Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie awake at night wishing that they did and what I'd do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.
A/N: So this idea came about after a round of late night conversation with myself and foxfire141. She basically threw plot elements at me, I screamed incoherently at her, and then tried to string everything together. (Or, Redlance attempts to write another multichapter fic.) There will be spoilers for 5x1. And I will be ignoring some of the 'developments' in that episode. (One specifically.)
The clock had long since ticked by midnight by the time Myka crawled into bed, exhausted from the day's events and sore from her surgery. She eased between the blankets carefully, wincing a little as the stitches pulled at her skin, and let her eyelids fall shut. Time travel was draining, even before Paracelsus' tweaking had allowed for them to actually slip into a different period. When she'd been dropped into Rebecca's body the shift had been less extreme, she had felt the affects less as time wore on after the trip. But in the few hours between her and Pete's return from Warehouse 9, fatigue had settled in like led weights. Her limbs dragged and ached, and her head pounded as if she'd spent a week binge drinking.
Of course, she found it all thrilling. Having actually been pulled through time and across the centuries, not that she'd allowed herself a moment to appreciate it at the time. Her brain tried to process it all, even as she lay in bed, but the need for sleep was quick to catch her, and she slipped into unconscious alongside thoughts of time travel and the possibilities that Paracelsus had undoubtedly provided them with.
But sleep could not hold her and she awoke less than a handful of hours later, wide-eyed and breathless from a dream she couldn't remember but could not shake either. She threw the covers back from her with a heavy sigh and gently swung her legs over the side of her bed. Her footfalls were soft against the hardwood floor of her room as she crossed it and headed into the hallway, making her way to the bathroom. Once inside she flipped the lock and turned to look at herself in the mirror. The bags under her eyes had reduced considerably in the last week or so. Stress and worry having fallen away a little at the reassurance of the doctors and, yes, even Pete. Even though his weren't based on any kind of medical training, it had still been nice. Comforting. He'd been there for her every step of the way – even when she hadn't wanted him there – and she wasn't stubborn enough to ignore the fact that she had a lot to thank him for. Likely more than either of them could ever put into words. Although his near sacrifice of the Warehouse and subsequent endangering of the entire world had gone quite a way in explaining just how important Myka was to him.
"Dumbass." She mumbled to her reflection, wry smile curving her lips. She loved him, but sometimes he was an idiot. Turning the faucet, she splashed a few handfuls of lukewarm water across her face and then dabbed at it with a towel. Sleep was not going to be something she found with any ease tonight, her mind was too wired from the events of the day. Too preoccupied with the what if's that they almost didn't manage to avoid. Paracelsus had almost won, had almost changed everything. Had erased their Warehouse and replaced it with a monstrosity. He had reminded her of Sykes in a way. Another man who also hated what the Warehouse was, but had instead wanted to obliterate it. She shuddered. She might not have lived through that time line, had never actually seen the destruction of the Warehouse, but somehow part of her remembered it. Could feel its memory hovering like a ghost. Could feel the phantom flames and the charge of electricity and see the look on H.G.'s face.
Myka blinked and pushed away from the sink.
Those were things she tried not to think about. Tried not to think of H.G. Wells at all. It hurt too much, the wound was still too raw and the emptiness still too fresh. And it was silly, maybe, but it felt like another betrayal. Another lie. Only on an entirely different scale.
Resigning herself to the fact that sleep wasn't going to be a likely option that night, Myka returned to her room to retrieve her house coat and tied it in place before descending the stairs. If nothing else, a cup of tea might help her relax a little. She'd always been a hardcore coffee drinker before, something about being in the Secret Service seemed to require it, but where coffee left her on high alert and wide awake, tea did the opposite. It slowed her down, relaxed her, often turned her contemplative. She had spent many a late night with Helena, talking over a steaming cup, but she didn't think about that as she reached for one now, flicking the kettle on with her thumb. She turned and rested her back against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she stared through the doorway and into the dining room.
Leena had always made the best tea. She managed to get everything just right with such an apparent lack of effort, like she was made for making things perfect. Myka smiled, having no trouble believing that was exactly right, and then sighed. Nothing was the same with her gone.
Once the kettle had boiled and the tea had been steeped, Myka cradled the cup as she moved through the dining area and into the sitting room, intending to curl up on the couch with a book. Except something caught her eye as she passed the doorway that led into the front hallway, something so strange and out of place it made her stall mid-step.
