Trust
Bering and Wells - Who even knows anymore. I just-gah-can't function with these two. And all the feels. Everywhere. And apples. Dying. Totes.
Day 9 - Looking Into Each Other's Eyes
You are trapped, frozen in place, wracked with indecision, when you hear Mrs. Frederic's voice playing through a conversation from months ago.
"You remember Isabel?"
"Isabel?"
"Your brother's first wife."
Your eyes light up in understanding. "That's why I'm here?"
"Well, yes," she'd looked uncomfortably at Peter's mother, the regent in charge of this case. "It appears she means to take over the Warehouse."
"Wait," you raise a hand in consternation. "We're talking about Isabel. Charles' Isabel." You do not say your Isabel, because although she was married to your brother, she spent more nights in your bed than in his. "A woman whom I would assume died at least fifty years ago." Neither older woman meets your confused gaze. "Didn't she?"
"Not exactly," Mrs. Lattimer says slowly. "She found an artifact. The original manuscript of Washington Irving's Rip Van Winkle to be exact."
"Rip Van Winkle."
"Yes, the story-"
"I know the story," you hiss. "So you're saying she found the book and used it to take an extremely long nap which just so happened to end now?"
"About six months ago, we suspect."
"We were hoping you might be able to provide some insight into her motivation," Mrs. Frederic's tone was ice.
"Does she know about me?"
"We believe she does, yes. And that you're involved with the Warehouse. But not it's location. We cannot find any records on her from Warehouse 12 and we are curious as to how she found out about it in the first place."
You twist the ring around your finger anxiously. "My fault," you admit easily. "Charles and Isabel married because he needed a wife to act as mother to-" you gulp, but your voice does not shake on her name, "to Christina. In actuality however, he thought he was simply doing another favor by providing the two of us with the perfect cover for our, um, love affair." Mrs. Frederic's raised eyebrow and the regent's conspicuous cough cause you to flush. "We shared an infinity for the strange and wondrous. We were both fascinated with the thought of time travel." You sigh. "I told her about Warehouse 12. At the time, I was under the impression that she would end up being my "one." I was…sorely…mistaken. It turned out that she was merely using me to get close to the artifacts. Yet, after she and Charles divorced, she continued to entertain some type of disillusionment concerning our relationship. She played the part of jealous lover quite well."
"I see," Jane murmured softly. "Well," she looked to the impenetrable woman beside her. "We'll have to ask for as much information as you can recall."
"Of course," you bowed your head in agreement.
"And, unfortunately, we have received information alerting us that you are, after the Warehouse, number 2 on her to-do list. You see the position we're in. If she finds you, she will have access to someone with extremely delicate information."
You feel your face fall. "Hiding." It is not a question.
"Only until we can track her down. And there is to be no contact with any of the other agents at the Warehouse. At this point, we aren't sure what her intelligence is, or if she even knows the identities of the others. We'd like to keep it that way. Any ties with you must be severed." Her tone is business-like and controlled, but there is a hint of sympathy in her eyes, so much like her son's.
You nod as if the news does not feel like a punch to the gut. No contact. For an indefinite period. She's going to hate you. You ache for her already.
"Come out, come out where you are!" she shrieks, cackling manically. She sounds crazier than you ever did. "We've got all your little friends, darling. You really must come out to play. Oh, and leave the Tesla behind, love. Guns were never really your strong suit."
You tighten your grasp on the weapon in defiance, and lean back against the wall. This wasn't supposed to happen. The Warehouse 13 crew wasn't supposed to be following this lead; you were. And they certainly weren't all meant to have followed Isabel into the old regents' lair in London, looking for anything that might help her break into the current Warehouse. And they definitely, most definitely, were not supposed to get caught.
You can just see Pete from your position hiding around the corner. He's been locked in some sort of dastardly looking chokehold by two of Isabel's goons. He is struggling though, even as his face turns purple. You know Artie, Claudia and Steve are all being held in similar fashions. And you know, simply by the way your heart is pounding too loudly in your ears and your stomach feels as though it's gone on holiday over the white cliffs of Dover that some ugly, stupid lout of man has his hands on her. It makes you want to be sick.
You'd arrived too late. The interrogation has already begun. There is the sound of fist on flesh and the muffled scream that trails off into a whimper. "Don't you touch her," Pete's voice is hoarse. "Don't you tou-" he is cut off. You hold down the bile that rises in your throat. They're hurting her and you are powerless. After all this time.
"Really, Helena. I didn't expect us to have to play this ridiculous child's game. I just want to talk. I missed you," you practically hear her pout.
Taking a deep breath, you drop the Tesla and wait until the clatter it makes as it hits the cement ground echoes off into the tense air, and then, hands tucked resolutely in your pockets, you stroll around the corner. "Isabel. What a wonderful surprise!" You make sure not to glance away from her. You resist the urge to run your eyes along Myka, to take stock of the darkening beneath her left eye, the welts along her cheek, to rush to her and remove the hand clamped tightly enough around her upper arm that it is sure to bruise. To kiss her. Most of all, you resist the desire to do that. Because it will be only worse for her if Isabel finds out you harbor some type of emotion towards her. But you have not laid eyes on her in months, and you can feel a strange fullness beneath your rib cage that has appeared with your proximity to her.
