While trying to write the next part of this series, The Birth, and getting very frustrated with how it was progressing, I decided something shorter was needed to 'fill the gap', as it were. I felt that the issues in these few chapters were necessary for the story but just didn't like them in The Birth.
I hope you'll let me know if The Bering Strait adds to the series or falls short. Either way, I had to get it out in order to move onto all the ups and downs waiting to come, so if you've enjoyed this story so far, I hope you'll forgive me when I finally find my motivation again.
This story kicks off two days after Christina and Myka return to the twentieth century.
Warning for ongoing angst with brief moments of hope scattered throughout. Ultimately a happy 'ending' though.
Chapter One
Faint strands of manic chatter and sporadic bursts of music drifted into the kitchen from the TV in the living room. Neither occupant paid any attention to the discordant sounds, both being far too busy with each other to concern themselves with the quality of modern children's entertainment. Moans and gasps absorbed every ounce of interest from the couple, rendering them almost oblivious to their surroundings.
Helena's hands found the hem of Myka's t-shirt and drifted beneath the soft fabric. Myka whimpered into her fiancée's mouth, feeling her nerve endings shiver where the pads of Helena's fingers burned a path along her skin.
They had entered the kitchen with the pretext of making up some lunch before Myka left for the Warehouse, but had fallen into a heated make-out session against the island counter top instead. That had been twenty minutes ago. Now, the one thing they were still very much aware of; the one thing stopping them from tearing off each other's clothes, was being out in the open with their daughter just two rooms away.
Reaching behind her to catch wandering hands, Myka released her lover's lips and placed a series of kisses against her cheek and jaw. After a few calming breaths, she pulled away to find herself gazing into eyes of molten chocolate that stared back at her with abject want.
"Helena," the American sighed, both annoyed and intensely aroused by the look. "Stop it. You know we can't. I'm going to die of frustration if you keep working me up like this." Her voice came out breathy and wanton, contradicting her every word.
Entirely unrepentant, HG took advantage of Myka's hold on her hands to bring the brunette's left one up to her mouth. Eyes fixed on Myka's, she kissed the inside of its wrist, working her way slowly around the pad of a thumb, teeth scraping the sensitive tip before she moved on to engulf two thirds of an index finger with her lips. At her lover's audible groan, her eyelids fluttered closed and she sucked the length of the digit. Feeling her fiancée sag against her, HG grinned triumphantly and looked up to find sparkling green eyeing her dangerously.
"You were saying, love?" Helena's grin faltered as Myka gripped her forearms and pushed her back into the fridge.
Hours later, pulling into the drive with a thoughtful smile painting her lips, Myka killed the engine and pushed open the car door. Her teenaged daughter had been polite but cheeky, relaxed but full of energy and quiet but witty. Pride filled her every pore as she thought about how vibrant her little girl was as a young adult.
Sounds of anger pulled her out of her thoughts. Mind still engaged with her afternoon spent in pleasant conversation, she didn't immediately connect the raised voices she could hear with her own family.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Mrs. Masterson next door shaking her head disapprovingly and turned to throw a worried glance at her home. Suppressing the urge to glare at the nosy neighbour, Myka grabbed her bag, locked her car, turned her attention back to the house and hurried to the door.
Inside the house, there was chaos. Christina was screaming at Helena and, contrary to her usual calm demeanour, HG was screaming right back. Claudia, who passed Myka with an expression of intense relief, was holding a fire extinguisher in one hand and a charred lump of something that might once have been wires and plastic in the other. An acrid smell permeated the air. Recognising its ilk, she quickly began to put the pieces together.
"What on Earth possessed you to go down into the basement alone!? You know the rules in this house, yet you deliberately flouted them!" HG paced short widths across the open doorway to the entrance hall, her fists clenched tight and her voice tighter still, pregnant with the threat of tears.
Christina's expression was a mixture of distressed and defiant, her eyes glaring at her mother in accusation. "You were too busy to come with me!"
"That does not excuse your actions, young lady," Helena insisted. "You understand the dangers." She ran a shaking hand through her hair, taking deep breaths through her nose to try and calm her racing thoughts. Stopping abruptly, she crouched before her daughter and held both of her arms as she looked up into angry eyes. "Damn it, Christina. Do you not realise that you could have put your life in danger had that fire grown out of control?"
Shrugging her mother's arms off her, the eight-year-old retreated. "I don't care!" she yelled, her words crossing the short distance, their invisible barbs connecting directly with the inventor's heart.
