Disclaimer: I don't own Warehouse 13
Author's Note: I saw the prompt about the final words of a soulmate being marked instead of the first words, and I got to thinking about how that might work in the Bering and Wells world where time travel is often involved and people die but then they don't. Thus, this ficlet was born.
Chapter One: Myka
Myka trudged up the old creaky stairs to her room and wearily closed the door behind her, sealing herself into the safety of her room. She pulled off her coat and hung it up in her closet; she tugged off her boots and placed them side by side neatly on the floor at the back of her closet. She cast a longing glance at her bed as she changed into a pair of pajamas. The last couple days had been exhausting. She'd found Helena, nearly lost her. They'd thought Steve was a bad guy; he hadn't been. Sykes had killed him - and god, Claudia! They had all liked Steve, but Claudia had been so much closer to him. Then there was the chess lock and the fight with Sykes and then the bomb, Myka had lost count of all the times one of them had nearly died in the past two days.
Myka froze halfway through putting on her shirt and stared at her wrist in shock. For as long as she could remember, the dark, elegant script had stood out against her pale skin. Always the same words - no one's ever changed, it just didn't happen - "I smell apples". For years, the words had pulled at her curiosity - it was such an odd phrase to be someone's last words to you - but the words were gone now, replaced with an entirely different set of words: "I love you too, darling". The words themselves were innocuous enough, but still, Myka felt that excitable fluttering in her stomach. She'd always hated being called "darling". It always felt condescending and chauvinistic, and when her old college boyfriend tried to use it, it just sounded like he was in a bad western film.
She'd hated that term of endearment with a passion, except when Helena had used it. Helena had only used the term twice, but it had never caused Myka to bristle like it had with the others. It had felt right, natural.
Myka smiled and pulled her shirt on completely. She'd never heard of anyone's mark changing before, but Helena always had a way of being the exception, of changing the rules.