Title: Love Potion #13
Author: LadyNRA
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None that fans wouldn't know already
Characters: Artie, Pete and Myka
Genre: Drama (more or less)
Disclaimer: The producers and Syfy may own it but I'm taking the time to play with the characters (especially Artie) for a little while.
Summary: Pete and Myka are getting used to be Warehouse Agents but Artie thinks they need a little more coaching. Unfortunately, things don't go as planned.
Author's Note: I admit it, the plot bunnies turned rabid right after the initial airing of the second episode ("Resonance"). I started writing immediately after that and finished this right after the third episode aired ("Magnetism"). This story takes place shortly after Magnetism but before "Claudia." And yes, as the title implies this is definitely a fluffy piece of fiction. Hope you like reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
The South Dakota badlands in winter could be brutal, unforgiving, and yet, strikingly beautiful at the same time.
Myka Bering was beyond such assessments, content to just glide across the thick ice of the large pond she'd found on the acreage housing the vast underground complex known as Warehouse 13. It was true that she had to walk quite a way to get there, but it had been worth it. Another fight with her dad, long distance at that, had worked her temper into such a state that she needed to burn off the frustration. This place, harbored between several large hills, held a pond right out of her childhood memories. It was more than sufficient in size to slough off her discontentment like hosing mud off rubber boots, but not so large that she felt swallowed up by it.
Off to the side, Peter Lattimer, fellow Secret Service agent, and new partner, sat on an upended plastic bucket, simply enjoying the pristine surroundings and Myka's lithe form as she went through her paces. Myka's medium length, curly brown hair flowed out behind her as she arched her back, raised her arms, and executed a perfect 360 before sliding into a series of equally perfect figure eights.
He'd gone along simply because he was bored in the absence of current assignments, so he'd decided to make the best of a dull situation. He was always the kind of guy who hated sitting still and here he was nearly motionless. He was about to get up, call his partner's name, and tap his watch for emphasis, when he heard a sound coming from between the nearest hillocks. It didn't take any training whatsoever to identify what was approaching. Even a kid could tell it was a vehicle, and since no one but their immediate supervisor and anyone else intimately connected with Warehouse 13 was allowed on the property, it mostly likely had to be 'the man' himself.
As expected, Arthur Nielsen pulled to a stop near them, the tires sliding a couple of inches or two before he came to a complete standstill. Lattimer did a double take at seeing the vehicle, but then didn't give it another thought. Around here, they changed vehicles the way a supermodel changed clothes.
Artie lumbered out of the vehicle, his short frame practically hidden from view. When he did appear past the bumper, he was carrying a pair of black ice skates slung over one shoulder. He pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and slogged through the snow toward the pair.
He stood for a moment looking first at the sky, then at the pristine white snow unmarred except for a dual trail of footprints.
"Beautiful day, don't you think?" he inquired pleasantly in a lilting baritone voice.
Pete squinted at him a moment as he struggled to figure out the angle. Artie had a habit of trying to disarm his opponents with kindness or cookies before 'lowering the boom' as the old saying went. Pete noted the empty hands. "I'd rather have the cookies," he muttered to himself.
"'What was that?" Artie's right eyebrow shot up.
"Um, oh, nothing, just thinking aloud." Pete sat up a bit straighter and looked his superior directly in the eye. "Yup, it is a beautiful day," he added as he watched Myka moving around the pond blissfully unaware of the company. "No doubt about it. Lovely." The steaming clouds of exhaled breath encompassing his head thickened slightly as he thought about his new partner. "So what brings you out here?"
Ignoring Pete's studious scrutiny, Artie turned his dark eyes on Myka. "Oh, I saw Myka leave with skates and figured I'd try my hand at it also. I keep promising myself I'd get more exercise, ya know?"
Seconds later, Artie plopped down on Myka's bucket which was only a few feet from the end of the pond, and slid off hiking boots. A couple of minutes later he had the skates on, and carefully, hesitantly stepped onto the ice.
Pete smirked. Far as he was concerned this was going to be good for a laugh. Artie wasn't young, mid 50's as far as he could judge. Truth be told, he didn't give the impression of being especially agile either. The combination promised to give Pete some entertainment and perhaps even some fuel for jokes later on.