Artie's Farnsworth was sitting on the table in the hallway. She frowned as she approached, wondering why on earth he'd have left it behind. It was one thing for him to forget his glasses, but not his Farnsworth. They'd initially all returned to the B and B to wind down, but he'd left just as Myka chose to retire to bed, claiming his own weariness was beginning to catch up to him. She set her mug down and picked up the device, thoughtfully turning it over in her hands. It wasn't like Artie at all, the thing was usually glued to him – right beside his Marry Poppins' bag – so for him to just leave it didn't make sense to Myka.
Unless he didn't want to be disturbed.
Her frown deepened.
And she wondered, as she slipped out of the housecoat and into her jacket, if this was how Pete felt when he got vibes.
She didn't exactly race to the Warehouse, but since there wasn't exactly a speed limit for their little slice of dirt heaven, she felt like sixty was a pretty acceptable speed to go. The tires chewed up gravel as she hit the breaks, sending a few pebbles spinning to ricochet off the metal structure of the Warehouse. She unclipped her seatbelt and carefully held it away from her stomach as she let it retract back into position and slipped out of the car.
The blinding white sterility of the umbilicus made her think about the alternate version of Warehouse 13 and she quickened her pace as she neared the door to Artie's office, impatiently waiting for it to unlock and allow her entry. When she finally made it inside her eyes went to all ends of the room but found no sign of the older man. Not that she'd expected to. Her gut was telling her that she already knew where he was. What he was doing. Why. She swallowed against a twinge of pain in her abdomen and pushed on, heading out onto the catwalk and descending the stairs to the Warehouse floor. It had taken her the better part of her first year to even come close to getting used to the layout. Figuring out what aisles started where and how everything was organised. Leena had tried to teach her on multiple occasions and Myka, who had always prided herself on being a good student, had grown increasingly frustrated when she couldn't seem to grasp it. But Leena had only smiled at her, told her it would all come in time, and she'd been right. So it didn't take Myka long to wind herself through the vast number of shelves and land herself at the place where she and H.G. had once saved the Warehouse.
Artie was there, fiddling with the time machine. Her eyes scanned the arrangement of artifacts that Paracelsus had set up as she approached, quiet so as not to disturb the man just yet, and she watched for a few heartbeats. And she'd known, even before arriving, but somehow seeing it made her heart ache all the more.
"Artie." He stiffened, hand hovering near the lever, but he didn't immediately turn to her. She could practically see the cogs in his brain turning, working for some explanation or excuse. "What are you doing?" Finally settling on the truth. He spun, coat tails waving with the motion, and when his eyes found hers the pain inside her flared. He looked helpless and a little lost, and he opened his mouth to speak but no sound other than a heavy sigh would leave him. He lifted his hands and then dropped them, defeated, eyebrows drawn down.
"How can I not?" He finally asked, but she could tell by his expression that he wasn't really looking for an answer. She wouldn't be able to give him one even if he was. He jerked his head to the side, indicating the time machine, and she watched as the light reflected off the tears in his eyes. "How am I supposed to sit here, knowing I can bring her back, and not do anything about it?" He shook his head. "I'm not that strong, Myka." She tried to smile at him, but it wavered at the edges and fell short.
"Artie..." She moved closer, rounding the sundial and only stopping when she was close enough to rest her hands on his shoulders. She didn't want to speak the words, didn't want to do anything other than let him go through with it, but he'd taught her well. "Just think for a second. The changes-"
"I don't care!" He boomed, cutting her off in aggravation and anger and instantly regretting his tone. But not the words. "I don't care." Softer, more controlled, but he was slipping away and Myka didn't know how to hold onto him. "What would you do? If you knew you could save someone you love?" She knew the answer even before he'd finished the question. She couldn't argue with him, not about that. Because she knew if she were in his position, she would do exactly what he was doing.
"Anything." She said, brow creased and eyes sad. And he knew.
"Thank you." He whispered, backing away from her and turning back to the machine. She wondered what he was going to do. How far back he'd go, what he'd all change. She wouldn't remember of course, the shift in time lines would see to that, but she couldn't help but be curious. A thought occurred to her.
"The astrolabe," she started, and the words felt dirty in her mouth. "Are you... will you reverse that?" He fiddled with a button on the machine and the silence that followed her question was deafening. In that moment, there was no way to stave off thoughts of H.G. Wells. Of what not turning back time that day would mean. Helena would be dead, Mrs Frederic would be lost to them and the Warehouse would be gone. Her heart pounded as she waited for his response.
