Chapter 3


Myka cursed under her breath as she marched the claustrophobic like area of the room that morning. Her fingers groping for any and all things to keep her mind focused.

"We have secured the artifact in an old antique shop." Agent Amy Smith sighed into the Farnsworth.

"Tell Mykes I bargained him down to two hundred pounds!" Pete's voice heard in the background.

"You do realize that it is three hundred 'American' dollars," both agents saying at the same time.

"Jinks!" Pete pushing his way next to the young redhead in view of the small screen of the black and white screen, his grin starting to fall as Myka glared at him. "Um, I mean, you both saying the same thing at the same time and you know … jinks?"

"Pete," Myka sighed as she nodded to the young agent in her small view of the Farnsworth.

"Pete, go check on the static bag, okay?" Myka leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom as she smiled, the stern tone reminding her of how she used to handle Pete when they were talking to Artie on the old device.

"Question, Agent Smith?" Myka asking in a soft tone as she watched the wild curls of red hair turn back to her.

"Considering I invested somewhat of myself into the care of ex Agent HG Wells," the young woman pausing as she collected her thoughts.

"Go on," Myka said in a monotone voice, cursing herself tenderly as her stomach flipped.

"She made me stand outside her office door till she was finished with her card. Not that I was spying, but I knew she put a lot of thought into it." Myka was watching as the cup of coffee brewed, her hand flapping as she touched the hot cup, the young girl frowning as she watched the older agent blow on her burnt fingers.

"Guessing from the short time of writing, as to compare to the long thought before …"

"You do realize that I am giving you a free pass considering what the Regents asked of you?" Myka blowing on the tips of her burnt fingers as she set the Farnsworth down on the counter of the desk next to the coffee maker.

"So noted," Amy said with something not quite a tone of respect that battled with her inner self and respect for the older agent.

"Thank you," Myka whispered as she poured a splash of cream into her coffee.

"I know it is not my place or any such thing, but she really misses you," the young red head sighed into the old device.

"Let's stick to the artifact, shall we?" Myka's voice cold as she sipped the burnt water.

"Fine, whatever, just my two cents worth," Amy huffed as Myka toyed with her jeans in the drawer.

"Agent Smith?" Myka not relishing her voice asking the question.

"Tell Pete to add the cost to the verbatim and, skinny jeans or more relaxed?" Myka's head tilting to both pair as she thumbed through her drawers.

"What? Skinny or what?" Amy's voice raising an octave as her brow furrowed.

"Never mind," Myka huffing, trying her best to retrace the question as she pulled a pair of loose fit from the drawer. "Just note what you two spent on the case report and I will review it when I get back." Myka now biting her bottom lip at her faux paus.

"Are you there?" Amy's voice soft as she held her phone against her ear, having shut the Farnsworth down.

"I expect a full report on my desk when you two return," Myka's voice shutting down the younger agent. Myka then slapping her forehead as she turned to her closet, trying her best to ignore her slip up.

"We have four days before your return?" Myka trying to ignore the tone in the younger agent's voice as she thumbed through the matching bras and panties she had stowed away.

Amy looked at her phone, sighing to herself as she knotted her fingers through her thick, red locks, "Fine, I am just going to say this," Myka looking at her phone as she sat back on the old, cheap bed.

"I would trade all there is for just a moment of whispered words she spoke of you," Amy swallowing hard to repress her other thoughts.

"And ten years of nothing? Of the love of your life finding pleasure in another's arms?" Myka hissed into the phone. Her throat feeling rough as she swallowed hard, the silence more than deafening as she moved to the cheap dressing closet.

"I apologize, Agent Bering. It is, was not my place." Amy swallowed hard.

"How are the blueberry scones?"

"What? Sorry, what did you ask?" the young agent turning to the bathroom as she brushed Pete away from her. His eyes furrowing as his gut churned as the young agent slammed the bathroom door behind her.

"I spent months going to her bake shop, watching as that idiot man made coffee and trying every baked good in the place," Amy sighed as she collapsed on the cold lid of the toilet bowl.

"And I should thank you?" Myka's voice every end of sarcasm as she sank back on the edge of the tub in the hotel.

"God! You are such an ass. No wonder you two never got together," Amy huffed as she threw herself back against the bowl.