The man of his focus didn't disappoint. Artie stepped out onto the ice, attracting Myka's full attention. She started toward him. He leaned forward as if to push off, and suddenly there were feet flying everywhere, arms pin-wheeling wildly, all semblance of balance nearly destroyed.
Taking in the situation, and caring enough not to want to see his superior seriously hurt, Pete jumped to his feet, his pantherish, agile movements already getting him near enough for a lunge if necessary. Powerful muscles in his broad shoulders and strong legs flexed as he started to reach out. At the same moment, Myka had reacted, trying to forestall Artie's spectacular face plant by pivoting and stretching elegantly manicured hands outward.
As if by magic, Artie managed to right himself, push off, and meet Myka about ten feet from shore. He took her into a waltz style embrace, swung her around once, split off, skating backward and pointed at Myka, with his left forefinger. Simultaneously, he tapped the side of his somewhat prominent nose with the same digit on his opposite hand. "Gotcha," the gesture said. It was followed by Artie's trademark lopsided smile.
Myka's blades cut into the ice, bringing her to a sudden stop. She firmly planted both hands on her shapely hips and drew her full lips into a firm line. "That is so not funny, Artie! I really thought you were going to hurt yourself."
"So sorry," he murmured sheepishly, although his expression didn't appear repentant at all. He paused for a second, waiting for her narrow-eyed glare to fade.
Before Myka could chastise him further, he'd swung back, taken her back into a dancer's stance, and flowed into a very simple routine for paired figured skaters. He led her through the basics and she had no trouble matching him move for move as he guided her around for another five minutes.
Pete watched in amusement as Myka and Artie moved through the impromptu routine. He had to admit it was an interesting sight. Artie was considerably shorter than Myka and significantly wider, especially around the middle. And yet, he was forced to admit there was an inherent grace about the couple as they whirled past. A dreamlike quality seemed to surround them, the scratching sounds of ice under blade the only noise to mar the perfection of the moment.
As the barren, ivory landscape spun around her, Myka felt many of the tensions ease from her taut, lean muscles. For the briefest of moments, she was a child again, reveling in the joy of movement and dance, the cares and angst and anger of her young years melting away as surely as ice crystals melting on a heated windshield. A beautiful smile pulled at her lips, revealing white teeth and it didn't fade until she brought Artie's round face into focus.
Though there were still laugh lines framing his eyes, Artie's expression had become neutral. Instantly, she snapped back into reality. She was here in the boonies, literally in the middle of nowhere, with no life but her new job, in the arms of her boss, who was closely watching her with those expressive eyes.
Not too long ago, when she'd lost her previous partner, and the greatest love of her life, she'd submerged herself in the work, followed by watching old movies and mindless hours of reading romances, forever envisioning Sam's image in her head when reading about the hero. One thing she'd noticed about those novels was the fact that authors tended to overdo the ability of the eyes to convey such a great depth of emotion. She'd laughed at the time, never believing it. Heck, not even Sam's eyes were that talkative. But she had to admit that Arthur Nielsen had the knack of speaking through them. Even though she'd only known him briefly, she'd gotten better at reading his varied looks, and this one said something was brewing, that he wasn't out there solely for much needed exercise.
Myka sighed and released his warm hands, instantly regretting it as her own grew cold from a sudden biting wind racing through the little valley.
Clouds of steaming breath surrounded them as they stepped from the ice and began to unlace the skates. Pete walked over to where Myka stood and gallantly offered her the bucket, flipping it solid end up, and patting it for emphasis. She glanced at him sideways, trying to figure what was up. Her subconscious still viewed him as being way too cocky for his own good, and obnoxious enough to rub it in any chance he got. But she relented and took a seat. Artie claimed her bucket and parked himself heavily.
By the time she got her boots on, Artie was lacing up his own, and preparing to stand.
"Time to boogie," the older man said, waving his hand casually in the direction of Warehouse 13, the storage facility for everything weird and wonderful, dangerous and deadly.
