Imagine your OTP lost in the woods. It's evening and it's starting to get cold. Person A puts half of their jacket around Person B. There is a strange noise from somewhere in the darkness, and they draw closer together.
"Myka?"
"Here. To your left…I think."
They'd been too slow. Despite leaving the Warehouse early in the morning, as soon as Artie had set the folder of information in Myka's hands and all but shoved them out of the door, the sun had already been setting when they'd arrived in Watford City. Now, as H.G. and Myka traipsed through the woods, the last light was fading from the sky. Any glimmer of stars was blocked by the tapestry of tree limbs far above, and the city—if you could call it that; Watford Square would be more accurate—lights were long out of sight.
Only the glow of H.G.'s flashlight, which was developing an unsettling brown tinge with every passing minute, had brought any sense of warmth to the two as they made their way towards their target. Now, Myka was deprived of that, too. A foot of distance in these black woods was as dangerous as a mile. H.G. was no longer at her side and the beam of light had vanished with her. Somewhere in these woods lurked a killer armed with the binds from John Holland's rack, and they were separated. Myka was sure her heart would break through her chest any moment if it kept up this furious pounding.
"Myka? Where are you?"
"I'm over here. Keep talking." Myka craned her neck, searching for the shine of the flashlight. Nothing. One hand remained on her Tesla; the other was balled into a tight fist. "It's always night," she growled to herself, stepping over a fallen branch as she moved towards the sound of H.G.'s voice. "We always end up searching for the scariest artifacts at night."
"Over where? Can you still hear me?" H.G. spun in place, letting the fading light of the flashlight wash over everything. Each shaky breath clouded in front of her, and she desperately hoped Myka knew how to get back to town. It would only get colder from here, and spending a late October night in the woods of North Dakota was not an experience she wished to have.
Myka had never wanted to scream so badly. Their forced quiet was infuriating. She knew better than to yell when their target could be anywhere, but trying to track a whisper was almost harder than looking for H.G. in silence. And then—
"I see you! Oh God, turn back around, I saw the flashlight for a second!"
H.G. turned back. The moment her light fell on Myka, they were dashing towards each other, crashing through the brush until they stumbled together at last, relief flooding them both.
"It took you long enough," H.G. told her, a trace of her confident smile ghosting about her lips.
"Shut up, you're the one who wandered off," Myka said, attempting the same levity, but her voice cracked and she grabbed H.G.'s arms, pulling the other agent close to her. "Damn it, Helena, I was terrified. We have to...we have to stick together. "
H.G. flinched at the contact and the flashlight dropped from her fingers. "Oh! Your hands are freezing."
While H.G. wore a large, heavy coat over her top, Myka was clad in only the shirt and blazer she'd thrown on before they'd left the Warehouse. Her fingers were ice on H.G.'s forearms, and when Myka released her and bent down to pick up the dying flashlight, H.G. was already tugging off her coat.
Myka stood up to witness the sight and was instantly displeased. "Leave that on! You need that!"
"I've been wearing it all night so far. It's your turn."
"I'm fine," she snapped. She swatted H.G.'s hand away from the coat. "Don't try to make silly sacrifices for me."
H.G. laughed. "Yes, not another silly sacrifice for you. Next I'll be setting off a bomb in the woods to keep us warm."
Myka was relieved that her cheeks were already crimson from the cold. Embarrassment flooded her. "I didn't mean that. Don't joke about that."
"Honestly, Myka, that was forever ago. Besides, it's nice to have a way to instantly throw you off a step for a moment. Normally that's so difficult."
In the moment Myka had spent stammering after H.G.'s quip, the jacket had come off. Now H.G. moved to place it over her friend's shoulders.
Myka tried to shrug it off, but H.G. held it in place. "Stay off that cross, Agent Bering," she teased.
The glare Myka shot at H.G. would have cowed anyone else. H.G. only smiled back. "Fine," Myka grumbled. "But it's giant. We can share it. And there's no time to debate, so just listen to me." H.G. relented, releasing Myka's shoulders. Myka opened up the jacket and H.G. stepped into it.
"It's not any warmer," H.G. observed, and then, seeing the look on Myka's face, she quickly added, "But I do appreciate it. Don't revoke the privilege." Any excuse to step closer to Myka, even if it was as impractical as this one, she supposed.
"I don't plan on it," Myka said. Even without the fear of the wilderness, having H.G. pressed by her side was always a deep comfort, and she would take any excuse for that.
"Mm. Very wise. Now, if I remember correctly, I believe we have a killer we should be tracking down…alas."
They shared a grimace. Nothing seemed less appealing than risking having their limbs torn off via artifact in the black North Dakota woods. Teslas were little use when you couldn't see your enemy sneaking up.
"We need to be quick," Myka sighed. She was staring at the flashlight, once more held by H.G., which had begun to flicker. "No more getting lost."
H.G. opened her mouth to comment that they happened to be lost right now, unless Myka had a secret gift for navigating through pitch black forests at midnight, but the words flew from her mind before they could leave her mouth: From somewhere deep in the darkness ahead of them came a burst of noise.
Footsteps.
She slowly looked at Myka. They both hesitated in open-mouthed silence for an endless second. H.G. inclined her head, a tired smile washing across her features. "I hope you have a plan," she whispered, her voice all but silent.
"I do," Myka promised. She looked in the direction of the sound and then back at H.G. "But - um - we need to split up for it."
H.G. groaned. "If I had even slightly less faith in you, I would think you were mad."
Another rustle came from the woods. This time, Myka grabbed H.G.'s free hand in both of hers; they could both feel the shaking of the other's fingers. H.G. was immediately responsive to the touch, pressing close to Myka underneath the coat.
"Well," H.G. sighed.
"Well," Myka agreed. "Let's snag it and bag it."
H.G. twisted to face Myka; the jacket fell to the ground, unnoticed by either. She pulled her hand free and cupped Myka's face. Her fingers curled under Myka's chin and she traced her jaw with her thumb. Myka shivered (from the cold, she told herself, and then H.G. stroked her cheek and she determined that it was most definitely not the cold). Myka reached to push a strand of hair back from H.G's face, running her hand through the dark mane to settle on the back of H.G.'s neck. It all happened in seconds, but it felt gloriously infinite.
And then it passed. For a moment, the fear in H.G.'s eyes shone bright and Myka's chest ached, but then H.G. smiled, leaned in, and, lips right against Myka's ear, whispered, "Alright, darling. Let's hear that plan."
The noises from the trees sounded again. Closer.
Myka began to explain.