"And just because you spent the night, entangled with your literary hero gives you the insight into years of …" Myka's voice fading as her brain cells joined in. Her finger coming up to her lips as she silenced her thoughts.

"Between your books and the one night we spent together, " the silent sigh weighing heavy as Myka pressed her phone closer to her ear.

"You said you never had cardinal knowledge of one another?" Myka gulping down her words, her mind fighting with thoughts of what could have been, her eyes shut tight as she tried to block out thoughts of red hair between those thighs.

"Myka?" the fade of the voice slowly drawing her to the here and now.

"What?" Myka growled, internally cursing herself as her unspoken words rose out and from her throat.

"Got to go, Pete is killing the mini bar of nuts and candy," Amy rushing her words.

"Nice save, Agent Smith," both women smirking as Myka spoke. Amy glad for the cut off, Myka done with talk of Helena. Myka's mind drifted to the small card sitting on the edge of her night stand as Pete grabbed the phone, droning on about the food, of 'Agent Amy's' misunderstanding of his love for food and some dumb sports team.

XXX

"Okay, what gives?" Kurt asked as he steamed the last two set of trays for the cap machine. His eyes shifting from the steam of the cap machine to his boss pacing the small back counter.

"Never you mind," Helena blurted out as she dusted off the last of the flour on her black apron, smiling to the young couple who leaned over the glass counter, their eyes wide as they perused over her fine pastries.

"Since when were you okay with folks leaning over your works of art?" Kurt smiling as he handed over the two cups to the young couple milling over the fine pastries.

"Go fuck yourself," Helena gritting low through her teeth as she opened the back door to her finest. The young couple lost in that smile as they fused over which sweet treat to share.

Helena had lost herself in the fine intricacies of each pastry the couple was eying, explaining every nuance to each puff, she ignoring the low tingle of the doorbell as the tall agent stepped inside. The low drone of flirtation was lost on her as Kurt asked for the order.

"A dash of cardamom makes for a unique crust …" her words cut short by the repeated request of 'extra room'. Her mind snapping from the drone 'um hum' from Kurt as she turned. Her pulse racing at the hopes the Regents had sent another 'knock-off' to check on her. Her breath catching on as she reached for the smaller scone the young woman was requesting, her beau leaning in with his finger as Helena fauxed a smile as she wrapped up the sweet treat.

"Coffee Americano with an extra shot and room comes to …" Helena's head snapping at the man's voice as he rang up the cup of coffee.

"On the house," Helena's curt voice covering Kurt's hand, slowly daring to look up.

"Nonsense," the husk of that voice from long ago tossed a twenty on the counter. "I pay my own way," Kurt grinning as he took the bill, ringing up the register.

"Close the shop," Helena stated, not asking as she tossed her apron behind her. Her eyes as black as coal as she stared at Kurt, not daring to look back as she gathered her things.

"You know it is just before the lunch rush?" his eyes wide as he watched his boss pour another large cup of Americano with extra shot and room.

"Are you sure?" he asked as she bent down, grabbing her purse as she stopped in front of the pastry counter. "I thought the lunch rush was your high? Dealing with all the kids and business suits?" his brow now furrowing as he looked up as the tall woman cleared her throat.

"Things change, as do people," Helena replied as she rounded the counter.

"Um, sure boss." Kurt stuttered his eyes wide as he tried in vain not to ogle the stunning woman who stood tall in front of the glass pastry counter, him watching the tall woman watching his boss and friend round out the counter. The tall woman giving a faint smile as she followed, then holding the door open as his boss nodded, and was that a smirk she gave her?

Myka had ignored the faint, yellow flashes of lightning down the road. "Come hell or high water," she mumbled to herself as the flashes grew brighter. The address of the bakery just a few clicks away as she made her way down the sidewalk to the bakery. Her stomach churning as her hand stilled on the knob of the small store, gathering what little strength with each low rumble of thunder behind her.

"So, thought for sure you would say no," her eyes never leaving the brim of her coffee as she felt the smaller woman following her to her car.

"It is going to storm," Helena's voice coming out as a ghost of a whisper as she stopped, her back against the brick wall near the alley as she watched the taller woman walk to her rented car, her eyes never leaving the hold of those lips on the rim of the paper cup.