"Something up?" Pete inquired, just wanting to get right to the point. He'd been itching for an assignment for days and his sixth sense perked up at the mere thought of facing another challenging retrieval of some bizarre or nefarious artifact.
"You could say that," muttered Nielsen, as his rubbed frozen condensation off the still dark hair of his mustache, and the more silvered hairs of his goatee. "I'm still not entirely sure what we are looking for…"
"Are you ever?" Pete asked sardonically. "It's usually a guessing game, at least it has been up 'til now."
"True, true," Artie agreed mildly, not rising to the bait. His gift of collating bizarre, seeming unrelated events and information into distinctive patterns, had been something no one else had been able to duplicate, but as astute as he was in looking for these trends, the skill had rarely extended into knowing exactly what they were hunting before they went looking for 'it'. "Let's head back and discuss it there, okay?"
"Fine with me," Myka responded, gathering up her skates. As an afterthought, she grabbed Artie by the sleeve of his wool peacoat, and smiling softly said, "Thanks for the workout. It's been too long."
"My pleasure," Artie's head bobbed, that half-smile returning for the briefest of seconds. With one hand, he gestured toward their transportation.
Lattimer glanced over to the vehicle Artie had arrived in, studying it more closely. Not the boss' usual 'wheels', Pete noted again. A non-descript black Yukon sat with its tires submerged into about six inches of snow. They'd already been privileged to borrow Artie's 'ride', a timelessly classy and powerful vehicle that shouted impeccable taste and a significant paycheck on the part of the owner. And this clearly wasn't it. This one was far more suited to the local and current weather conditions. Another rental. Well, that suited Pete just fine. The rules Artie had forced upon them with his personal vehicle had been a bit bothersome. This alternative was much better. No worries about spilled coffee or cookie crumbs on the floor mats.
All of them piled into the Yukon after buckets and skates had been tossed in back. There were several sets of duffels neatly stacked back there as well. Three of them, not the usual two, Pete noted. In addition, there were two canisters of the purple goo Artie referred to as Neutralizer. And beside them was Artie's ever-present black doctor's bag which typically toted an amazing assortment of gadgets.
"Going with us?" Pete inquired in surprise and just a touch of consternation. He spared Artie the briefest of sideways glances. This was something new and unexpected. "Don't get me wrong, but you usually stay behind and monitor everything in the warehouse while we're out on assignment. Who are we gonna go to for information?"
Artie's expression clearly said, "Well, duh!" though he had the good grace not to verbalize it.
Myka, formerly silent but enjoying the opportunity to goad Pete, said, "Oh, I'm sure Artie is quite capable of lending his superb reasoning skills to the mission even if we can't access the warehouse computers. Right, Artie?"
That made the recipient of the question pause, trying to figure out the angle. Bering was right, generally speaking. He wasn't too old or incompetent to be of no value on a mission, but he would miss his computers if he needed quick access to data. He debated whether she was complimenting him or trying to manipulate him into reconsidering his decision. Ultimately he kept his opinion to himself. Instead, his large brown eyes flicked to the teammate who posed the initial question.
"For your information, I'm tagging along on this assignment," he began in a placid tone that made it impossible to figure out if he was looking forward to the trip or was mildly irked but hiding it well, "to lend moral support."
"We don't need…" Myka began, but was held up by her superior's broad-fingered hand rising in a 'hold on' motion.
Voice still calm, almost mellow, Artie continued, "What I meant to say is that I was asked, rather pointedly I gotta add, by Mrs. Frederic, to oversee this mission…a mission which shouldn't be troublesome by the way… just to give you some pointers."
"Pointers! We don't need…" the other two occupants said, almost in unison. It was one of the rare moments they agreed on anything. Artie noted it but avoided making jokes. Again the hand came up.
"I'm charged with teaching you to become a more effective team, pure and simple. You're doing admirably so far, so please don't argue with me about it." He rocked a finger from driver's seat to back seat. "Face it. You two seriously need to plan better."
"We're quite experienced at—" Myka began, ire already rising.
"Hey, I'm skilled in--" it was Pete's turn.