Like a startled deer, Helena froze. Who was this unfeeling creature? What had happened to her little girl? She felt a firm hand under her elbow and looked up through her watery vision to find reassuring green gazing back at her. At Myka's edict, she rose but faltered as she hovered between action and inaction.
"It's ok, honey," the American reassured gently, pulling her fiancée into a brief hug so she could whisper in her ear. "You know she doesn't mean it. Just take a few minutes while we all try to calm down."
Though she hesitated several seconds, HG nodded and turned to the door, heading for the kitchen where the morning had held such promise for the day. She felt Claudia fall into step but didn't look back, even as more spiteful words followed her.
Christina choked, beginning to sob as she watched the Brit leave. "I don't want you anyway!" she cried through her tears.
"Enough!" Myka ordered firmly as she placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder and led her defeated form to the couch. The agent sat, perched on the edge as she began to inspect the girl for damage. "Are you injured?" she asked, her voice neither friendly nor angry.
In truth, Myka was far too shocked by this turn of events to summon the necessary energy to feel much of anything. She understood Helena's reaction; any reminder of her limited control over their daughter's safety was bound to incite a relapse to a time when anger had been her only weapon against the pain. However, it had been apparent from the moment she arrived home that both Wells woman were attempting to fight fire with fire. There would be no chance for a rational conversation while emotions were so fraught, and Myka wanted answers as much as her partner did.
Christina stood with her gaze fixed firmly on the cream carpet. She hesitated a moment then shook her head. Tears continued to flow, now racing to meet in the middle, dripping from her nose.
She hadn't wanted to create all of this tension. She had only wanted to explore a little while her Mummy was busy in the study and Mama was out at the Warehouse. Sitting in her room, playing a game with her stuffed toys, she had suddenly become aware of the lack of movement around her. There were many little noises; the ticking clock, birds, the occasional passing car, but no footsteps on the stairs and no voices drifting from below, giving orders.
A brief sound of voices cut through the terrifying calm from outside but it wasn't at all like the comforting cacophony of sounds heard from a noisy London street. Making herself busy had seemed like a logical way to shut out the deafening silence.
Myka leant towards the coffee table and retrieved a tissue so she could wipe away some of the wetness from the girl's face. "Why are you hiding your hand then?" she asked softly as she reached for the girl's right hand. Gently, she pulled fingers back to reveal several scratches and a rather large gash bisecting the eight-year-old's palm. She gasped and reached for the box of tissues as blood immediately began to seep through the wound. "Jesus!" she hissed in surprise while wrapping the girl's fingers around a wad of tissue. She looked up to see worried features and a wobbling lip. Knowing that the pressure would give them a minute's grace, Myka placed a hand against her daughter's cheek. "Sweetheart, why didn't you say anything? Mummy could have taken care of this."
The lip wobbled more. An uninjured hand wiped ineffectually at falling tears. "Mummy was shouting," she sniffed.
The agent's eyes closed as she took a breath and began to prioritise. "Ok. First thing's first; let's get this cut cleaned up and then we'll discuss what happened this afternoon." Her tone brooked no argument and she instructed the injured party to follow her to the bathroom upstairs where the first-aid kit lived. Helena had an emergency kit in her lab but Myka didn't think it was a good idea to return to the scene of the accident.
Neither of them spoke much as Myka pulled away the bloodied tissues and began to wipe away the blood with alcohol-free wipes. Thankfully, it wasn't deep so the girl wouldn't need actual stitches; the butterfly strips they had stocked courtesy of Vanessa would suffice, but it was a close thing.
Helena joined them after a few minutes, took one look at the medical paraphernalia, paled and sat on the corner of the bath in the silence. Myka reached behind her to squeeze the inventor's knee in reassurance before starting to tape gauze in place. When she was finished, she sealed her efforts with a magic kiss and told Christina to go and wait in her room while she spoke to Helena.
Christina nodded and turned to the door, her eyes braving a sorrowful glance at her mother as she passed by. Before she could reach the threshold, strong arms flew out at her and pulled her into a warm hug. Feeling kisses in her hair, she looked up to see several emotions that she couldn't name gazing back at her.
"I'm sorry, Mummy," she whispered with feeling.
Helena kissed her daughter's forehead. "I know, love. Go and wait in your room, we'll talk about it in a few minutes." She watched the girl drag her feet on her way out of the room and immediately felt all of her energy drain away. Her head fell into her hands and she listened for a moment as her partner tidied away the debris. Soon enough, a warm body perched next to her and began to run long fingers through her hair.
