In this chapter: Pete and Myka find Helena in Philadelphia, who managed to capture the missing shard of the Liberty Bell.
But which Helena will they find?

The day was going as well as it could do - after all, this was just another mission, and another day in the Warehouse's service. Pete was eating a bagel, Claudia was tinkering with something dangerous-looking, and Myka was bored.

She never, in all of her life, thought that she would bastardise Shakespeare so cheaply, but the thought that took hold in her mind was "my kingdom for a ping". When it came, she wished she'd offered her kingdom for inventory, instead.

The ping first came in the shape of a very unhappy Artie, just about managing to run down the spiral staircase that lead to his office rather than careening down it.

"That woman!" he bellowed, after catching his breath and retrieving his glasses from the top of his head.

Myka looked at Artie from above the report she'd pretended to be reading for the past 3 hours, the mention of "that woman" piquing her attention, as "that woman" often meant a very specific woman, indeed.

It was as if Artie's look made an actual sound, because both Claudia and Pete froze mid tinker and bagel respectively and looked at Artie's expression, then Myka's, the Artie's again.

Myka actually gulped audibly, because she hated confrontation, especially with Artie - but some things were worth the risk. "What woman?" she asked quietly.

Artie's eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he huffed loudly and slammed the thin file in his hand on to his desk. "You know damn well what woman," he muttered.

Myka tried to stifle a smile. "That woman" hadn't been heard from since the Sykes incident, and Myka had been missing her so much it hurt. Why it hurt so much, she preferred not to examine too closely.

Claudia made a point of catching Myka's eyes, which, she thought were a little bit dreamier than usual, "So what's HG done this time to roll your socks the wrong way, Papa Bear?" she asked.

"She..." he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself and contain his rage, "has only gone and found the missing piece of the Liberty Bell! I've been looking for it since my first day on this job and she found it. In Wyoming!" His voice was shaking with outrage.

Pete chucked the last piece of his bagel into his mouth, and as he chewed on it his thoughts could not quite make sense of Artie's anger. "Isn't that a good thing?" he asked, failing to conclude this on his own.

"A good thing?!" Artie bellowed. "A good thing?! Do you have any idea what she could do with that piece of metal? Whosoever reunites the Liberty Bell shall rule the Land of the Free, Pete. The Land of the Free being this land! Do you think HG Wells is the right person to be handling that artefact? An artefact that gives her access to the nuclear codes? Helena 'Genocide' Wells?!" he shouted, spitting as he finished his little speech. His face was purple. Pete sniggered.

Claudia exchanged a sideways glance with Myka, whose eyes were wider than a doe's. "Personally, I'm more worried about Donald Trump, but erm..." she muttered, considering whether the wished to place her life on the line at this particular moment in time, "Last I checked HG was wearing a white hat," she took Pete's nod as validation and Myka's questioning look for her utter lack of pop culture referencing, "HG is on our side," she added.

"Exactly, " Myka said. "HG is a White Hart. Or whatever. So why are we worried? Get her to come home and bring the artefact with her. No harm, no foul."

"Unlike you, simple folks, I'm not so easily convinced by heroic acts," Artie let slip in his state of anger, "especially not when an artefact wields such extreme powers - even the purest of hearts could be tempted."

"Come on, Artie. You vouched for her to the Regents, man. Be honest. Is this because she found it and you couldn't?" Pete asked, with surprising sensitivity.

"No," Artie hissed, failing to embrace Pete's gesture, "it's because some risks are simply too big to take," he shot at them and held up the thin file he threw on his desk a moment earlier. "What are you waiting for?!"

"I guess we're going after Lady Cuckoo again..." Pete sighed, and Myka glared at him. Why did they have to be so unpleasant about Helena? She had saved all of their lives, and died in the process. She wasn't going to go crazy and megalomaniacal just because of the chance to rule the world. Right?

On the plane on the way to Philadelphia, Myka took the time to process everything that she was about face: a manhunt after one of the cleverest people in the world; an artefact that apparently had true corrupting power, both of which were in the area where the artefact was allegedly created (which could amplify its powers) that just happened to be one of the most crowded areas of the Eastern seaboard.

Oh, yeah. And Helena.