"No." And the held breath left her in an audible whoosh of air. He was shaking his head at her. "No, I won't go back that far. Only far enough to stop..." he paused, seeming to struggle, "myself. Nothing else." And he paused again, turning to face her once more, wearing a sad smile. "I'm sorry for the things I'll say." Unexpected emotion rushed at her as she remembered what he'd said to her and to Pete. How much it hard hurt even though she knew it wasn't really Artie. Not really what he thought or how he felt. But it had looked like the man who played a father in their lives and that was enough to make it hurt.
"That wasn't you." But he shrugged as though he didn't believe her and finally reached for the lever again. The portal swelled to life before them and for a long few heartbeats they both simply stared at it. "Don't get lost." She warned him and could almost hear his smile.
"I'll try my best."
Myka blinked open heavy lids and grimaced against the sunlight streaming in from between the curtains. She lifted a hand to cover her eyes as she closed them again and let out a groan. She felt like her head was filled with rocks, only live ones, with teeth. After a few moment of forced stillness, she tried again and this time managed to keep them open. Time travelling was all well and good until the next morning. She let loose a sigh and curled her finger around a few strands of hair as she thought about the previous days events.
It was crazy. Paracelsus had done something amazing – for all the wrong reasons but still – when he'd combined the artifacts with the time machine. They'd been able to go back, to any date they chose, and change the course of history. And he had, though that had been for the worse, and lying awake Myka couldn't quite stop her thoughts from drifting to H.G. How she'd take the news, what she would do.
She sighed and shook her head, then instantly regretted the motion. Those thoughts were too heavy for first thing in the morning.
Once she'd left the warm embrace of her bed, Myka showered and dressed and descended the stairs to the lower level of the B and B. She could hear Claudia and Steve playfully arguing over something in the dining room and entered the sitting room in pursuit of them, as well as the smell of bacon.
"Dude, if you even think about taking the last piece I will stab you with the butter knife." Claudia was glaring at him evenly and his narrowed eyes were something akin to concerned as he cocked his head.
"Why aren't I getting a lying vibe off you right now?" Claudia smiled, sly and dangerous.
"Because I'm not lying." Myka chuckled and they turned their attention away from each other to look at her, Steve still wearing a startled deer expression. "Tell him, Myka."
"She's not lying." She obliged, dropping into a seat at the table and reaching over to pluck the last strip of bacon from the plate, mischief twinkling in her eyes. Claudia gaped at her.
"Oh no you did not." Myka only nodded, humming in the affirmative and she chewed a little more obnoxiously than was the usual for her and more in line with Pete's table manners. Behind them they heard the front door swing open and closed and Claudia caught sight of Artie waddling in, not even bothering to stop and take off his coat and hat.
"Look, if there's going to be a girl fight can you let me know ahead of time so I can leave? They make me squeamish." Claudia laughed at him, clapping a hand against his upper arm.
"If you were any gayer Jinksey, you'd be made of glitter." She turned back to Myka as Artie jerked to a stop at the table, looking around with wide eyes. "Don't you think I'm letting you get away with this either." She said, waving her fork at Myka. "There is going to be hell to pay when you least expect it."
"Ladies, if I have to break up any fights there isn't going to be bacon in this house for a very long time." Leena said with a smile and a flourish as she reached for the empty bacon plate and lifted it from the table. "Morning Artie." She waved at him before disappearing back into the kitchen and Claudia watched as he kind of swayed on the spot.
"You okay there, weeble?" He didn't answer, didn't even look at her. She furrowed her brow. "Artie?" He started at the sound of his name, eyes swivelling in his head to stare at her.
"What? Yes. What?" He barked, all rough edges and brisk bluster.
"You looked like you were about to keel over."
"I'm fine." He barked, but it was softer than usual and entirely too weird for Claudia's morning. "Hurry up," he gestured to the table, still littered with food, "there is actually work to be done." And with that he was gone, just as quickly as he'd arrived.
"His cheeriness really makes my morning, you know?" Steve mused aloud, pulling smiles from the two women.
"He's a charmer." Myka said, reaching for the eggs.
"Who is?" Pete's question came under the heavy blanket of a yawn and was barely discernible. So much so in fact that she felt the eyes of her team mates fall on her as they waited for her to translate.