"Helena?" Myka prodded gently. "Honey, do you want to tell me what happened?"
Lifting her heavy head, HG glanced sideways at her partner and sighed. "I thought she was playing in her room. I was searching the internet for furniture materials, to begin working on the nursery. I didn't even hear her come downstairs," she added in a self-defeating tone. "I happened to be on my way to the kitchen to start on dinner when I heard a crash. I smelt the smoke and I thought..." Her voice caught at the mere memory of the panic she'd felt. "Myka; she deactivated the fire alarm," Helena continued, horrified by the idea.
"What!? Why?" Myka jumped to her feet, anger and fear filling her in equal measure.
"Your guess is as good as mine, though I think we can safely assume that her actions were premeditated," Helena rose slowly with an air of having the weight of the world on her shoulders.
Myka didn't hesitate as she moved into her fiancée's personal space and wrapped her arms around the inventor. "You must have been so scared," she breathed into the nearest ear. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when it happened."
"She could have died," Helena confessed her worst fear. She shook for a moment, waiting for the terror to pass and for the soothing benefits of Myka's presence to take effect.
Myka felt the statement reach to her core and pulled her lover impossibly closer. "She's fine. I know it's not a guarantee but at the Warehouse is a sassy young adult who is as stubborn as the two of us put together. She's not going to leave us."
HG could do little but nod along in agreement. She knew her lover was right, and thinking of the teen who had lived with her for the past week did help somewhat to allay her fears.
They presented a united front as they joined their daughter in her bedroom and took it in turns to question her patiently. They listened as Christina tried to explain away her disregard of the rules because the house was too quiet. Covert expressions of concern passed quickly between the adults, both of them knowing that they would discuss that issue in private.
Through the entire interrogation, the eight-year-old divided her attention between the bedspread and the tree outside her window. She couldn't look either of her parents in the eye for long. The awful churning in her stomach forbade her. What had seemed like reasonable risks at the time became horribly reckless in hindsight.
Her room had been too quiet. Mummy looked too busy to play and she hadn't wanted to risk rejection by asking. Having a sudden urge to re-enact some of the experiments she'd watched her mother perform, she'd made her way to the basement door without thought for any restrictions.
At first, she had descended the stairs with the idea that she would just look; there were lots of interesting things on display; in jars, Petri dishes and cabinets. The lab had an old-world feel to it with all of the most modern equipment modified by her aunt Claudia to fit into the decor. She could almost imagine that she was back in her uncle's house in London if she concentrated hard enough.
Thoughts of Uncle Charles had sent a flood of something foreign and uncomfortable through her body. She'd tried to shake it off but it persisted and threatened a flood of tears behind suddenly pricking eyes. An unexpected anger crept up behind the melancholy thoughts of her uncle. Her mother wouldn't try to rescue him and though she knew the reasons, she found herself not caring. It was Mummy's fault that Uncle Charlie couldn't be there to play with her now.
Shiny beakers beckoned her closer and before any thought of caution could enter her mind, she had an array of bottled chemicals sitting on a workbench and a pair of goggles perched on her nose. Twenty minutes later, there was smoke rising from the beaker and she was running in a panic to pull the batteries from the fire alarm before it could warn her mother of her transgression.
In an effort to cover up the mess, she had rushed back to the bench, fumbled with the glass, knocked it against the wooden surface and ended up with a mixture of glass and combusting chemicals running along the worktop. Several tiny fragments had nicked her palm and she ignored them. Even the feel of sharp, hot pain lancing deeper barely took her notice.
Mostly, it was the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs that had worried her. When her mother's astonished and then livid face met hers, she knew she was in big trouble. Ordered up to the living room, she was left to stew in her own thoughts for several minutes while her Mummy called for backup and tried to avoid a house-wide disaster. Instead of giving her time to think about what she'd done wrong, those indefinable feelings from earlier resurfaced, bringing that demon of anger with them again. By the time her mother rejoined her, she had developed a temper to match.
Seeing her sleek-haired mother's face now though, she lost the words to explain the compulsion she had felt at the time. Mummy was already upset and she didn't want to make that worse by discussing the people they both missed.
"Sweetheart, all we're hearing you say is that you didn't like being in your bedroom so you decided to play in the basement," Myka summarised patiently. "That doesn't make much sense. Are you sure you can't remember what you were thinking or feeling?"
Christina continued to stare at the pattern on her duvet cover. "I don't remember," she muttered and then, "My stomach feels queer."