She shivered slightly as she remembered the way Helena had looked at her all those years ago, with the Trident in her hands. There had been a moment - just one moment - when Myka had seen a glint of something in Helena's eyes - something alien, something other. Whether that something was part of Helena or the influence of the artefact, she wasn't sure. But she'd been convinced, right then, in that moment, that Helena would strike the earth again. Some of that uncertainty was still there, when it came to Helena. Especially now she'd disappeared.

But then she thought of Helena's eyes as she pushed the revolver into Helena's palm and held it up to her own forehead. That otherness was supplemented by something else entirely. It was fear, but a fear not fuelled by self-preservation. It was fear fuelled by care, by concern, by something Helena and her never actually discussed. Something that Myka hoped to explore when Helena resurfaced in Boone, but that's something brought an unpleasant, claustrophobic kind of feeling. So she exhaled harshly to release the pressure that built in her chest and got back to the scant details Artie provided them.

Philadelphia was chilly, and Myka pulled her coat collar up as they picked up their rental car, another giant SUV. She griped about it out loud, how bad it was for the environment, but secretly she loved the legroom. She was too tall for these eco-friendly cars. Bring out some bigger electric cars, she said to herself, and then we'll talk.

They drove to a coffee place on the outskirts of town, a faceless chain placed in one of those 80s mall spaces, to make a plan. Once Pete was sugared and caffeinated to the hilt, they got in touch with Claudia so she could give them whatever information she managed to dig up from the allegedly secure records of local motels, hotels and restaurants to try and figure out where Helena might be.

"Good guess about high end places," Claudia complimented Myka for helping her narrow the search, "I think I have a hit."

"Charlotte Atlas," Myka read aloud from her phone screen. "She just can't help herself, huh?"

"Guess not," Pete said, through a mouthful of donut.

"I'm sending her address to you now," Claudia said. Myka read it aloud. "The Rittenhouse, 210 W Rittenhouse Square."

Pete whistled, spraying the Farnsworth with a sticky mix of sprinkles and spittle. Myka glared at him.

"So, how do you want to do this?" Pete asked, oblivious to her Level 9 look of death.

Myka shook her head and wiped the Farnsworth to clean the slate for some coherent, logical thinking. If Helena was still with the White Harts, the plan should be very straight forward: go to the Hotel, find Helena, retrieve the shard. That should be simple enough.

But what if she isn't? What if Helena is back to being that other Helena, the Helena who would have thrust the trident for the third time in that river bed? Then the direct approach could be dangerous. And for some reason, Myka didn't have the confidence that Helena wouldn't pull the trigger this time around if Myka were to repeat her Yellowstone stunt.

She decided, consciously, analytically, that where Helena was concerned, she was best to be cautious, but that she would continue to trust her. After all, she'd been right before to trust Helena. Both at Yellowstone and when Walter Sykes took over the Warehouse.

She outlined her plan to Pete: they'd trust Helena, but they'd have backup in case it turned out Helena wasn't to be trusted. Pete would wait outside, and Myka would have a Tesla and one of the new, smaller Tesla grenades ready to go, if Helena pulled anything.

Despite her worries, the larger part of her was excited at the thought of seeing Helena again.

On the drive into town Pete strategised out loud all the points of entry/exit to The Rittenhouse, all the nooks and crannies in which one could hide themselves or an artefact, already planning how things will pan out in case Helena wasn't - well - Helena.

Myka, on the other hand, preferred to think about Helena. About her eyes and her cheekbones and hair - and how she constantly flicked it around; about how it fell on her shoulder; about how her shoulder met her neck with that curve, and the dip that was there; about how soft the skin there must be, about how sweet it must smell.

A part of her was bitter about that big lump of a man in Boone who had managed to touch all of those soft places before Myka. But if she'd understood some of HG's stories correctly, he was only one of many lovers. So it didn't make sense to get upset about that. Did it? She still remembered that last hug, the way Helena had felt against her. The smell of her hair...

"Mykes, what the hell are you thinking about? Is that... is that drool?"