She claps her hands together in assumed delight. You try not to gag. One of her goons comes up behind you and puts a hand on your arm, but you have him on his back in seconds. Apparently people have lost the art of hand-to-hand combat in this day and age. There is the click of a safety and then the cold metal of a barrel makes its presence known against the back of your neck. You freeze.
But Isabel waves her hand airily as she approaches. The man steps back warily, and you stand from your crouched position, careful not to make any sudden movements. You glance around as you do so, trying to memorize the layout of the room, the other agents. You do not rest for more than half a second on her face. Her eyes are shadowed, hidden beneath her hair, a grimace of pain clear on her face. You force yourself to look away.
"Helena and I go way back," Isabel is telling the room at large. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered you had managed to make your way into this century as well," she grins at you, reaching out to trail a blood red fingernail along your cheek. You stiffen. "I was so hoping we might meet up quite a bit sooner than this, and in somewhat more acceptable conditions," she sniffs.
"HG!" Pete's voice is muffled and strained. "You know this crazy bitch!"
"Know," she giggles. "Oh yes. Helena and I certainly know each other well. Don't we, dear?" She leans forward and kisses your cheek, dragging her tongue down and along your jawline.
The agent makes a disgusted sound, which morphs into a gasp of pain when his captors twist his arm tighter behind him.
You can feel Artie glaring at you. Probably wondering if this was another one of your dastardly plots all along. But Claudia and Steve are both staring daggers at Isabel.. You feel a sudden rush of warmth to have gained their trust, however much you don't deserve it. When your eyes meet hers, there is surprise there, and hurt. She didn't know. You wish to be anywhere else at this moment.
"What are you doing here, Iz?" you ask from between gritted teeth.
"Isn't obvious? I'm taking over these silly children's playhouse. All those artifacts. All that knowledge."
"Knowledge," you scoff. "Don't you mean money?"
"Well, yes, that, too," she admits nonchalantly. "We were in the process of gathering information from your, friends," she says the word distastefully as though it is sour on her tongue.
"By gathering information, you mean torturing."
"I wouldn't go that far," she pouts. "Henry here was just working on this little beauty," she meanders closer to Myka. You feel your hands curl into fists against your side as the Victorian women smirks at the brunette. "She's being a bit," she bites her lower lip, "difficult."
On the pretext of studying her prisoner, you walk up to stand beside Isabel. She makes your skin crawl. "So it appears that we're at a bit of a cross roads, darling," she murmurs.
"What's that?" Your brain is spinning rapidly, trying to come up with a plan. How you might possibly get them out of this situation.
"I was under the impression that you, too, desired the downfall of the Warehouse, back in London. And I was…hoping…that might still be the case. That we might do this, together," seductive, like a snake.
It's a trick question, you think. Except that Jane said Isabel was not aware of your complete role within the Warehouse. She knows you work there, but she also knows about Yellowstone. And, it's true. The HG Wells she knew from before desired nothing more than complete and total destruction. The two of you always complemented each other well, and after your daughter's death, when you tipped from the shallow to the deep end before you understood what you were doing, before you realized your feet had left solid ground, Isabel had sought you out. She'd promised you possibility. Chaos. You'd turned her away at the time, intent on taking your own vengeance. But, times have changed and perhaps she is not in command of all the information.
"Helena," her voice is dangerous, dripping with poison.
There is a flutter of movement in your peripheral vision. You see Steve nod just slightly at you.
"I-" you lick you lips. And then you look at Myka, actually looking at her. Meeting her gaze directly for the first time since you've entered the scene. The man holding Myka jerks her head back so she is staring straight up at you. Her green eyes are wide, terrified, but trusting. Trusting. Oh, God. What have you done? You nod. Once. Still looking at the woman prostrate before you, beautiful and fragile, strong and sweet. The most wonderful woman you have ever met.
Please, you beg. Please, understand.
You feel the cool handle of a knife, solid and flexible slide into your hand. Isabel runs her cold fingers up your arm. "Oh, this is going to be so much fun," she coos. She always did have a funny habit of believing you.
Myka's eyes flick down towards the knife and back to you, the expression reflected there morphing to one of confusion, to fear, and settling on stony acceptance. The trust has disappeared faster than you can blink. What a funny, breakable thing. Trust. Years to earn. Ripped away in a smattering of heartbeats.
Forgive me.
"HG! No!" Pete yells from behind you.
But, you see Steve nod again. And Claudia's understanding expression has not changed, which means she knows.
I love you. Please. Forgive me, it is a fool's hope. She looks away, her face a mask of disgust. She is not struggling against the hands on her. And the agony that is tearing you apart, vein by vein, cell by cell is the worst pain you have ever experienced.
"Darling," Isabel encourages you sweetly, her hand coming to rest on your waist.
You muster a smirk. "Of course," you say. "Ready?" You step forward, as though to get a better angle.
"Yes," her voice is breathy. Excited. You feel the air on your neck.
You shift your hold on the blade until it's comfortable. You wait: one beat, two beats, three, and then those forest green eyes glance up at you once more, daring you. I love you.
"Oh, first!" you say, as though you'd nearly forgotten. And you spin, pressing your lips to Isabel's tightly, closing your eyes so you do not have to see her face. Before she has time to smile into the kiss, you're plunging the knife into her stomach, she is collapsing into you, and Steve is moving, and everything is chaos.
