Myka Bering was on the porch this particular evening, bare feet propped against the edge of a wicker ottoman, with a first edition Dickens unfolded against her pajama-clad thighs. She figured the warehouse could go one night without The Mystery of Edwin Drood. It was an unfinished work, after all, and the only considerable downside would be a temporary compulsive need to rearrange Pete's room, which, had she not been under the artifact's influence, was something she was tempted to do anyway, considering he had yet to arrange all of his stuff that had just been shipped in. It was a win-win, really.
From Artie's desk, Claudia had quirked an eyebrow in Myka's direction as she'd tiptoed out of Artie's room clutching the old manuscript in her purple-gloved hands. She was still new to Warehouse 13, bound by the same rules (guidelines, really) as Pete and Myka, but she knew Myka couldn't resist first editions.
"You know Dickens never finished it, right?" Claudia asked, pausing from typing to swivel around.
Myka jumped, whipping her head about to find Claudia peeking over a monitor. She recovered quickly, but chastised herself for not paying attention to her surroundings. A few months into this job and already, Myka was a different agent. Better or worse, she hadn't decided. "Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it. You won't tell Artie, will you?"
"Of course not. If I tell Artie, he'll deflect and ask why I haven't flushed the gooery yet," Claudia replied with a roll of her eyes. "And now I must ask…whodunit?"
Myka smiled. "If I were a betting woman, my money would be on the uncle, John Jasper."
Claudia pretended to adjust an invisible monocle. "My dear, your deductive prowess continues to astound."
"I guess we'll never know." Myka slipped the book into a static bag before placing it in her own handbag.
"Downside?" Claudia asked conversationally as she returned to her data encryption.
"Apparently, Dickens had obsessive-compulsive disorder," Myka started, snapping off her purple gloves. "He composed this manuscript while in and out of several hotels, where, evidently, he rearranged every room he stayed in. Even left little notes telling the staff how to improve upon their tidiness. The manuscript was imbued with the energy from his repetitive behavior."
Claudia considered this. "Well, if you want to do the week's inventory after you read it, Artie just might give you a raise."
Back on the porch that evening, Myka smiled and turned a page in the old manuscript. That familiar aroma of aged lignin wafted up from the folio, before being taken up and carried on by a cool evening breeze.
"Hey," someone said from somewhere behind her.
Pete Lattimer pulled up a chair, one hand shoved in the pocket of his Marines hoodie and the other hand proffering—
"Oatmeal scotchie?" he asked, holding a plate of what could only be Leena's freshly-baked cookies. The smell was, Myka admitted, nothing short of heavenly.
"No, thanks," she replied, quiet and polite. She cleared her throat and resumed reading. Of course, she had lost her place, and it would actually be a moment before she was certain she could safely recommence, anyway.
"Right, right, sugar. I forgot," Pete said and set the plate down on the ottoman, but not before taking two cookies for himself, making a to-do of getting comfortable in his own chair. Myka heard him take a bit from his cookie, which he proceeded to chew with gusto. "Whatcha readin'?"
There was a lot about Agent Lattimer that Agent Bering was most certainly not, and that suited her just fine. But they were here for this job, paired together no less, and Dickinson couldn't do much about it, so Myka, for the first time in a long time, had to settle and accept it for what it was.
She'd be lying, however, if she said she hadn't been starting to enjoy herself. The job at the warehouse had already proved to be a fairly even division of give and take.
Hence, the Dickens manuscript in her lap. Compulsiveness wasn't such a stretch for her anyway, she thought, with a twinge of bitterness. Denver was still a fresh wound.
Pete was halfway upside-down trying to decipher the title when he caught Myka looking at him, or rather, scrutinizing the trail of oatmeal scotchie tumbling down his hoodie.
He put up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, shouldn't have bothered you, I'll just—" he trailed off as he stood, taking the plate of cookies with him.
Myka sighed and closed the manuscript. "Dickens," she said, as Pete was halfway to the porch door.