"No," Myka answered incredulously, while forcefully shoving the back of her hand against the corner of her mouth, and just as forcefully dragging it against the other corner. "No drool," she asserted, but felt a hint of dampness on the back of her hand. Damn it, she thought, she needed to get this sorted in her head before going in to The Rittenhouse to face Helena. After all, the last time they met hadn't exactly match her expectations; the time before that ended unexpectedly; and the time before that... It's safe to say, Myka sighed as her mind analysed, that based on their past record, this rendezvous was also likely to leave her wanting, so the drool situation had to be kept in check. And, by the by, so should her expectations.

The Rittenhouse was incredible. Sumptuous, tasteful, and obviously catered exclusively to the super-rich. Myka dressed well, but the concierge gave her a sceptical once-over before turning on a supercilious smile. It was times like this, she mused, that she loved having a badge. She flashed it and he paled, looking around as if the guests would be able to tell by some sort of rich-person telepathy that there was scandal at the Rittenhouse. (That would make a good murder mystery title, she thought idly.)

Much to her mirth, there was no telepathic connection between the prosperous people on the plush sofas. It turned out rich folks were just as oblivious as most people. She walked up to the reception desk, discreetly flashing her badge again.

"Don't tell me," the clerk said with fake enthusiasm, "the primaries roller coaster is coming to town, and our president has chosen The Rittenhouse".

Myka screwed a cocky eyebrow at his jaded sarcasm. "No, actually. I'm after one of your guests."

The concierge took them to Ms. Atlas' room personally, looking around nervously the whole time. They'd already cleared the rest of the rooms on the floor by calling each one and telling them to evacuate. It had cost them a few more minutes, but it was worth it. If Helena had already reunited the shard with the Bell, they didn't want to give her an army of people at her disposal. The rest of the hotel staff were busy clearing the rest of the building as an additional precaution.

When all that was left to do was knock on Helena's door, they dismissed the concierge, who was a few shades paler by that point Pete dropped his shoulders and rolled them back, then rocked his head from side to side, pushing air out quietly with his cheeks, as if he was about to enter a boxing ring.

Myka placed a hand on his arm.

He stopped and looked at her. "You sure this is how you wanna play it?"

Myka nodded, and Pete took two steps to the side, leaving her standing in front of the door to Helena's room.

Without further ado, she put the keycard in the lock. It beeped quietly, but she flinched all the same. She didn't know what to expect on the other side of the door. Would it be a slightly awkward hug from her almost-something Helena, or an attack from an artefact-possessed maniac?

With a quiet breath and clenched jaws, she pushed the metal handle down slowly until the latch clicked it's release heavily. She pushed the door carefully, looking for light cast in the floor, clothing or shoes, scuff marks in the carpet - signs of whether Helena was awake or even there at all.

There were none.

So she slid into the darkened room and closed the door behind her almost inaudibly.

She didn't want to alert Helena to her presence, so she made sure to move silently, the thick carpeting absorbing her footsteps. She was a foot away from the bed when she heard the unmistakeable 'snick' of a gun being cocked, right behind her ear. She swallowed.

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me why I find you here, ransacking my room?" a voice purred, just behind her, all velvety soft mixed with hard steel. Helena. But which Helena?

Myka swallowed again, hard. Something tugged at the pit of her stomach. Was it anger? Was it fear? Was it concern? Was it lust? Was it love? "If you think this is ransacking you may be in for a surprise, Helena," she said and spun around, her right hand hovering over the Tesla just under her jacket, "I'm just here to talk."

To her frustration, Helena still had that same effect on her. She was so beautiful, it just wasn't fair. Myka took a breath, hoping her nerves weren't too visible, then swallowed once more, to try to get the lump out of her throat.

"I know you have a thing about us meeting at gunpoint, Helena, but do you think you could put that down?" she said, gesturing at the gun still pointed at her head.

Helena quirked a brow and stabbed Myka with a cocky grin. She held the agent's gaze for a moment and she could have sworn she could see about a hundred emotions fleeting in those mesmerising eyes of hers. She noticed some of those emotions were akin to the ones they never had a chance to explore, let alone express before Irene ordered her to disappear with the Astrolabe. And so it was, that the romantic in Helena got the better of her (for what might have been the first time) and she decided to trust that Myka wouldn't be angry or upset or professional or - worst of all - cold. So she uncocked the gun and lowered it slowly.

