Author's note: Hey ho! I've been typing rather manically on this chapter. It is definitely the best one so far. Pain from the past is revealed, and let's just say it isn't a happy fairytale. Yes, it's pretty long, but yes it's worth the read. Nothing boring or over-detailed, or repetitive. I promise. Hope you like!

Chapter Three

Your Worst Nightmares

"History is a race between education and catastrophe"

-H.G. Wells

"What can you do about it? You can't Bering, you can't. You'll never be able to save everybody; you're too busy trying too hard."

Flash. The light seemed brighter than usual, but she tried to fight anyway. Wait, now where was she? A tall, brawny kid had a guy shoved up against a brick ally wall. His hair was honey colored and he looked like a frightened little kitten. Shit, she'd seen this before.

"No stop!" she screamed. Will hadn't done anything wrong. Hit me! She thought. Just don't hit him!

"Oh look who came to save you," he grinned.

"Myka!" the boy yelled.

"Myka? What a dumb name."

She could see his whole plan. Where his hand's fell, where his eyes were. But adrenaline coursed fiercely though her making her reaction less than ideal. She threw blind punch after blind punch, but no avail other than getting herself knocked to the pavement. Loose pebbles dug into her palms as she tried to push herself up.

"Didn't your father ever tell you that pretty little girls like you don't do the fighting?" he sneered, elbowing Will back against the wall and tearing part of his shirt sleeve. Myka's blood boiled with a sickening heat, prickling over her skin. She felt her fists tense. He'd turned back to Will, clearly he had the notion that she stayed down. Clearly he was wrong. She knocked him into the wall with a terrible banging sound of his head smashing against it. She shoved an elbow into his right kidney until he yelped.

"Pretty little girl my ass," she said.

Flash.

"Come on, you can do more."

"Allison that's not a good idea," Myka warned.

"Loosen up Myka," she said, downing another shot.

"Myka? What kind of name it that? You're father a geologist or somethin'?," One guy asked.

"Haha, good one," Allison giggled tipsily, "Want one?" She offered a glass to Myka.

"No thank you," she said, watching the situation unfold. It was going for trouble that was obvious.

"Hey, you wanna come back to my room?"

"Okay," Allison slurred.

"Alli, no, you're really drunk, just come back to the room," Myka pleaded.

"Noooo," she whined, "You're such a party pooper."

She yanked her aside, "Listen brainiac," she hissed, "All that guy wants is a way into your pants."

Allison wretched out of her grip, "You're wrong."

She left of the arm of some guy, with three others following. Myka took some breaths. Maybe you should just leave her be. She walked back in the direction of her dorm, facing the cool night wind. Just as she turned the corner a scream echoed behind her. Allison. She ran as hard as she could, feet pounding the path as she come into view of the four guys surrounding her.

"I said no!" she yelled to the apparently dominant one, trying groping her. Myka shoved him aside.

"She asked you to stop."

He laughed, and someone grabbed her from behind. "Care to join us?" He locked her arms painfully. She tried to assess the situation; she was good at that much at least. One behind at such-and-such an angle, three here.

"Actually, no," she smiled, and in a blink wrapped her left lag around the man behind and dropped him, threw a few high kicks and punches, and managed to get three of them down. The fourth came up behind her and before she could spin around clocked her hard on the side of the head. Her head clouded for a moment and she struggled to regain clear vision, but still she fought back. Blood dripped down the side of her head. She knew the only to drop this guy would be to catch him off guard. She threw a fake punch, missing, opening up her right side for his own throw. As he swung to take the bait, she countered, grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her back. He fell, but managed to jam his knee into her ankle in the process. She crumpled to her knees, pain shooting through her ankle. After regaining her composure she stood weakly, and lifted the quivering Allison from the grass.

"Myka I'm so sorry," Allison whimpered, examining Myka's limp walk and bloody forehead.

"It's fine, just maybe next time you'll listen to me."

Flash.

"Right this way Mr. President," The street was damp and quiet, dusk had fallen. However the quiet was a bit unexpected. They got the man-of-the-hour safely it the limo and watched it drive away.

"Nice work agent," Sam hive-fived her.