"Artie." She explained, buttering a slice of toast with Claudia's would-be weapon of choice. "He's like a bear with a hangover." Pete groaned as he dropped into the chair beside Myka and let his head fall into his hands.
"Please don't use that word. I haven't felt this 'that' in a long time."
"Aww," Claudia pouted from across the table. "Does Petey have a wittle time travel hangover?" He rubbed at his face.
"What did I just say?" Suddenly, his hands fell away. "Do I smell bacon?"
True to his word, Artie found work for each and every one of them, informing them of their task for the day the second they entered the office. His mood hadn't changed much since his appearance at breakfast, he still barked his orders but it was with a detached kind of gruffness that made them all eye one another curiously, but no one said anything to him.
Claudia was left 'chained to the computer like a trained monkey' - her words - while Steve was banished to the far corner of the Christmas aisle to take care of a few artifacts that had been 'acting up'.
"Just don't accidentally touch any brushes." Pete had warned him, a serious edge to his voice that had Myka and Claudia side-eyeing him with raised eyebrows. He refused to acknowledge them, instead turning his attention to Trailer who he petted with over-exuberant enthusiasm before the dog ran off after Steve.
Myka was sent to do inventory in the sports section and Pete had begged and whined until Artie agreed to let him go with her.
"Oh ho ho." Pete said from somewhere behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find him playing with the inventory screen for one of the artifacts. "Michael Jordan's Sneakers!"
"Pete." She warned, and he could practically see the mental finger wagging she was giving him. He looked at her, eyes wide and pleading.
"Mykes! They let you see cartoon characters!" She glared at him.
"No."
"But-"
"No." He pouted, an actual grown-man pout, and stomped his foot like a five year old. She twisted her lips, pursing them in an attempt to stop the threatening smile. If she encouraged him, it would only make him worse. Grudgingly, he moved away from the shelf in a conscious attempt to control the temptation.
"My head still hurts. And are we ever going to talk about the fact that the neutraliser is probably giant purple bird poo?" He groaned a moment later and she allowed herself to smile at that. "This time travelling crap can really mess with you." She hummed her agreement, scribbling something down on the inventory sheet she was holding. She didn't feel near as bad as he seemed to, though Pete had a habit of turning a bout of sniffles into the bubonic plague, but she was feeling effects similar to the last time they'd jumped into the past.
Even though they'd been in different bodies then, she'd felt the same bone-deep strangeness that she felt now. As if she were adjusting to being back in her own body or, in this case, her own time. She'd spoken about it with H.G. the evening after that first adventure and the other woman had revealed that she had felt similar after her own travels.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn't realise silence had fallen until Pete spoke again.
"I know what you're thinking." She looked up from her clipboard and turned her head to look at him. He was wearing a sad smile, but it was one that was weighted with understanding. Knowing. "Sam, right?" The name tugged violently at Myka's heart. And it was startling at times, how far they'd come from arguing over protocols and name pronunciation. She flashed him a weak smile in return, but didn't quite trust her voice enough for words. He walked over to her, hands buried in the pockets of his Puscifer jacket. "Figured with everything it had probably crossed your mind." She let out a heavy sigh and set the clipboard down on the crate she was standing beside.
"Kinda hard not to think about it." He hummed aloud, nodding, and something in the motion sent off a spark in her brain. She instantly berated herself. "Your dad?" His nod continued through the question, slightly more emphatic towards the end of it. She sighed again and rubbed at the back of her neck with a hand. "Claud's probably thinking about her parents."
"Jinksey's sister." They'd all lost people. People who could now, in theory, be saved. "I wonder how much would be different?" She looked at him, saw a little boy reflected in a grown man's eyes, and felt his pain. Time paradoxes were messy things and they'd all heard about what could happen if you stepped on a butterfly in the past. You could land back in the present to find out cryogenic freezing had been perfected and Hitler was King of the world. There was a lot to go wrong. Still, the temptation was there, almost overwhelming.
"I don't know." She murmured, a small frown creasing her brow. If Sam hadn't been killed, would she have ever been called to the Warehouse? Artie always said that the people who were meant to be there would end up there regardless, but Myka wasn't so sure. She and Sam might have been married by now, maybe thinking about kids. She had thought they'd be together for the rest of their lives.
"I'd probably still be here." Pete said, as if reading her mind. "I wonder what my dad would say about me and mom both being involved with the Warehouse." He smiled as he spoke, but it didn't quite meet his eyes. They were quiet for a few moments then and Myka worried her lower lip as she thoughts. Pete watched her silently, trying to gauge her expression.