"Logistics, follow through, thinking calmly under pressure, yeah, yeah, yeah. We're all well aware why you were selected for this team in the first place." He took a sip of coffee from a travel mug whose contents were still steaming up from a hole in the lid. "What I'm referring to is developing a better sense of," he paused for another sip, though it may have been to fish for an appropriate word, which in this case was, "Cooperation. We'd like you to be less…" Words like confrontational, argumentative, combative and childish raced into Artie's mind, yeah, especially liked that last one, but he didn't voice it. "Um…divisive in how you structure your planning sessions."
Pete and Myka exchanged glances through the rearview mirror. They knew Nielsen was right but weren't about to admit it.
"What does it matter how we do the job as long as it's done properly without anyone getting hurt?" Lattimer finally asked. Then Pete forced air through pursed lips. "Okay, so you're implying that we need to work better together, I get it."
Hearing the hardening of Pete's voice, Artie closed his eyes. Obviously, the young man's good old boy attitude was heading south…fast. "Look, as I see it, you two are almost there already. Outwardly, you've passed…you know…with flying colors." His fingers began to tick off the count. "Artifacts are being brought in. You don't attract a lot of attention…well, relatively speaking. You're both still alive and in one piece. There's a huge blessing right there. What I'm referring to is the emotional component of your partnership."
"Continue," Myka stated tightly, starting to sound like Pete.
This time it was Artie's turn to sigh. "Let me be blunt. You two argue like Peg and Al Bundy from Married with Children, but with a whole lot more hostility. It's clouding your judgment. May even be hampering your efforts to get the assignments over quickly and efficiently. Frankly, in some cases, I think you've been inordinately lucky, and luck only holds for so long. The alternative, when good fortune fails, could be… disastrous. Believe me, I know." He went silent for a minute and the anguished look on his face stopped any further comebacks from the other two passengers in the vehicle.
Pete was the first to break the silence but he did so in a neutral non-argumentative tone. "So what do you suggest?
"My off-the-cuff attempt at reverse psychology last time, when I tried to fool you both into thinking you were in charge of the mission, wasn't a complete failure, you know. But I realize my mistake. So now, I'm suggesting you take charge of missions tag-team style. Flip a coin, odds or evens. Rock, paper, scissors for all I care. Whoever wins will be in charge." His baritone voice dropped an octave as he hit the last two words.
He glanced at Pete, and then twisted to gaze at Myka. "Who is 'it' this go around, surrenders lead the next mission. And so on. This does not," another tonal shift, "mean subtle attempts to push for control or sneaking around behind your partner's back just because you want to follow a hunch or a 'vibe'." His eyes were boring into the side of Lattimer's temple in an attempt to drill the point home.
Just to irk Artie, Pete smiled, turned on all the boyish charm, and chirped back cheerfully. "Gotcha, boss, open communication. Go by the playbook. Don't go against orders."
"Exactly!" responded Artie, clearly not buying into the act, but hoping for the best anyway. Both of his field agents possessed strong personalities. This was not all that unusual given the line of work they were in. Now that the idea of alternating leadership had been presented, it would become his task to see that they developed these news skills. If not this assignment, then the next. He mentally groaned at the thought of refereeing two wildly flailing boxers without the aid of vats of neutralizer or at least a couple of tazers.
"When we get where we're going, choose who's in the lead and we'll proceed from there."
After dumping off skates and buckets at the warehouse, they took off.
The trip to southwestern Iowa wasn't too onerous with all three of them sharing driving responsibilities. Nevertheless, they didn't get into a presentable hotel until a few hours before dawn. All were groggy despite catnaps when not driving. After checking in, Pete and Artie retired to a small but clean room with two double beds, a small but spotless bathroom, an older 32 inch TV, coffeepot, and the usual places to stash belongings. Myka got to enjoy her privacy. Secretly, she hoped Artie snored, loudly, just to make Pete miserable, but dropped the thought after realizing they both needed to be rested and on their toes.
Pete showered before turning in. Artie had collapsed on the bed, in tee-shirt and what looked like baggy shorts. He was sound asleep on his back, mouth open, but breathing quietly.
Sighing in relief at his good fortune, Lattimer slid between the sheets and was dreaming of Myka's dance around the pond before he could have counted to fifty.