"You take this job so seriously," she joked, but the sentiment was still there. The secret-service meant everything to her. Saving lives, protecting people from the wrongs she'd grown up viewing day after day. Sam was the best partner she could have asked for. He took her seriously, he didn't baby her, but he still cared.

"We make a good team," he smiled. His eyes had the most wonderful glint. Myka couldn't help but smile back, but it cut off.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I heard something."

"Like what?" he asked.

"I don't know, but," she didn't finish. A man had burst out of the shadows where he'd been lurking and aimed his gun at her. The familiar clicking sound of a gun loading filled her ears. She instinctively raised her hands. "Who are you?" she asked. Her eyes darted to Sam, beckoning him to get a hold on his own weapon.

"Doesn't matter. I know all about you."

She had to buy more time, "How? Do you know my name?"

He fumbled.

"Wise ass, it's Myka by the way. Guess we should get to know each other and all seeing as we're in such an interesting position."

"Ah yes, Myka. That name always got me. Are you into rocks or something?"

"Do we have to do this now?" she huffed.

He grinned, calculating something. She examined is eyes, that look, that posture, wait, no! "No!" she yelled, but it met the moment he'd already timed. Just as Sam had pulled his gun the man had turned and shot him straight through the head. The noise was deafening and Myka felt her insides rot. He fell like a ragdoll and crumpled, twitched for a second and then everything went still.

Tears wet her eyes as everything registered. It'd all gone so fast. That man come for her, but clearly he'd known watching Sam get killed would be worse pain than dying herself. She couldn't help but shiver. Sam, no. She wanted to kneel beside him, hold his hand, cry, apologize, but she couldn't. She'd somehow managed to pull her own gun for protection and had locked eyes and gunpoints with him.

"What can you do about it now? You can't Bering, you can't. He's dead. You'll never be able to save everybody; you're too busy trying too hard."

"You sick bastard," she said spitefully, hiding the sting of his words. He knows that's all I want. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it'll kill this perfect little life you've built for yourself."

"But how do you…"

The reinforcement officers arrived and had the man cuffed and against the wall before Myka even had a chance to blink. But he was still grinning. "You can't save everyone. And those you love most are in the worst danger."

She took careful breaths as they searched him for weapons and covered Sam's body with a sheet.

"Who the hell are you?" She breathed. And how do you know so much?

The dusk faded to light, and suddenly she was alone in a wide street littered with water stains. The normality of city noise flooded her with pin pricks of relief.

"Myka," a voice tasted the name behind her, "what a beautiful name."

She awoke with a start. The clock on the side table read 4:30. She ran a hand through her knotted hair. Sweat stuck her night shirt to her back. A nightmare, sure, but it's all happened. High school, college, the service. All eerily the same. Fighting. Fighting for the person she loved. Sam. She'd tried for years to forget his death, blamed herself all that time. Even after everyone had tried to convince her it wasn't her fault. She'd spent so long trying to find that man, after he'd escaped a maximum security prison only a week later. But he'd vanished for good it seemed.

She slid into a bathrobe and tip toed to the washroom. The water was cool and calming on her hot skin. She stared into her own tired eyes in the medicine cabinet mirror. Her skin had faded to a frightened and almost sickly grey. All of it made sense. The tension of spending your life trying to save everybody, only to be deliberately thrust into an impossible-to-win situation. It should all make sense, right? She was rational enough to realize that dreams sometimes brought back old and painful memories that you most often think are forgotten. But one of those things wasn't like the other.

"Helena," she whispered. What was she doing there?

x x x

The scent of Claudia's famous banana pancakes seeped through the dark cracks in Myka's doorframe. She rubbed the fatigue from her eyes and switched on the bedside lamp. Soft yellow light flooded the room, though it didn't reach every corner. After taking a few careful sips from her water glass she dressed and walked into the breakfast nook.

"Hey look who it is!" Pete announced, wrapping an arm around her. "You're up late, even for a Saturday."

She shrugged, "Didn't sleep well."