Helena sighed, shook her head as if to say 'we're not going to get anything else out of her' and sat down to pull her daughter into her lap. "I imagine what you're feeling right at this moment, my lamb is guilt. Perhaps also anxiety for your impending punishment?" She watched her lover's efforts to join them on the bed and then looked down into contrite eyes. "The basement door will be locked from now on and practical science is suspended until further notice. We don't care how much trouble you think you are in, you must never disable the fire alarm. Is that clear?"
The eight-year-old nodded. "Yes, Mummy."
"In addition," Myka continued. "There will be no access to electronic entertainment this week, which means that movie night is cancelled."
This drew Christina's attention, her mouth opening in genuine shock. "But what about Aunt Claudia and Uncle Pete and everybody?"
"We will take you over to the B and B so you can explain to everyone why you're not allowed guests over this week." Myka knew they were being very harsh for a first offence but the expression she'd seen on Helena's face as she walked in on their screaming match still stuck in her mind. "You have to realise how serious your actions were. You showed complete disregard for your own safety. You put your life in danger and Mummy's too. The punishment should fit the crime, don't you agree?"
She wanted one of them to shout. She wanted a good reason to shout back and vent some of this horrible guilt, regret and now anger again. "Mummy wasn't in danger," she argued sulkily.
Helena's arms snaked further around the solid, very much alive figure of her baby. "Do you suppose I would have run to safety and left you to your own devices? I would have scoured the entire house until I found you." She watched understanding dawn in dark eyes. "You, my darling, are precious to us. Never forget that."
After more apologies and promises not to do anything else so dangerous, the three of them settled in to the kitchen where Myka and Christina sat at the island, colouring and watching Helena as she cooked. Though they chatted lightly, it was subdued, each of them engaged in their own thoughts, the quiet atmosphere continuing through the evening until Christina, without much fuss, was tucked up in bed, listening to the words of Jack London while she held onto her mother's arm and stroked the silky fabric of her shirt.
Helena waited until the eight-year-old was well and truly asleep before extracting herself from her daughter's slackened grip and standing. She popped the book on the bedside table and offered Myka a hand to pull her out of her chair. Together, they crept out of the room and tiptoed downstairs. HG made tea and they settled, curled up together on the living room couch, Myka's head on her lover's shoulder and Helena's arm wrapped around her waist.
"I should have been watching her more closely," Helena whispered into the quiet room after a long silence. "Bloody hell, Myka; she could have died while we were under the same roof. How can you trust me after this?"
Myka didn't even hesitate as she tucked her fingers between those of the hand on her belly and looked up at the tortured face of her fiancée. "I trust you implicitly. One narrowly averted disaster doesn't change that."
She heard her lover's words but they swept over her like water off a duck's back. "How can you? I have you both back for one day and already I become complacent."
"It's not complacency to expect an almost nine year old to entertain herself for an hour while you see to other household jobs. I would say it's remarkable, considering your history, that you were able to set aside your worry for that time. You have an amazingly strong will." The American repositioned herself so that she could see her partner more clearly. "If anyone has damaged my trust in them today, it's Christina, not you."
"Myka, don't say that," Helena pleaded, tears brimming.
The brunette shifted again in her never ending quest to find a comfortable position. She held her lover's hand between her two and stroked her thumb over its wrist. "I didn't mean for that to sound so harsh. I trust that she loves us; that she isn't intentionally trying to hurt us. If it came to a situation where either one of us was in trouble, I trust that she would do everything she could think of to try to help. Please don't think that my estimation of our daughter has been damaged in any way, Helena." She tried to keep her voice even but couldn't prevent the tiny catch at the end. "I'm not blaming her. I just don't trust that she is capable at the moment of making the best decisions. After today's incident and the way she completely disregarded my instructions yesterday, I don't trust that she's in complete control of her actions."
"You think something is controlling her?" the Brit asked, her expression horrified.
Myka shook her head quickly. "No, I'm not saying that she's under the influence of an artefact, though I suppose we really shouldn't ignore the possibility. I think, like you, like me, she's overwhelmed by her feelings. Rather than talking about it, she's acting out." A small shrug lifted her shoulders as she continued to think it over. "If she's never had reason to feel this way before, she might not know what it is or how to control it. I know all children have temper tantrums on occasion but I've never seen that mixture of rage and fear in her eyes before." She hesitated, keeping her voice soft and non-accusing before adding, "It's a look I've seen on you though. She needs to talk to someone."