Myka's body immediately relaxed. Helena looked like she was her Helena, and her mind was quick to comment that she had no right or evidence that would support her calling Helena hers. "It's good to see you," she said, a little shyly, and Helena smiled, her eyes twinkling in the darkness. She always looked as if she was amused, and that had made Myka's heart beat a little faster from the first day they'd met. "Do you have it?"

"I do, Myka," Helena said, stepping forward and wrapping Myka up in her arms. "I have missed you so," she breathed, practically into Myka's ear, and Myka suppressed a shiver.

The first second in Helena's embrace Myka's body actually stiffened with the surprise of how warm and welcoming Helena was, how warm and welcoming her arms were, how warm and welcoming her body was. It took a second for her to relax into the embrace, to wrap her arms around Helena and take her in in a way she never had done before; in a way she had never let herself do before.

She knew that Helena might still be evil, she might just be seducing her into a false sense of - not security - familiarity, maybe? Yet, being so close together in that moment was the most right Myka had felt in a long, long time.

Possibly since ever, she was thinking, comparing this greeting with any other she had had from family, from friends, from lovers...

...her train of thought was cut short as Helena's left arm glided down her back and around towards her waistline - towards where her Tesla was.

She stiffened, and Helena whispered in her ear, "What's the matter darling?" while still snaking her arm around, ever closer, towards the steampunk weapon. Myka was still trying to decide what to do when Helena's other hand made its way into her hair and pulled her head down until their mouths met.

Myka was frozen with indecision. This wouldn't be the first time that Helena had used her sexuality to gain someone's trust and steal their weapon. But that part of her was losing the will to fight as Helena's tongue slipped into her mouth and she made a sound that could have been a groan. Myka tried to think enough to work out where the hell Helena's other hand was as she tightened her grip on Myka's hair. She didn't think Helena was near her Tesla - it felt like her hand had stayed on the outside of Myka's hip. But give it another second and she wouldn't have the brain power to think at all. Was Helena playing her, or was this a real kiss?

This was simply too much for Myka. Yes, she wanted this, good god, she wanted this, but she didn't want it like this, when her mind was trying to figure out whether Helena was in it for her or for her weapon. She whimpered into a kiss, a whimper that ended with a distinct growl as she couldn't help herself from sucking on Helena's tongue and releasing it, then biting on her lower lip. She took advantage of the millisecond Helena was shocked at her assertion to spin them around, grip Helena's wrist at her side (not close enough to the Tesla, now that she held it) and push Helena against the hotel room door - not breaking the kiss that had now turned to something else. Something cruel and hard and needy.

She was acting on instinct now, and that instinct drove her to slide her hands over Helena's ass and down to the back of her thighs. She lifted, and Helena was suddenly in her arms, her legs locked around Myka's waist, and they were devouring each other. Myka mindlessly moved them towards the bed, throwing Helena down and then staring at her, chest heaving, before throwing herself down, on top of the woman in front of her, kissing her again, then moving her mouth to Helena's neck, her chest...

"Myka. Mykes? What's going on in there?" Pete's voice crashed into her earpiece, and she jumped up, off the bed, almost falling over in her haste. What the hell was she doing? Was she really going to take Helena right here, when she was supposed to be on a mission?

Helena just about managed to collect herself in the split second it took Myka to jump off of her, not sure what was going on.

Now that she'd given the matter a fraction of thought, she didn't really know what was going on at all, from the moment someone opened her door: her prowling in a dark corner of the room waiting for someone to come in and steal the missing piece of the Liberty Bell was all but inevitable; having that person be Myka was highly probable; having Myka respond to her the way that she did - not so much.

But - Myka was off of her as quickly as she was on her, and Helena felt angry for having succumbed to her inner romantic, and confused with Myka's behaviour, and wanting. Heavens above, Myka had switched something on in Helena that Helena wasn't sure could be switched off in a way other than...

"Sorry," Myka muttered and pushed her hair back, "sorry, Helena, I..." she swallowed and Helena sat up and straightened her buttoned up top, more crumpled than usual.

"Sorry? For which part, Myka?" Helena asked, one eyebrow raised. "Breaking in to my hotel room, kissing me, or stopping?"