"For my favorite bookworm," Claudia slid a pile of pancakes in front of her. They were delicious, and usually Myka would've gladly started eating, but somehow food didn't appeal to her right then. She smiled sympathetically, "I think I'll just have some coffee. Is Artie around?" On most occasions he came by on Saturdays for breakfast.

"Mmph, no, he's at the Warehouse, some paperwork I guess," Pete said through a mouthful of pancake.

"Thanks," she said, pulling on a jacket, "I think I'm gonna go find him." She opened the door, "Wait. Where's HG?"

"In my room, deconstructing my cell phone most likely," Claudia said.

She nodded, smiling a little, and stepped out into the mourning drizzle.

"Artie?" she called, poking her head into his office. He was sifting through a stack of papers on his desk. No answer. "Artie!"

"Oh sorry," he grunted, "didn't hear you…"

She grimaced, "We have to talk about this."

"What is there to talk about?" he demanded, slamming a folder down on the desk. "You went behind my back on official Warehouse business!" he took a breath, "But she's an agent now. You won."

"Artie I didn't 'win' anything."

He sighed, "I know. It's just," he fiddled with a few more papers, "there's something not right about her."

"Look," Myka said, crossing the room to stand beside him, "I know McPherson betrayed you alright. I know he debronzed her, but that doesn't make her inherently a traitor too."

"I know," he whispered, "I know. It's just so hard to trust her. I care about you guys! Do you understand the constant anxiety of trying to keep you all safe?"

"What can you do about Bering? Nothing. You'll never save everyone." Blam, silence. Stillness. She shuddered, nodding barely, "Yeah. I do."

"I just wish she could be clearer about her intentions. Not so mysterious. It makes me, anxious. I don't know how to feel about her!"

Myka laughed dryly, "You're not alone."

"Huh?" Artie asked.

"I mean, look Artie," she said, more serious this time, "Sometimes I wish that everything could be simpler. Black and white. Good and Evil. But the world isn't like that," she placed a hand on his shoulder, "It's filled with gray areas. And whether or not I like that, I can't change it." She finished and there was silence. "Claudia made pancakes. If you want I bet there's still some left," she said. "I'm heading to the library for the day, buzz if you need anything." With that she walked, confidently as possible, from the room and headed for the Warehouse library.

x x x

She tapped her fingers on the page subconsciously as she read. The soothing silence only interrupted by the flick of a page enveloped her, calming her unsettled nerves. The musty smell of old books filled her breath and she looked up occasionally at the dust dancing in the filtered sunlight from the eastern window.

She flipped to the next chapter in Little Woman. She'd read it an uncountable number of times, it just had a way of clearing her mind; and wasn't that what she needed right now? But suddenly the book vanished from under her fingertips. It just sort of disintegrated. And that's when Myka remembered that the Warehouse library was irritatingly self-aware. Sometimes, she really missed normal, boring libraries.

"Hey!" she protested to the empty room. "I was reading that!" A book reappeared on the table in front of her. Only, it wasn't Little Woman. A huge, dusty covered book with the word Love etched into the front was there instead. "Oh, haha, nice! Annoying little self-aware prankster," she muttered.

The book shoved forward a few inches.

"You're kidding right?" she yelled at the ceiling. The book thumped its front cover. "Ugg, fine," she flipped open the front cover. The page was blank. In fact, every page was blank. She was almost going to yell at the room again, when text began appearing on the page.

Love is like a friendship caught on fire - Bruce Lee

A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself - and especially to feel. Or, not feel. Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them – Jim Morrison

We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone - we find it with another -Thomas Merton

Love is like war: easy to begin but very hard to stop - H.L. Mencken

Love is a better teacher than duty - Albert Einstein

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage - Lao Tzo

"What the hell?" Myka breathed. She slammed the cover down, forcing away the quotes. She turned the volume over carefully. A label was peeling off the back. She smoothed it out. Lao Tzo's unwritten book of Love Philosophy. She sighed, leaning back in her chair. Of course. Lao Tzo, the great Chinese philosopher. He'd died before he was ever able to officially write his knowledge of love. In the end his inability, he said, was due to his never being able to reach everyone in the right way. He'd wanted to speak to everyone's individual capacity of affection. But why me? She thought. Did it have to do with her dream about Sam? Ugg, why couldn't anyone, or anything, leave her alone?