HG nodded slowly. "The way I should have talked to someone," she responded, recalling how much she had wanted to open up to Myka but had been afraid to admit just how much pain she was feeling. She had wanted to be strong. "Let's hope that she doesn't plan to start the next ice-age," she added with a rueful half-smile.
Myka huffed out a sound of pained amusement and squeezed Helena's hand in an attempt to show her support. "I hear we have a new addition to the team. Do you think she might be able to help?"
"Abigail?" HG frowned thoughtfully. "I believe she was recruited for that purpose, though I can't say that I'm enamoured by the idea of visiting a psychiatrist again. She does appear a good deal friendlier than the ones I was required to talk to during my time as a hologram however."
Myka's fingers sank into silky hair, playing with the softest threads at the nape of HG's neck. "Helena, a lot has happened in a very small space of time. None of us find it easy to discuss the things we need to; we're all too emotionally invested in one another. Some things are easier to verbalise with a stranger or at least, someone who's impartial." She placed a lingering kiss over soft lips. "I think we all need to spend some time processing recent events and I'm sure Christina will feel better about seeing Abigail if we're going too."
An expression of distaste crossed the Victorian's face. "The family that belonged in Bedlam."
Tutting and poking her partner's side, the American levelled a firm gaze at dark eyes. "The field of mental health has taken great steps forward, Helena. She's holding a lot in and for whatever reason, she's not opening up to us about it. If she's more comfortable talking to Abigail, what does it matter so long as it helps her?"
HG let out a long breath. "She knows she can tell us anything. Why will she not?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say she's worried about upsetting or disappointing us. Today has to be a result of being overwhelmed by all that's going on. I don't believe she wants to cause so much trouble." She stroked the side of Helena's face. "She tries to be so like you," she whispered cautiously. "Give her time; she'll find a way to talk to us."
"I will defer to your judgement on the matter." A small, reverent smile crept across her features, mirrored by a knowing grin ghosting across her lover's lips.
She considered where she'd been a year ago; living in her modest house in Rapid City, trying to find redemption and convince herself that contacting Myka in an attempt to rekindle a friendship with her was a good idea. That she could handle that. Would she have found the strength to return under her own steam? Many times in her life, she'd tried to struggle through on her own. Was she ready this time to swallow her pride and accept help?
The following day saw the three of them falling out of the same bed again, Christina having slept for a total of two hours before complaining of bad dreams and refusing to sleep alone.
After breakfast, Helena joined Myka in their bathroom while Christina was happily getting herself dressed, picking out coordinating skirts, tights and tops for the walk they had decided to take through the park. Waking up to find both of her parents smiling seemed to have taken the weight of the previous day's guilt off her shoulders. For however long it lasted, she appeared to be back to her happy self.
The inventor sighed and hid her face against a long neck as she wrapped her arms around her fiancée's middle and splayed both hands out over their growing baby.
Myka paused in the process of reaching for her toothbrush and turned her head slightly to rest her cheek against the inventor's forehead. "You're still going to talk to Abigail this afternoon?" she asked hopefully.
"I am willing to give it a try if you think I should." HG's muffled voice vibrated pleasantly against the brunette's collar. She loosened her hold slightly, allowing her partner to turn around.
Running her hands along the curves of her fiancée's figure, she leant in for a quick kiss, which turned into several and ended when the sound of impatient knocking broke them from their heated haze.
"Mummy, Mama needs to finish getting ready. You're distracting her," Christina complained from the doorway.
Helena felt Myka smile and giggle against her mouth as the Brit groaned dramatically. As subtle as a sledgehammer, she reached behind the brunette and grabbed a globe of flesh in each hand, eliciting a sound halfway between delight and indignation.
"Coming, darling!" she called as she released her scowling partner and ducked out of reach of the swing that came her way. Chuckling to herself, she met her daughter in the bedroom and ducked down to land a raspberry on her cheek.
"Urgh!" the eight-year-old protested loudly even as answering giggles erupted from her throat. She wiped at her cheek and then found herself chasing her mother around the room in an effort to return her 'gross germs'.
Eventually, they lay collapsed on the bed, both gasping for breath and red faced with exertion.
Helena was determined not to let the events of the previous day impact on the way she interacted with her daughter. The weight of sadness that sat on her conscience threatened to drown out all hope and she knew she couldn't let that happen. She and Myka had agreed to be firm when handling any challenging behaviour but to try to combat Christina's anger by filling their day with as much love and support as they could. Until they knew why Christina was so out of character, all they could do was trust their instincts.
I have much of this short story already written so updates will be as fast as I can edit. Comments welcome as always!
