Disclaimer: I do not own Warehouse 13. But in the meantime I have a lot of ferrets living in my basement ;)
Author's Note: Not my very best piece, but I thought I'd put it out there for y'all to take a stab at anyway. Feel free (and encouraged) to write a review! If it is well-liked I might decide to continue it. If not, it can sit in a corner like an outcast. Enjoy!
End to Beginning Again
Breathing in the crisp autumn air, Myka allowed her eyelids to squeeze shut. She refused accept the sight before her. In her mind she saw what she knew she wouldn't see. The Bed and Breakfast, lights glowing through the windows in the night. Pete's shadow hunkering in the upper story window, never failing in mischief. Claudia's slender silhouette creeping through the dining room, crossing before the luminescent French doors toward the kitchen, forming a tale in her bright little head of how Artie's cookies were commandeered by a horde of dwarf vikings. Leena in the doorway of the den, arms crossed, reading the aura of the ever-troubled Artie pacing before her, cleaning his glasses on his shirt out of nervous habit. She even saw herself. Her own shadow cast out of her bedroom window, her mess of thick curls about her fallen head, shoulders slumped, knees coming to the floor, her hands covering her face.
Myka opened her eyes to find herself on the ground, her hands pulling away from her face to put her fingers through the dead grass. She was on her knees, just as she had seen herself in the imaginary window. She felt a firm hand on her shoulder; a familiar, comforting grip. She lifted her pale face to find Pete's warm, dark velvet eyes searching hers. Everything they felt was mutual. Everything was gone.
In sync, they turned their heads to cast their gaze upon the devastation before them. The charred remains of the Bed and Breakfast continued to crumble, a spontaneous creaking and crashing coming from the burnt mess. The entire yard of dead grass was now blackened, flames still creeping outwards at the edges. Univille's firefighters continued to run back and forth, unaware that this was a fire they couldn't stop.
If the situation had been different, there would be no need to even bother worrying about a petty fire. Pete and Myka knew better. They knew of the artifact used to induce this catastrophe. They knew of the same apocalypse taking place in the Warehouse at that very moment. They knew of the forces much greater than they that had them by their collars, always one step ahead.
A tear slipped silently down her face. Pete took her hand in his and pulled her to her feet, enveloping her in his strong arms. He held her head, his callused fingers in her tousled brown hair. She trembled, moisture from her eyes seeping into the fabric of his sleeve. Pete couldn't bear to make this any worse for her by passing on what he knew he had to. Though if he didn't tell her, he knew she would find out in a much more difficult manner.
"Myka…" the trembling in his own gritty voice surprised him. He loosened his grip on her body, wondering if he had been crushing her. Searching her pale green eyes, he nervously touched her soft face, rubbing ash from her cheek before pushing his fingers back into her hair. "Myka, the—," Pete's voice caught in his throat. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her.
Pulling away, Myka weaved to the side. Her brow furrowed and her forehead creased, her worried eyes, like glassy orbs, delved into him. Her lips parted ever so slightly, as if to begin a sentence that she never intended to start. The horrid question hanging over her head in a thick, disgusting cloud that smothered her silently was conveyed blatantly to Pete by the sickly expression on her face. The very thought of it making her feel the need to vomit in the bushes not but a few yards away.
"Myka, they found Artie." Pete swallowed the thick lump in his throat. He squeezed his shut tight, a nasty taste like bile in his mouth. Turning away from Myka, he allowed himself to look at the flames creeping toward them in the grass. He only knew that he would be crumbling too, just like their home, if he saw the look on her face.
She quickly found herself falling again. Her head felt heavy as her vision became blurred and dark. The most sickening part about what she knew Pete had really just told her was that by 'they found Artie', Pete had meant that Artie was gone.
Pete pivoted quickly, crouching on his knees beside his partner. Myka liked to believe she was the rock of the duo, but Pete knew better. He was her fortress, her stronghold, her protector. He even protected her from the fact that she was weaker than she would care to admit.
Scooping her into his arms, he comforted her the best he could, though refusing to allow her sobs to penetrate him. His time to grieve would come. Now was the time to be there for Myka, no matter how difficult it was to put on his strong face. She crumpled in his arms, her face in his shoulder, her arms around his neck. Pete held her tightly around the waist, relishing in the momentary openness between them. Even despite his own disapproval, he couldn't help but wish he could hold her, so vulnerable, in his arms forever. Normally he would kick himself inwardly, but at this moment he only held on to her tighter. At a time in which they were losing so much, he did not see it so wrong to be thankful for what he still had. Life seemed too short to let this pass.
Myka's sobbing subsided to snivels. She moved her head, pressing her face into Pete's neck. She found consolation in the feeling of her lips against his smooth skin. Breathing his scent in once more, she pulled away. She looked over his face, having the urge to place her hands on either side of his head and hold him there, but repressing it. She closed her eyes and swallowed the thick feeling in her mouth. Breathing steadily, she brought her eyes up to meet Pete's gaze.
"And Leena?"
Pete exhaled. "Couldn't find her. Must have gotten away." Averting his eyes, he kept himself from adding the words 'I hope' to the end. 'Hope' almost seemed like a damper here. They needed security. He had to be sure.
Relief momentarily washed over her, only to be followed by another wave of fear. The new question arising before her seemed too brash to even utter aloud. She had to know. But, what if she didn't want to know? A pain filled her chest again as her heart squeezed. Myka looked solemnly into Pete's pained dark eyes.
"What about Claudia?"
Eyes darting away, Pete fumbled over the words. It wasn't the worst, but it still wasn't…right. "She's gonna make it, but…it's not…pretty." Claudia liked to think of herself as invincible. Of course, they all knew she wasn't. Still, the thought of her in any crippled, weakened form just wasn't quite Claudia.
Myka squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. She lifted her gaze tentatively, peering into Pete's eyes, which had already seen much more than she. "Were they…Claudia and Artie…were they together?"
"Yes." Pete couldn't say any more. He couldn't tell Myka what he had seen there. He couldn't even think of the words to describe how he had found Claudia, leg twisted at a sickly angle, scrambling listlessly through the ravaged Warehouse, seeking help for her mentor. He couldn't tell Myka what it had been like to see the young girl tossing artifact after damaged artifact aside, searching for something that could help the older man. The horror that would not reach the redhead's ears. 'He's gone, Claud, there's nothing we can do. He's gone. He's…he's dead.'
She winced, shaking her head once more. "Oh, God. She's never going to forgive herself."
"I know." Pete remained stiff. He couldn't look at Myka's face, looking instead at her hands, wringing each wrist in turn. Her fingers were nimble in their incessant movement, unable to stop. Each slender finger dancing over her own skin in turn.
A long silence passed between them before Pete rose silently to his feet. He offered his own hands to Myka, his palm outstretched toward her. Her quivering eyes met his before she timidly placed her soft hand in his rough, callused one. Pete gently pulled her to her feet. His gaze fixated on her small hand in his, taking his other and turning it over, palm up. After a few moments of tracing his finger lightly over her handprint, he placed his right hand in hers and closed her fingers over it with his left. Their eyes met. And without words they silently made an agreement. 'We're gonna make it through this.'