"I don't have time to fall in love!" she yelled. Nor do I ever want to again.

x x x

When she finally dragged herself back the B&B a smell of bread and pasta sauce smacked her in the face.

"Whoa, is someone actually cooking?" she asked, peeking into the kitchen.

"Try, already did!" Pete smiled, carrying a pan of Lasagna to the table.

"Pete, you did this?" Myka questioned in disbelief.

"No! Leena did."

Myka turned around to Leena carrying a basket of steaming rolls to the table. "I figured we hadn't given H.G. a proper Warehouse welcome." Leena's smile was always warm and genuine. It was comforting to Myka somehow. She just always seemed like she really cared, and she really loved you for you who you were.

Myka smiled, "That's really nice Leena," she said, "Is, is Artie coming?"

"Oh, you betcha!" Claudia said from the living room, "I threatened his life, and more importantly his computer files if he dared to try and skip."

Myka laughed, "You're the best Claude."

"Well, yeah."

The atmosphere was unusually pleasant at the dinner table. H.G. emerged from wherever she'd been, and sat beside Myka just in time for the meal. Artie and Leena and Pete and Claudia were all laughing over some story Claudia was telling. The kitchen just felt warm for once.

"Okay, okay settle," Leena quieted the room, "Now isn't it nice to all get together once in a while?" Everyone smiled a bit to themselves, "Welcome Helena, " Leena grinned, "We're so happy to have you back in our family." Helena's eyes glimmered, but there was something else.

"And on behalf of all of us, here," Claudia handed her a small box with a shimmering white ribbon tied around it.

"Oh, really. You all really didn't need to do this. I mean it's lovely," H.G. tentatively accepted the gift, "but really all I wanted was to return, and I've done that so," she gasped. Inside the box was a silver locket in the shape of some contraption. Time Machine was engraved on the front. She opened it. Inside was a picture of her with Myka on her first day reinstated, and on the other a picture of the whole Warehouse team. She smiled reluctantly, "This is too much."

"No, please," Myka said, "You deserve it."

She hesitated for a minute, before reaching her hands to her neck. She unclasped a previously invisible chain and pulled it from herself, revealing the pendant that had been hidden under her blouse. "Here," she said, pressing a rectangular locket into Myka's hand, "I don't need this one now."

"But, isn't this your daughter?" she whispered.

"She brought me plenty of strength over the years. Stubborn little thing. Now 'she's yours."

"Helena," Myka tried.

"I insist."

Myka looked into her eyes, deeply, for the first time. "Thank you," she mouthed, gathering her hair to allow H.G. to put the necklace on her. She placed a hand over it. It wasn't any ordinary gift. It meant more. It meant strength, luck, sacrifice, love. It was truly remarkable.

x x x

The heat was almost unbearable, Myka hated heat. Especially sticky, sweaty heat that she had to work in. She cursed at the idiotic location for a Warehouse as she pulled on cargo pants and a wicking tee shirt.

"Hey are you guys ready because…" she stepped out of the tent. H.G. was dressed in tan shorts and a forest green tank. Myka chuckled.

"What?" she asked, genuinely confused, "I did do my research, this is what fashionable British archeologists wear nowadays."

Myka shook her head and smiled. On occasion Helena's not to be helped ignorance of the 21st century was the perfect comic relief. And especially now, when Mrs. Fredrick's life was on the line, a small laugh was worth so much. "No, but it is what American filmmakers tend to think they wear, so you fit in fine as a movie star."

"Oh," H.G. sighed, "well I think I could be quite okay with that."

"A pyramid? Isn't that a bit cliché?" Pete asked, crawling through the partially caved in opening.

"Warehouse 2 was active in 2950 B.C, at the time pyramids were very much in season," The guide hollered, jogging to the end of the hall. The bricks were crumbly which made Myka anxious, but she lit a torch anyways. This mission was do or die for Mrs. Fredrick; there was no spare time to be afraid. Mind, body, soul she chanted mentally. Warehouse 2 was full of ancient tricks and traps, the idea was to stay level headed and solve the puzzles.

