Dedication: To Shakira's "Loca" and the two happy hours I went to today…all their faults!

It's Friday, Friday, Friday…the 13th

The gang was gathered around the dining room table finishing up a late breakfast. It was Friday and there were no pressing matters for the team to be worrying about. Except one.

"Just think of the royalties! If my 'Friday the 13th' song goes viral—what do we have, like two or three a year?—I'll be taking care of the future little Peteys and Petras until the end of time. And I'd buy myself a sweet looking monocle too." Pete made to put in a fake monocle and started doing his Mr. Moneybags impression.

"When he says 'go viral' he is speaking of some brain infection he's contracted, correct?" H.G. took another sip of coffee as she asked the question of Myka. The younger agent had been sipping her drink too and had to cover her mouth quickly before she completed an epic spit-take. Even though she didn't projectile sputter, holding it in caused a different set of problems. Now Myka was choking on liquid that'd gone down the wrong pipe. H.G. nonchalantly handed her companion a napkin and smirked at what she'd caused.

"Okay man, all I'm saying is that we are going to run into some serious copyright issues using the same melody as the Rebecca Black song." Claudia wanted to make sure Pete knew what she was getting into.

"Can you even call it a melody?" Leena and Steve asked simultaneously. They turned to each other and gave smiling high-fives for being on the same page.

"Claudsters, how do I put this?" Pete steepled his fingers in front of his body, the bottom of his palms resting on the table as he fanned his fingers back and forth. He brought his face down, pressing his pointer fingers onto his lips before sitting up straight again and continuing. "Haven't you ever heard of 'sampling'? All the greats do it."

Claudia couldn't help the eyeroll. "There is a difference between 'sampling' and 'copying'. What you want me to do is copy the song." The redhead tapped the guitar she had placed on the table to emphasize her point.

"Nooooo…I want you to copy the song up until the point in the chorus where she says 'it's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday' then we need a few beats to add in 'the 13th'." Pete pointed his finger as he explained. "Then you can continue copying the tune." Pete sighed. "I'm changing the lyrics, Claud. Duh. That's where you all come in."

"That's where we all go out actually. Pete, I'm not going to sit here all day and help you write a silly song that will turn out even worse than the tune it's mocking." Myka, sufficiently recovered from her recent bout with tricky liquids, stood from the table and looked to be clearing the remaining dishes.

"Who said anything about mocking, Myka?" Pete responded somewhat perplexed and in all seriousness.

"I believe now is the time for an 'oh brother', my dear." H.G. handed her cup to Myka as she addressed her.

"No one is going anywhere." Artie entered the room in all franticness, mumbling about how he could have missed it and what was he thinking and five alarms had been set but none have been picked up and—"It's Friday the 13th."

"Artie, I didn't take you for a friggatriskaidekaphobe. What's the problem?" Myka sat back down and furrowed her brows. H.G. looked over at her lover, not knowing whether to be annoyed by the young woman's ability to catalogue and retrieve such inane tidbits of knowledge…or to be turned on by it. Smiling wryly, the British settled on the latter.

"No, it's the Friday the 13th. 705 years from the day that started it all, add the digits together plus one for January and you get thirteen! And we are in Warehouse 13! People, we're in trouble. There have been calculations done." It was off-putting to see Artie more frenzied than usual. One look at Leena and it was clear that his aura was giving off all sorts of dark signals. One member, however, didn't seem as disturbed.

"By who, a Lehman Brothers accountant? Those numbers seem pretty random to me, Artie." Pete chimed in, garnering a look of disgust from his boss.

"We are not taking any chances. That's an order." He turned to the innkeeper before continuing, "Leena, we're putting the Safe Haven Protocol in place, alpha three-three-seven lambda." As soon as he spoke the command, the assembled group could hear the clinging of metal against metal and bars appeared behind the windows' shutters.

"Override, Borg encryption code five-two-six," Pete announced to the room, everyone's eyes turning to him. Nothing happened. "Hey, it was worth a try. Not that I want to go out there anyway. What if a black cat forces me under a ladder? Besides, this gives us more time to work on my make it rich quick song idea! Yay!" The response he got was a collective groan. Artie walked out of the dining room and headed towards his room, much to the envy of the rest of the team. Except Pete.

"Let's get to work, people. We don't have all day." Pete clapped his hands. "Well, actually we do have all day…like exactly."

"Yeah, I'm good. I've been really looking forward to having sometime to reorganize my sock drawer. Call me for dinner." Jinxy picked up his dishes and made his way out of the room. The new guy would much rather spend the mandatory off-the-clock time catching up on emails and online poker.