"And so what of it? Will precipitation stall your words?" her eyebrows raised over the paper rim of the take out cup as Myka turned left, bee-lining for the monkey bars of the playground of the park they now walked by.

"I am not made of sugar, of which you are too familiar with; I shan't melt from drops of rain." Helena sighed as she made for the chain swings in the middle of the park.

"So you want to jump right into the psych thing with Christina?" Myka sighing as she sat down in the small swing.

"Not really, I know you have read over sections for the last ten years." Helena running her hand through her dark locks. "I have made peace with Christina," Helena sighed as she sat in the next swing, watching her feet as she pushed herself away.

"So it is just me you have not come to terms with?" Myka's voice was sincere, not a hint of malice, maybe a hint of, dare Helena think, care?

Myka sighed. Helena never noticing the heated anger building up as the tall woman stood up, taking long strides to the near garbage can.

"Fine, Helena." Myka sighed as she ran both hands through those thick curls. "Let's start with Boone," she quipped as she fumbled in her left jacket pocket, Helena's brow furrowing as Myka pulled out the small pack of cigarettes. Helena glaring as Myka's thumb flicked at the cheap plastic lighter.

"Here," Helena huffed as she stood from the swing, her hand grabbing the lighter; Myka's fingers limp as she let go control. "Since when did you pick up this filthy habit?" the glow of the small flame lighting up the gold flecks in the backdrop as Mahogany eyes narrowed.

Myka ignoring the harsh words as she held Helena's hand steady, puffy to light the cancer stick.

"Since Pete and I broke up," Myka saying absentmindedly as she blew a puff of smoke up and away from Helena. Her finger tapping the ash away as she walked toward the small merry go-round in the middle of the park. Helena shaking her head as she watched the younger woman spit out the old piece of tobacco gum.

"So lady like," Helena snorted in a hushed whisper.

"Really?" Myka fumed as she turned on her heels, the death glare causing Helena to reel back, sitting as the back of her knees hit the edge of the wooden bench.

"Don't you dare use that tone of upper superiority with me?" Myka's finger holding the cigarette as she neared the woman.

"I get it," she paused, dragging a hard, long toke, her eyes never leaving the older woman.

"Get what, Darling?" Helena never looking up as she brushed at the invisible lint on the thighs of her black pants.

"Don't you dare use that tone with me!" Myka tossing her cig away as she stalked closer, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the wooden plank on the top of the bench Helena was perched on.

"That first year, I get it," Myka growled in front of Helena's face. "Use me, my grief for Sam to weasel your way back into the warehouse." Helena trying her best to hide the harsh gulp as Myka moved mere inches from her face. The heat, reverberation of the strong grip on either side of Helena's head was not lost.

She cursed herself at the uncontrolled heat coursing through her blood with each harsh word Myka spewed at her. The guilt of Christina and the revenge murders of her killers had been resolved years ago. But the gnawing guilt of how she used Myka was a festering boil that now reared its pus- filled head.

"Stop," was a silent plead as Helena tried to turn her head from the venom now spewing against her soul.

"Don't you dare turn your head away from me!," Myka's words were followed with small sprays of harsh spit as her fingers gripped Helena's jaw, making the older woman look upon the fierce green eyes. Her face, a small bit of guilt ridden soul soften for just an iota as she watched the faint shimmer of gold flecks from the pain Helena had caused flash before her.

"I believed in you," Myka's words fading as fast as the harsh, red prints her fingers made on Helena's jaw. "In us," Myka covering her hand over her mouth as she tried in vain to cover the shaking in her shoulders.

"Great, just great!" Myka shouted as the heavens opened up, a deluge of water now soaking them. "Fucking great," she snarled as she tried to light the now soaked cigarette as she spun away from Helena. Her shoulders slumping as she tried to ward off the rain.

"My place is just a hop and a skip …" Helena was now saying as she took off her coat, holding it over the best she could of the taller woman.

"I will never set foot in any place that you have fucked someone," Myka snarled as she turned, a studded of step now causing her to lean under the makeshift shelter Helena was desperately trying to provide with the crude attempt of her jacket.

"Then lead me to the Lions' den," Helena sighed. "I deserve every comeuppance,"

Myka frowned at the soaked fag in her hand, tossing it away in disgust as she started to walk back to her rented car.