"Myka!" she turned. Pete and Helena were prying against the stone doorway, but it was no use. It could easily weigh a few tons. If that wasn't enough, a splitting noise of scraping rock echoed of the thick walls.

"Oh shit," Pete breathed, "Mykes the ceiling."

"Yeah, I see that," she yelled, watching in terror as the top of the cavern drew uncomfortably closer.

"Mind, body, soul, mind, body, soul. Pete that's it!" she said, "This is a puzzle, it must be mind. We have to solve a puzzle to the stop the trap!"

"Okay, but all that's here are these weird post things," he said, "What do we," he tripped and stumbled, catching himself barely.

"Pete! Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just stepped in this hole," he yanked his foot out. "Mykes! That's it! It's like that marble game at Doc's Toys! You have to jump the posts in a certain order until only one is left!"

"Oh, ah, Last Man Standing!" Helena interjected, "We used to play that when I was a girl."

"Great, here, help me lift these posts…they're heavy!" Myka called. She ran to Myka's side, wrapped her arms around a post Pete had just jumped and helped to carefully lay it on the ground. She looked up at Myka, her eyes were frightened.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. Pete knows his games." Myka nodded and laid down another post, sweat already dripping off her.

They raced through the game until Pete was dragging the final post into place. Myka and Helena hit the floor. Myka covered her head with her hands, squinting her eyes shut and listening to the creaking of the ceiling get closer and closer.

"Almost…got it…" Pete struggled. Myka squeezed Helena's wrist tighter than she should have, but H.G. didn't seem to mind. She began to feel the stone get closer and a nauseous wave of claustrophobia ran over her like hot needles. Helena squeezed her hand back. If I'm gonna die, Myka thought, trying her best to reason with herself, I wanna go this way. She thought back to the initial statement she'd had to make when she'd joined the team.

Why do want to do this?

I've seen so many tragedies. This is the opportunity to give back what's been taken from me. It's a world of endless wonder! Who wouldn't want that?

And do you understand the risks?

Yeah, I do. But I think, if I'm gonna get killed by some magical artifact in the middle of some fantastic place surrounded by a team of people I love, that's a pretty good way to go. Don't you think?

"Helena," she whispered.

"Y-yes?"

"I just want to say…"

"Got it!" Pete yelled, and suddenly Myka heard the rock screech to halt. She opened her eyes slowly, catching her shaky breath. Helena stood, so she tried to as well, but her legs were too wobbly and she started to stumble.

"I gotcha!" Helena said, catching her by the arms and dragging her into a standing position until she was steady.

"Thanks," Myka said, getting her footing.

"What was that you were saying?" H.G. asked.

"Oh," Myka said slowly, "nothing. Never mind."

"Alright then," the guide said, "This way I believe."

He led them through another doorway to a long hall with scattered gouges.

"Is that it? We just have to jump them?" Pete asked, running for the first.

"Pete no!" Myka yelled. Just before reached it it lit up with flames and something like blades were rushing side to side.

"Are you kidding me?" Pete said. "How the hell…"

"Helena what are you doing?" Myka hollered. She'd pulled herself up onto a high platform and was messing with something on her belt. Myka smiled when she saw it. Helena's grappler.

I invented it myself

You were coveting my grappler

Keep it, you can owe me

She shot it at the far wall, and it latched perfectly.

"Dang that lady's got some aim," the guide stared in awe. "And she's pretty hot too," he whispered to Pete.

"Hey dude, I actually got her first so,"

"You're both pigs and I'm interested in neither of you," H.G. called, almost emotionless. She secured the rope with a final tug and began to unclasp her belt. The two men stuttered awkwardly. "I thought you would have learned your lesson last time Pete," she grinned, and jumped, sliding effortlessly down the line.

"Come on pigs!" Myka called from the platform before jumping herself.

"Hey, you comin' man?" Pete asked. The guide had become engrossed in some hieroglyphics. He turned to Pete suddenly.

"Yes, of course, but ah, here," he thrust the key into his hands. "In case I drop it."

"Okay," Pete said, climbing to the platform. He swung his belt over the line and flew across to H.G. and Myka.

