only bit down on Myka's lip and grabbed a handful of her hair. Myka gasped, more startled than pained, and she could feel Helena's mouth curl into that same wolfish smile. Myka was momentarily irritated at the fact that H.G. was stronger than her, but the thought was forced out of her head as Helena kissed her again, as fierce as before, this time forcing her tongue into Myka's mouth and further agitating that crowd of butterflies. One hand tightened in the mess of dark curls—and the other went to squeeze Myka's breast just as hard, earning another gasp.

"Myka, darling," H.G. whispered against Myka's jaw, "I'm going to need you to remove that shirt. I don't care where it goes as long as it isn't on you. I'll rip it off of you myself if I must."

The moment Myka began to lift her shirt, Helena's hands moved to tightly grasp her waist. The touch rose as the shirt did, and Myka saw a look of devilish anticipation cross H.G.'s face as the shirt rose over her breasts.

Then the look was replaced with frustration. "Confound it," H.G. swore, "why on Earth…." She began to struggle with Myka's bra, and Myka took this opportunity to reach through Helena's arms, beginning to undo the buttons of her shirt. It was the same lovely red as her lips and Myka almost hated to toss the silk shirt to the ground. But then she got a fuller glimpse of what awaited underneath and all other thoughts fled her mind as she gazed longingly over the milky-white expanse of Helena's bare chest. Covert glances at H.G. clad in button-downs and jackets were not nearly the same as this. She soaked in the sight.

The glimpse didn't last long. Helena had given up on trying to undo Myka's bra after only brief seconds of trying and had instead simply shoved it up onto her chest. "Please," Helena whispered, lifting herself up on her hands to gaze at Myka, "wear something less complicated next time."
"What, the great H.G. Wells can invent a functional time machine but can't unhook a bra strap? I'd do it myself if you didn't have me pinned down. Besides, I—"

Helena cut her off. "I haven't had to undress a woman in over one hundred years and undergarments did not look like that the last time I was doing such a thing," she snapped. "You try to take off a corset in mere moments and then try to tell me the switch is simple!" After a second, she added, "And I like you pinned down," before scattering kisses along her collarbone.

Myka grinned. This was her favorite H.G., full of witty retorts and sharp jests. Her bright mood from her work earlier must have carried over. "I think a corset is different than undoing a hook."

"Oh, just stop talking." H.G. shifted positions to slide a leg between Myka's and to lower her kisses down to her breasts. At first the touch of her lips was light, almost hesitant, but then her hungry manner returned and she was kissing and nipping at one breast while removing a hand from Myka's hip to take the nipple of her other breast between her fingers.

The banter of before was immediately forgotten. A deep, rich moan escaped Myka's lips, followed by several softer and shallower ones as Helena continued in her work. Delight flooded her entire body. It was Helena's sharp tongue Myka was most used to, always ready with a brilliant idea or a dry comment, but this…this was a very different application of her tongue and one that Myka thought she could grow extremely used to. Her nails dug into H.G.'s hips as another tremor of pleasure coursed through her.

Helena's hand strayed down to undo the button of Myka's pants. "Ah, damn," she groaned against the soft skin of Myka's breast where her mouth still lingered, meeting a new obstacle. Luckily, the belt buckle gave in much easier than the bra strap—some things remain the same despite time's passage—and soon H.G. was shifting positions again, her slender arms reaching to grasp Myka's arms and pin them back on the couch and her head dipping to lay a kiss right at Myka's waistline before moving to trace her lips down her inner thigh, exploring this new patch of skin eagerly.

"Helena," Myka moaned, wrapping her legs around H.G. to force her ever closer. Want overwhelmed her. "Helena, fuck me, fuck me already." With some effort, she jerked her hands free of the tight grip to bury her hands in Helena's dark hair.

"Helena, Helena, Helena!"

"Myka, Myka, Myka." Helena's lilting voice broke into her consciousness, an undertone of laughter in her voice making Myka aware that something was wrong. She shouldn't be laughing, she should be…

Myka burst into awareness, snapping straight up and off of the couch. Helena was perched on one arm of the couch, amusement and bewilderment both evident on her face.

"What happened?" Myka's eyes were wide with horror. Helena had been wearing red, hadn't she? Now she sat there in a worn blue top, one sleeve rolled up neatly and another falling down, most definitely fastened and not on the floor. Reality crashed into her. "Oh, God. Oh no."

