If Pete were a fancier kind of man, he might describe the vibes he has been getting since the beginning of memory in colors.
He might find seasons or weathers to explain sensations of senses that others lack, to portray an inkling of his premonitions.
„I feel a storm coming" might be something he would say in an overdramatic voice.
But Peter Lattimer,aside from not being overly fanciful is not one for too much self induced drama either.
In his mind he describes his vibes with sounds and smells and tastes.
Some are sweet, hopeful, like dark chocolate chip cookies,still in the oven, embracing the whole house with their aroma as they bake.
Others are bitter, like that accidental dark jelly bean in the midst of sweetness.
And yet others...
Others,he can't pinpoint.
There has been an uneasiness as of late, something he can't quite shake, and yet can't quite place either.
There have been these vibes before, and yet, this one is different.
There are actually several, Pete concentrates on the pit of his stomach,as he opens the refrigerator door.
Several and...
They weave together like the chords of a twizzler.
Yes,that's ,but the same shade,somehow.
Red.
But darker.
Suddenly Pete jerks up.
There it is,that feeling he couldn't shake, it's something about Myka.
He stands up straight, the plastic covered bowl with pudding in his hand forgotten.
It's Myka.
Who is not home.
He looks around frantically, as his hands begin to shake.
His hands never shake, no matter the vibe.
They never shake.
The pudding falls from his hands, the bowl landing upside down with a thud on the floor.
But Peter Lattimer couldn't care less.
This isn't a bad Jelly Bean vibe, it's something different, something tasting of blood and life and death and he rushes to the living room in a frenzied search for his phone.
He feels nauseous with fear and as he dials Myka's number he presses the back of his hand against his mouth to conquer the desire to vomit.
When the click at the other end of the line lets him know the call has been picked up, he suppresses the urge to cry with relief and runs his free hand through his hair.
„Myka!"he grins into the phone, but his voice is a bit choked up with the tears he is not crying.
„Are you ok?" he finally blurts out as the only thing that greets him is silence at the other end and the panic sets back in with a vengeance.
Finally,there is a sigh.
Myka knows that she is worrying him, even without particular vibes,she can feel her partner's anxiety roll through the phone.
It is time to find her voice again.
„Yes,Pete I'm...well, no, not .."she swallows thickly.
But how to find the words?
„Would you mind coming and picking me up at the hospital..parking lot?"
She is trying to make it sound as non threatening as possible, as though her car broke down and she simply is in need of a ride home.
And really, that's not such a lie,because she really is in no state to drive.
But her voice is a rough whisper, and she is almost sorry to worry him and she knows, that she just gave it away.
Somehow.
But his voice on the other end of the connection suprises her.
„Of course." Pete says.
And his tone is gentle, and loving and kind.
And she knows he'll be there, even though it's a two hour drive, her partner is hopping into his car to pick her up right at this moment,as though he would just step out to get a pizza.
Or two.
Myka's eyes begin to mist over again, and she had always thought it would be just a movie trope or a phrase in a book, that somebody could cry for that long, but she does not stop until she hears tires slide softly over the gravel in front of her a long time later.
In the end, she realizes, she does not even need to talk.
She is being bundled up quietly in her partner's arms and a little while later tucked away into the passenger seat.
Pete whips up South Dakota's only Jazz station for her, even though a Steeler's game is on, and they drive silently through the barren landscape.
At home, he fixes her a cup of hot chocolate and some hot porridge, one of the few warm foods he knows how to prepare, and parks her on the couch in the living room wrapped in a blanket.
The others are out, and they need to have this talk while they still are.
Myka is checking out the books on the shelf, counting off the ones she's read, the ones she hasn't,and the ones she'd like to read again.
And she wonders if she'll manage.
She remembers her father's warm laugh, when she told him as a little girl, that she'd like to read all the books in the world.
He had stroked her head gently, and told her, that humans don't live that had been in their science fiction phase at the time, and she didn't really believe him.
She does now.
There is a clink the bowl of porridge makes on the table and Myka feels it to be glaringly loud in her silence.
Pete sits back in the wicker chair opposite her, and folds his hands in his lap.
He crosses his legs in an attempt to strike an attentive listener's pose, but quickly remembers, that they were to be crossed the other way around, to signal openeness, and uncrossses them to rearrange them again,before doubting himself, again.
The chair creaks horribly as he puts his back's full weight against the armrest, and he almost topples over, before readjusting his legs yet again.
Myka can't help but smile.
It's still her Pete, and she's still the same Myka.
This is still the B&B.
They're both still Warehouse agents.
And they've faced quite a few things.
It's not just about sharing information, or exposing herself, or admitting something that she does not want to be true.
This is about filling her partner in on what they're about to face.
Together.
„I have cancer." Myka says evenly into the room and the words find themselves winding around the creaking of the chair.
Her eye twitches, but she's here now, leaning forward on her elbows, she's here now.
All Myka.
And she's here to catch Pete in the shock of it.
He stills immediately, his hands clasping each other so hard,they turn white at the knuckles and he quickly looks away to hide the tears in his eyes.
He nods, once,twice, and bites his lip before he turns around to Myka.
There are tears shining in his eyes.
But they do not even begin to mask the fear there.
He's terrified, but he only nods his head again, and again.
„Ok." he says quietly.
And then again, „Ok."
Myka reaches out a hand to cover both of his, which seem to be without any circulation by now.
„I am going to get surgery, and then have some chemo," she pauses, „and maybe radiation."
He blinks, still struggling, but he nods again.
„Ok." he looks away, as he reaches up his right to pinch his nose,screwing his eyes shut tight.
But it's to no avail, a couple of tears sneak out of the corners of his eyes.
„That bad,huh?" he says in a joking tone, turning back to her with a pained smile.
„Maybe." Myka is feeling her own eyes sting again with tears.
He nods again, his over exuberant nod, but his hand covers Myka's over his own.
It is very sweaty, but warm and soft.
„We've been through a few rough spots, and we'll...we'll.." words leave him.
This is a place where his vibes and her sharp wit won't help them.
But they're in this together anyway.
„Well, you know." he finishes with another determined nod, pressing his lips into a firm line of determination.
„Ok." Myka smiles his answer back at him.
Pete quickly gets up and wobbles for a bit on his feet, before catching himself and going back to the kitchen only to return with some maple syrup and honey.
„The first thing is, „he smiles at her, and it is almost unsure, as though he is trying not to scare her with this new ground they're about to tread, „that you..we need to take really good care of you."
He lathers her porridge with honey and maple syrup,both,before pouring a little of the syrup directly into his own mouth.
He finishes his acrobatics with a grin, as he usually does and Myka can't help but smile.
Back to normal,then.
Maybe a different kind of normal.
„And that means that I need to eat as many carbohydrates as I can?" Myka raises her eyebrow.
„Uh hoh!"Pete swallows another bite with a raised eyebrow in the affirmative.
And Myka digs in.
Because really,what's to care about her sugar intake,now?
They both laugh as she eats the porridge with a mock grimace at the exaggerated sweetness, but they're both too exhausted from this day to carry on with the heavier emotions.
Later that night, Myka is too wiped out from the day and the glucose to notice the shadow standing in her doorway.
For once, it is her who sleeps like a rock and Agent Lattimer whom sleeps proves elusive to.
It is what it will probably be like in the future and Pete pads over to her nightstand, where her cell phone is charging.
Years with the Marines and the Secret Service did provide him with some training at least, and he knows not to alert Myka to the sound of disconnecting her phone from the power.
He hides the display's light as he scrolls through her contacts and repeats the number he wishes to know over and over in his head.
Two numbers, actually, but he knows which one he needs to call.