"You know Helena?" Myka started to say, her hand coming up to wipe away the rain that clouded her eyes, her curls sticking to her neck as she slid her hand around, flicking her fingers of the water off them.

"Yes, Darling?" Helena whispered, not daring to gaze upon those wet, rain soaked fingers as Myka shucked off the precipitation staining her face.

"Stop …"

Helena watching as Myka raised her forehand, pressing her palm against her rain- soaked forehead. "Stop calling me that if you truly do not mean It." the rain drops becoming muddled with the stream of tears that ran down Myka's cheeks.

"May I?" Helena offered as she held the passenger door open for the younger woman.

"You may," Myka replying in a hushed tone, turning her face as she sat into the big SUV, her head turned as she wiped harshly against her nose with the back of her hand. She stayed silent, her eyes side-ways as she watched the older woman slip into the driver's seat of the rental.

"Assuming you have taken on the thrift ways of Artie, may I assume you are booked at the motel down the street?" Helena stated, more than asking as she drove them down the road.

"Maybe," Myka sniffing into her shirt sleeve as she dragged it across her face.

"The Hilton has me on file," Helena said in a nonchalant voice as she turned the corner.

"Of course they do, nothing but the best for the great HG Wells," Myka sniffed, her shoulders squaring as she sat up in the seat of the black SUV she had rented.

"You think me that shallow?" Helena's tone trying to mask the lace of disgust in her voice as she put the big gas guzzler in park in front of the door of room 13.

"Helena, I am in no mood," Myka sighed, huffing as her fingers tangled in the wet curls. Her eyes lifting to the numbered room before them. "You really think I am that shallow?"

"Meaning?" Helena asked as she tried to speed around to the passenger door, a frown forming as Myka opened her own door without the pomp of the Victorian grasping for the handle.

"Here, Wells." Myka saying as she tossed the room key to the woman next to her. "Seven was always a lucky number," Myka smirked. The flood of the almost kiss in that small, cheap hotel did not escape the two women as Helena smiled, her hand reaching up for the tossed key.

"And if I had known?" Helena smirked as she turned the lock, her head bowing as she held the door open for Myka to enter.

"Too bad you were using me," Myka whispered as she bee-lined for the bathroom.

"Which I shall regret till the end of days," Helena whispered, allowing her eyes to wander to the sway of hips that past her.

"I heard that, Wells," Myka saying as she tossed the wet, rain soaked shirt out the door of the small bathroom. "Mini bar is on me," Helena smiling as she ducked away from the tossed shirt.

"Gin or that smoky whiskey you were so fond of?" Helena was asking as she put the plastic cups on top of the fridge. Her fingers toying with the small bottles as she scanned the mini bar.

"Surprise me," Myka's voice drifting out of the crack of the bathroom door. Smirking to herself as she scrubbed over her arms. Knowing full well Helena had heard every word. "Wells?" Myka was asking, knowing full well Helena hated when Myka used her last name.

"Yes, my Darling?" Helena putting full on that old British accent she knew Myka detested, her green eyes rolling in disgust as Helena laid it on thick in their days of early snag, bag and tag.

"Can I help it if you Yanks cream at the accent?" Helena would shrug as they made their way back to the warehouse.

"Not all of us Yanks," Helena smirking as it was the best retort her young American would reply. Her fondness for the young woman growing, her detest at herself for using Myka knowing no bounds.

"If you only really knew," Helena would play as her retort in her head at the agent's remark, knowing full well if she just read any book, Myka would be putty in her hands. She, Helena George Wells, would melt at the touch of those long hands on any exposed part of her skin.

"Part of me despises you," Myka was remarking as she swung the door to the bathroom open, never flinching as it bounced off the cheap drywall. Her smile spreading as she watched Helena jump up from the mini bar, her hands shaking with their libations as she gritted her teeth. Trying her best to ignore the soft squeeze of the dirty carpet under her bare feet. Paying extra mind to sway her towel clad hips as she crossed the room.

Myka was hell bent on making Helena regret her choices, for pushing her aside in favor of that white bread family she thought she was found in Boone. Never mind the thought of Giselle, of whatever that Blonde's name was in New York.

She wanted Helena to regret every lost second they could have shared together.