The guide slowly hauled himself to the ledge and began to climb across it. He kept hesitating though. The flames were climbing higher and higher.

"Come on, hurry!" Pete shouted.

He grinned, "Ahtum calli vay."

"What?" Myka screamed.

"Myka it's ancient Egyptian," Pete said.

"H.G., you said you spoke a little!"

"A bit, um, something about death."

"One must die," he called, staring them blankly in the eyes.

"What? No!" Pete yelled, "We'll help you."

"Don't you dare!" he warned, fire catching the rope. Before they could protest further he let go if the rope and plummeted into the dancing flames.

"No!" Helena screamed, dropping to her knees. But he was gone. Dead. Another one dead. On her watch. She blinked.

"He wouldn't let us save him," Pete growled, "Why? Why wouldn't he-"

"Hey!" Myka interrupted, her own horrors eating at her, "We have to stay level headed okay. If we don't do this now, Mrs. Fredrick could die too." They nodded solemnly.

"Okay," Myka said once they reached the next room, "this has to be the last challenge, the soul… Hey guys? Are you?"

Pete and H.G. were staring into space. Myka wanted to say something, but her vision was slowly blurring.

Where am I? Helena wondered. Or rather, where was I? The room was trimmed with lace and frilly dolls. She looked down at herself, wrapped in layers of crinoline.

"Mummy?"

She gasped, her chest tight, not wanting to believe it. "Christina?"

She lit up. "Christina it is you!" she lifted the child in her arms, squeezing her so tight that she mimicked choking noises.

"Sorry love," she said, dropping her to her feet.

"Mummy! Look!" she cried merrily, handing her a book she'd just finished.

"A Little Princess," Helena read, "a classic dear. I loved that story when I was your age." She smiled, "You're so bright."

Christina giggled, absorbing her Mother's praise.

H.G. kissed the top of her head. "I love you so much."

Christina wrapped her small arms around her mother's waist, "I love you too."

The evening breeze was cool as it blew strands of hair around Myka's face. She laughed, tripping over her own feet. She'd never been much of a dancer. But Sam loved dancing, and they had the whole gazebo to themselves, why not dance? Her sundress rippled in the wind, she was lucky not to trip over it.

"It's okay. I've got you," Sam smiled, placing a hand on the small of her back. She leaned over to pick a flower. It smelled sweet and light like summer. Sam grasped it and tucked it behind her ear. "My summer romance," he said, getting just a bit closer. She rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm a terrible dancer," she mumbled.

"Oh, I hardly think so. Like Ernest Hemingway once said,"

"You lose it if you talk about it."

Myka blinked, shocked. That wasn't Sam's voice… In fact it wasn't even a man's voice…

"Bloody good author."

"Helena?" she breathed.

"What who's Helena?" Sam asked.

"What, ah, no one Sam, I just thought…"

"Sam? Rather boring name."

Myka could see her image, but she wasn't sure from where. Suddenly their voices were meshing together in a loud mess of syllables. She tried to block out the noise, but it wouldn't leave. It echoed around her, until her head felt like it was in some sort of pressure cooker. She watched as the ground around her started cracking and splitting, staring in confusion and fright as the beach and the gazebo and the summer air melted around her.

It wasn't real

And like that the scene was gone, but the floor of the pyramid was dropping away beneath her still. Pete and Helena were still caught in whatever daze had taken the three of them. Only by some tear in her subconscious had she escaped. She jumped the opening that appeared in front of her, shoving Pete off a cracked piece of flooring. He jerked and blinked.

"Whoa, what happened?"

"No time talk!" she said, grabbing Helena by the arm and shaking her. She was harder to wake. It was like she wanted to be in whatever trance she was in forever. "Helena, Helena listen to me please. It's Myka. If you don't wake up, if you don't fight this you'll die. Come on you know the right thing to do!" she pulled and pulled on her arm until H.G. jumped backward, glaring at Myka viciously.

"What did you do?" she spat angrily, "Why would you do that?"