"You repeated my name." Helena's eyes glinted impishly. "Again and again. I see I'm prominent in your unconscious. Fascinating."
How much had she said aloud? Only seconds ago, she remembered begging H.G. to fuck her. Her eyes bulged even wider at that realization and she gaped for a long second before recovering. "You tell me everything I said right this instant or…or…." She waved a finger as an empty threat.

Helena shrugged. Myka's scowl and demeanor had drained her amusement and left her with a slight frown. "Only my name. Although, I should point out I was working for most of your nap, so I only heard you crying out a few seconds ago."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Myka held her hands up, completely frazzled. She desperately hoped H.G. was telling the truth. The idea of her friend sitting there and listening to Myka's vocal reactions to the dream was a terrifying idea. "I don't want to hear any more. I can't think about it. "

"Why, was it nightmares?" Helena's face softened as she took a second of silence for an answer. "Oh, how dreadful. I'm so sorry for not awakening you." She stood and stepped forward to slip a comforting arm around Myka, but she immediately jerked away.

"Don't touch me!" She seized upon the excuse Helena had inadvertently provided her. "Yes, terrible nightmares. I don't want to speak about them. Please."

Pain and worry flashed across Helena's face before her calm mask returned. It was clear she felt the situation had taken an upsetting turn, though Myka barely registered that over her own distress. She spoke slowly and uncertainly. "Myka, I'm sorry. I hope my name did not came to your lips in a, ah…negative manner. Whatever it was, you know I would never…." Trailing off, Helena sighed and fixed her gaze on the ceiling, hands on her hips. "I would never," she repeated.

"No, no! It wasn't like that." The instantaneous reassurance was panicked and almost a yell. H.G. frowned, still not looking away from the rafters. Exhaling sharply, Myka pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going very poorly. She couldn't handle this situation right now. "I'm sorry, it was…a mission. You're my friend and I was in trouble, so I was calling you for help."

Helena looked back at Myka, relief flooding her face. "I see."

Myka nodded wearily, pushing a hand through her hair. She and Helena both stared at a point right above the other's shoulder and neither spoke. Finally Helena moved forward and took the other woman's hands in hers. This time Myka didn't reflexively pull away. "Myka, I don't want to see you upset again. If you're worried about more nightmares, perhaps you could sleep in my room tonight."

"Unbelievable! Stop! I just, H.G., I just can't! I'm leaving!" She ripped her hands out of Helena's hold, throwing her hands in the air. "I can't deal with this!" Her angry footsteps echoed through the room as she marched off towards the door.

This time the pained confusion on Helena's face didn't vanish after a short second. Her momentary struggle to think of what she could have done to upset Myka was fruitless. There was nothing she could remember. She sighed, barely audible but ragged, and fell back into a seat on the couch. Her mind raced as she considered the best ways to make up for whatever her mysterious offense had been.

Barreling around the corner, Myka nearly smashed into Claudia going in the other direction. She opened her mouth to apologize but a slight squeak and an incline of her head was all she could manage.

"Whoa! Hey, Myka, slow down!" Claudia held up her hands. "What's up? Are you okay?" She grinned, gesturing towards the door. "Running from H.G.? What, some kind of teeny little lover's quarrel?"

"A what? No! Get out! No. No. I'm not talking to any of you for, for, for a week!" Myka's neck was tight with anger and her eyes were wild. Her furious panic had yet to relent and Claudia's jokes were the last thing she wanted to hear.

"Okay, okay, I'm not talking! Go!" Claudia stepped around Myka, letting her walk swiftly away. She glanced over her shoulder and noted Myka's hunched shoulders and balled fists. "Yikes," she muttered. Someone was cranky.

As she stood there, considering possible sources for Myka's terrible mood, Artie rounded the corner. He stuck a threatening finger in her face, thundering, "I don't know what you said to her, but you are going to fix it! I will not have my agents running around squabbling like children!"

"Oh my God, Artie! I didn't do anything! I think it was H.G.! What would I have done?" Claudia stared disbelievingly at him.

"I won't hear excuses! Just fix it!" He stormed past, shooting her a dark scowl to show he would brook no objections, leaving Claudia in the hall alone again.

She glowered after him. She knew exactly what would happen from here. Now Artie would go in there and snap at H.G. and she'd snap right back, and Pete would be sulky as soon as he saw Myka was mad and she'd be mad at him for sulking, and it would snowball until everyone was at each other's throats. It wouldn't be a fun evening. Her voice rang loud in the empty corridor:

"Great, now Artie's got his panties in a bunch too, and it's up to Claudia Donovan, Warehouse Therapist to deal with everyone. I am the only adult here. The only adult!"