"I was thinking, last night..." she rolled her eyes and let out a huff of mirthless laughter, "was the first thing I thought of when we figured out what Paracelsus was doing actually." He stayed silent, waiting for her to find her words. "H.G." She didn't need to say any more and he really should have been expecting it. Still, it knocked the wind out of him a little. The implications and possibilities that the woman's name carried.
"Oh." He finally said through a loud exhale. "Wow." She flashed him a quick, uncertain curve of her lips.
"Yeah." And he wasn't sure what to say after that. Wasn't sure what there was to say. He couldn't begin to imagine what the inventor's reaction to this might be. Myka had always known her best.
"You think we should tell her." And it wasn't a question, though he was sure Myka would already know the answer if it had been.
"I don't know." Even if she didn't know that herself. "How can we not?"
She wasn't sure how she'd ended up here, uncertain of the exact route and steps she had taken, but she knew why. What had started out as vague thoughts that she had tried to keep at bay for most of the day had turned too loud for her to keep ignoring. Especially after her conversation with Pete.
She approached the main console of the time machine and reached out to run gloved fingers over its front with something akin to reverence. H.G. had laboured for years to perfect time travel, had put her blood, sweat and tears into the machine's construction. But she'd never managed to do what Paracelsus had in a single afternoon. And maybe he'd had a few more years to think on the possibilities. Maybe his mind was that much more twisted. She didn't think either of those things would make it any easier for the woman to accept.
She knew H.G. would feel cheated, defeated. She knew that the omnipresent hollowness inside of the inventor would flare to life and try to swallow her, again. And part of Myka didn't want to tell her, in case it pulled her back into darkness.
She ran her hand over the lever and remembered the last time she'd spoken to H.G. about Christina. The last real conversation they'd had about her. After Yellowstone, when the other woman had been little more than a hologram and yet had somehow managed to become more to Myka than she herself had realised. A quiet moment hidden in the aisles of the Warehouse, away from other prying eyes and ears. Away from any Regent hands that might take the sphere away from her before she was ready.
Myka Bering, liberator of magical projector balls and rebel rule-bender, but only where H.G. Wells was concerned.
Of course, she'd already made her decision. It was no longer a case of 'if' she'd tell H.G. about these new developments, but rather 'how' and 'when'. She moved to the sun dial and let her eyes roam its surface. The idea of keeping this from the woman opened up a black hole inside Myka that was so vast and filled with guilt she could barely breathe. It was like a vacuum. It couldn't be done.
Her gaze wandered over the rest of the artifacts that Paracelsus had assembled and she let out a sigh before turning and disappearing into the aisles.
Artie reached over to thumb the power button on the computer monitor and watched as the screen flickered to black. The day had been long and arduous for him; he had thought some time alone with Claudia might have mend their fractured relationship, give them the opportunity to talk. For him to explain. But his surrogate daughter had been less than cooperative when he had attempted conversation, instead choosing to focus her attentions on snide remarks and freezing him out. Every time he tried to explain, again, why he had kept Claire from her he had been met with either stony silence or a sharp tongue. And it was hard to apologise when he believed he had done the right thing. Claudia didn't know, couldn't understand how dangerous her sister was, and he couldn't make her see sense if she wouldn't listen to him.
He straightened and ran a palm over the tight curls of his hair, heaving a sigh. They'd work through this, they'd find a way. They always did.
His eyes scanned the office, slow and methodical, as though he was forgetting something but couldn't quite remember what. And he almost jumped out of his skin when his gaze caught sight of a figure standing in the doorway that lead out onto the balcony. His hand dropped from his head to rest against his chest and he drew in a ragged breath after letting out a rather inelegant yelp of surprise.
"Sorry." Myka said, lips turning up in a small smile. He shot her a glare, but it lacked any serious malice, and finally dropped his hand to his side.
"I thought you left with everyone else." The rest of the Warehouse team had retired to the bed and breakfast over and hour ago, the promise of home made cookies drawing them back in a hurry that had very nearly turned into a stampede.
"Yeah," She looked down as she entered the office, almost watching her feet as she walked and only looking up again when she was in front of Artie. "I was um..." The sleeves of her shirt were too long and she twisted her fingers beneath the cover of them as she tilted her head to one side, rolling her tongue over her lower lip. "I was looking at the time machine." Artie stilled and stared at her. Waiting. "I think we should tell H.G."