"One second!" Myka pleaded. "Pete, the medusa!" He threw his torch for it, smashing the eye into a billion pieces. The floor stopped falling, just in time. Pete and Myka got their footing carefully and made their way to the steps. H.G. was sitting with her knees folded up to her chest, strain and hurt painting her face.

"Go on ahead Pete," Myka urged, squatting beside Helena.

"My baby girl," she choked on the words, "it was so real." She broke, crying and hiccupping on the stairs, head in her hands. It crushed Myka to watch her in so much pain, when the reality was there was nothing she could do or say that would ever erase that pain. That's what hurt most, just like when Sam had been killed. Sometimes there's nothing you can do to save someone from tragedy. How she wished she could protect everyone she loved, but she just couldn't. Somehow along her road she'd figured that out. But that didn't soften the ache any more.

"It wasn't real though," she said softly, careful not to step on any raw feelings, "It was just that thing testing us. It brought us to our happiest places and tried to make us feel comfortable."

H.G. sniffed, "So where did it bring you?"

Myka's eyes widened. Good question Helena. Thing was, that was probably why she'd been woken up. Her own subconscious couldn't decide or admit to itself what made it happiest. But why? Was it Sam or was it… No, now wasn't the time for those kinds of questions.

"The Warehouse," she said quickly, "the Warehouse."

They sprinted down the rest of the long and twisting hallways until they reached the center of Warehouse 2. Not unlike Warehouse 13 it was lined with shelves of seemingly harmless objects.

"I'll go check if there's an auxiliary switch," Helena said. She gave Myka's hand one final squeeze, looking her ardently in the eyes, and dashed down the stairs and out of sight, hiding her face all the while.

"Okay Pete, where does this key of yours go?" Myka asked.

"I don't know, he didn't say."

They searched the room, but no keyhole of any sort was in sight.

"Wait, Pete, look at this," Myka said. She'd found a wall, of sorts. It was covered in tiny holes, all projecting tiny beams of light from the outside. "What is it?"

"It's the constellations," he said, "but which star does it,"

"This one!" Myka exclaimed, stealing the key from his hand and jamming in a star. The floor shook, and they stumbled to the floor. "Well?"

Pete rolled on to his side. "It's out! You did it Mykes! How did you know?"

"They say your first instinct is usually right," she smiled. "What star is it anyways?"

He examined it for a minute, "Well that's Orion's belt, and it's the center star, so I think it's Venus."

"What's Venus represent."

"Well, uh, she was the goddess of love."

"Oh, okay," Myka said, trying to work out why that was the key to Warehouse 2, or why she'd picked it. It just shone the brightest, that was all.

"I can always count on you to make some impulsive and usually correct decision." Pete threw his arms around her. She hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for always being here for me," she murmured.

"Sure thing, Mykes," he answered, rubbing her back. His eyebrows twitched like they did when he got vibes, but Myka couldn't see them.

"Pete, Myka, come see this!" H.G.'s determined voice carried up through the open space.

They hopped down the crumbly staircase to the maze of shelves.

"H.G.!" Pete hollered, "It's kind of a maze down here we need some direction." They wandered a while longer until they reached the middle of the ground floor. She stood, not quite as tall as normal, and her back was facing them.

"Helena?" Myka said.

"I'm sorry Myka," she said, her voice small and fragile. The very tone of it, in fact, made Myka both scared and heartsore. Helena often looked so confident, so tough, so strong. But she could see better. See the hurt behind her brash hazel eyes, see the veins in her neck show when she was holding back, see the clench in her fists the way she did when she was carrying anger. It was all there, but hardly anyone ever saw it. Maybe it was because they were similar people when you got right down to it. They both wanted the same things, both had the same passions and opinions, yet still something was strikingly different. She couldn't touch on it though, for the life of her.

"Sorry for what?"

H.G. drew in a breath, standing taller with it. "This," she answered coldly. In a flash she'd turned, a modified tesla pointed directly at the two of them, her hand not wavering a bit. The aim was a dead perfect one, and in only a second she pulled the trigger. All the air had left Myka's lungs. Her eyes had gotten huge and stung dryly. But she only had a fraction of a second to register the pain and the betrayal among other jumbled emotions before a green flash enveloped her and everything went eerily still.