"Save me," Helena mouthed to Myka. There was only so much Lattimer she could take and she was already at that limit.

…two hours later…

"Okay, how does this sound? Cue the chorus, Claud." Pete cleared his throat as his young collaborator began strumming all-too-familiar chords. "It's Friday, Friday, being superstitious on Friday… the 13th/ Everybody's freaking out til the weekend, weekend/ Friday, Friday/ Better not break a mirror on Friday/ Or everybody will have seven years bad lu-uck." Pete slashed at his throat, signaling Claudia to cut the music. "Well?"

Myka had begun falling asleep at the lack of intelligent stimulation currently inhabiting the B&B's living room, allowing her head to loll on H.G.'s willing shoulder. The two women had been camped out on the love seat for the past hour at least while Pete and Claudia had worked on developing lyrics. Watching paint dry would have offered more excitement…

The curly-haired agent was jarred to alertness by a well-placed pinch to the arm. "Hmmm…what? Oh yes, sounds like a hit!" Myka had to quickly extricate herself from H.G.'s embrace as the older woman made to get up. Leaving the room for a few minutes, the Brit soon came back and not empty-handed.

"I have an idea. Why don't we all enjoy a novel or two?" H.G. set a stack of books she'd retrieved from her personal collection onto the coffee table. From under her arm she produced a few comic books she'd snatched from various places around the house: the hallway floor outside Pete's room, the silverware draw in the kitchen, the medicine cabinet of the downstairs bath…just to name a few.

"Every artist deserves a break every now and again I imagine," Pete reasoned as he grabbed one of the comics.

"Loooooong day," was Claudia's answer as she picked up a worn copy of "Arabian Nights".

Looking over at the clock, Myka spied the time at eleven a.m. She let out a deep sigh as H.G. came back to join her on the sofa. The older woman opened up her current novel—Mansfield Park—in such a way that Myka could easily read from the pages too. For the intents of reading comfortably, they snuggled closer.

…three hours later…

Claudia stood suddenly, pulling everyone's attention away from their reading.

"Oh no! It's starting!" Pete managed to pull a medical mask out of one of his pockets and strap it to his face in a matter of seconds. "I didn't mean to joke around about it. I promise. I bow to you, Friday the 13th! I'm too pretty to die." He started to cough, a muffled cry of "Antidote! Please an antidote!"

"Stop it, Pete." Myka leveled her partner with a glare and a wag of her finger. "I think Claudia's…dancing." It didn't matter. Pete made it clear he'd rather wait for death in his own bedroom. With that, he left the girls alone.

"Can't. Take. It. Anymore." A few more leg jukes and an impressive arm-to-arm wave accentuated her speech. "Must. Move." Leena must have agreed because she turned on the stereo to one of the local pop stations and began to join in Claudia's motions as some Britney-Ke$ha-Jessie J-type song came on. After so much time spent reading and otherwise cooped up in the building, it felt good to stretch the muscles to the upbeat music. So good, in fact, that even Myka succumbed to the temptation. As she stood from the couch, she tried to pull Helena up with her. The older woman was having nothing of it.

"I believe my presence would be best suited by remaining seated, my dear," H.G. drawled.

Myka began moving to the beat as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"While on this couch I have a remarkable vantage point from which to watch your gyrations. Your figure appears to the greatest advantage by dancing and I am more inclined to appreciate it in my seated position." The reference to "Pride & Prejudice" wasn't lost on Myka the bookworm; now, seriously thinking about it, Helena had many similarities to the debonair Mr. Darcy. She, too, had proved to be an acquired taste. It made the younger woman's resolve to tease her special friend through dance all the stronger.

It didn't prove difficult for it was clear to see that H.G.'s gaze was glued to the swaying hips and undulating torso of one Myka Bering.

…later that night…

Heated gazes had started being exchanged as soon as the dancing had begun and now Myka and H.G. were searching for a way to escape the company of the two other women. Feigning fatigue, the couple began to make their excuses.

Claudia called towards their retreating forms, "There's still a few hours left in the day and though I really Artie's doomsday prophecy is a bunch of bupkis, be careful. Just remember: stay in pairs!"

"That will not prove a problem," H.G. responded. As soon as they were out of sight and walking up the staircase, the older woman took Myka's hand in hers and kissed it. "Now it will be my turn to dance for you. A happy Friday the 13th indeed."

The End