"Uh... I don't know," Myka said, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck. "We came here to make sure you were okay, that the Bell hadn't... you know, that you weren't..."

"Oh," Helena said, her face falling. "You came to see if I had harnessed the Bell's power for myself, to take over the world, or to destroy it? Is that what this is?" she asked, her voice rising slightly in volume. "After all this time, Myka, you still don't trust me? Even after you told me what you did? That you were right to trust me? And now you're here to see if I'm using an artefact that could be used to destroy the world for my own evil reasons?"

Myka flushed. She didn't have any idea what to say to explain why she suspected Helena, never mind explain what possessed her to almost have sex with her during a mission.

She clenched her jaws as she processed everything that had happened in the past three minutes, everything that had happened in the past day since Artie brought her back into their lives, and in the past year since Wisconsin, and in the time since she'd met Helena.

Her breathing hastened with every single thought, with every single memory – all concluding at the same, single answer, an answer she'd been so busy pushing down, ignoring, finding excuses to never act on. But Helena asked her a question - which part she was sorry for - and what she was sorry for most was stopping.

She lifted her own wrist towards her chin and spoke clearly into the hidden mic in the cuff of her sleeve: "The artefact is secure, Pete, HG is fine. Don't come in here. That's an order," and she followed on to rip the mic out of her sleeve, pull the earwig out and throw it recklessly on the soft carpet just before climbing back on the bed, pushing Helena to her back as she did so.

Once the decision was made, it was so simple to sink into Helena, to enjoy every gasp, every hiss, every involuntary movement of Helena's hips against her own leg. She ran her hands through Helena's hair, just because she could, and it felt every bit as glorious as she'd always imagined. They kissed as if they had no time, as if they'd never have enough time, and it wasn't long before Helena was naked from the waist up, her pants unzipped, and Myka, too, was half naked, her jacket thrown across the room and her shirt practically ripped off. Helena had always been stronger than she looked; hell, she'd lifted both of their weight on one arm, a nearly superhuman feat, when she saved Myka with her grappler gun. Thinking of the grappler, for some reason, spurred Myka on, and she bit Helena's collarbone savagely, tearing at her pants, making little frustrated noises when she couldn't pull them down as quickly as she wanted.

Just as she was starting to get the stupid, maddening pants off - they were like a second skin, dammit - the door burst open, wood from the frame spraying across the room. Pete was holding his gun up, training it on them, and his eyes were so wide that Myka worried for a second that they might pop out.

"Hands up, Lady Cuckooo - oooh shit what the fudge are you - MY EYES!" he shouted, before turning his back and shouting something about brain bleach.

"I TOLD you NOT to come IN here!" Myka roared, reaching for a pillow to cover the naked half of her body and she got up so she could look Pete straight in the eye, so he knew just how damn angry she was.

Pete pulled the fingers that covered his eyes apart, forming a tiny gap through which he caught a glimpse of Myka - looking taller than she usually does, her hair messier than it usually was, and even though she was naked behind that pillow (which he would have thought would make her self-conscious or something), Pete could tell with every fibre of his being that Myka was nothing but extremely pissed off and it would be ages before she even contemplated forgiving him.

But he had to go in there. He had to go in, because the last message he heard from her was garbled, and then there was nothing. "It sounded like comms were taken down, Mykes," he lowered his gun and took a step towards naked, angry Myka, holstering his gun, "I thought HG took down the comms."

"And why would I do such a thing?" Helena bellowed from the depth of the room.

"Jesus, Pete," Myka muttered. How could he be so stupid?

"Not only did the comms go down, but Artie called me and told me that HG might be able to, like, whammy you into doing whatever she wanted, so I pretty much had to come in. It's not my fault, Mykes!" he said, his face screwed up like a five-year old's trying to pass the blame onto a sibling.

"I am not whammied, Pete!" Myka shouted, before suddenly stopping, her brain working overtime. "Did you say the comms went down? Because if someone was jamming us, and it definitely wasn't Helena," she said, before Pete interrupted her.

"Oh man... I got a bad vibe, guys..."

That was all he got out before the room was swarming with black-clad men carrying guns, shouting at the top of their lungs. Before Myka had a chance to pull her tesla, which was still at her waist, she saw a fist coming towards her and everything went black.