"Ooh, like A Christmas Carol?" Pete asked, interest renewed.
"Same author, different story," Myka replied, finally permitting herself to crack a small smile. It had the intended effect; Pete sat back down, replacing the plate on the ottoman, but composed himself with a bit of effort.
Myka turned slightly towards him. "It's about a guy named Edwin Drood, who's in love with a girl named Rosa Budd. But Edwin's uncle John Jasper, the choirmaster at the boarding school Rosa attends, has an eye for Miss Budd—"
"Ugh, creepy old dude," Pete interjected.
"—But so does Neville Landless, who has a twin named Helena, who are both new to Rosa's school. Edwin's betrothed to Miss Budd, but Jasper and Neville try competing for her favor because whoever marries her marries into a sizeable inheritance."
Pete gasped lightly. "Oh man, a love triangle. No, quad…quadrangle?"
Myka smiled and looked up at the night sky. She was surprised at how many stars there were. Nighttime in Washington D.C. had nothing on this.
"Yeah, so you can imagine the infighting that goes on between them," she continued. "John tries pitting Neville against Edwin and Edwin tries keeping John away from Rosa and it gets out of hand." She caught Pete's eye and found him staring, wide-eyed.
"What happened?" he asked quietly.
"Edwin goes missing. John Jasper starts a rumor that Neville killed him."
Pete leaned forward. "And…did he?"
Myka leaned forward, too, and whispered, "Nobody knows."
"Whaaaat?" Pete sat back, devastated. "Why not? I don't get why nobody finishes their stories anymore."
"Geeze, Pete, Dickens died before he could finish it," Myka chided with a smile. "Give the man a little credit, okay? It's not like he was posting chapters online and hoping for a windfall."
She laughed lightly with a shake of her head and resumed reading, leaving Pete to draw his own conclusions. She traced a few lines with her finger, scanning until she found her place. Rosa Budd was confessing, rather fearfully, to her newfound friend Helena her suspicions regarding Edwin's uncle John.
Helena, Myka read. It made her think of Helen of Troy, daughter of Zeus and Leda, the most beautiful woman in the Greek mythological world. Helena, she repeated in her head. Multiple etymologies. Possibly derived from ἑλένη, 'torch,' or the Vedic svaranā, 'the shining one,' depending on who you asked. Myka loved them all.
She sighed and made to turn another page when she realized Pete was still in his seat, only now, he was gazing up at the stars. He'd surprised her, she admitted, during one of their first nights at the bed and breakfast, when he started naming constellations. He could be a bit on the immature side sometimes, but Myka had to hand it to him; Pete really was pretty smart.
Myka looked up at the night sky with him, unable to help that sense of awe that brought goosebumps to her bare arms. She knew a few of the obvious constellations—Orion, Polaris, Ursa Major—but between the two of them, Pete was the real astronomer. She just couldn't believe she'd never seen this many stars before. Then again, she couldn't believe she was working a beyond-classified job in the Middle of Nowhere, South Dakota, either.
"It's a funny place, innit? South Dakota," Pete replied, as if Myka had just spoken aloud. "Just…big wide stretches of nothing but the ground under your feet and the wild blue yonder straight out to the horizon and nothing in between." He gestured broadly with his arms. "And it's so...quiet."
Myka smiled. He was right. "Almost like it operates on a different clock than the rest of the world."
"Exactly. But you can't even tell because there's like, no noise, y'know? There's no buildings or anything. The dinosaurs could've just died and nobody would know the difference," Pete continued, his gaze flicking from one constellation to another. "When my dad and I camped during the summer, we could look up and if we weren't looking precisely at the stars themselves, just off to the side a little, we could see a hazy, milky cluster running in this direction." Pete pointed, his finger running up and down their field of vision. "Know what it was?"
Pete glanced at her, his eyes still wide. He really could act twelve years old sometimes, but tonight, she almost envied him for it. She shook her head.
"Myka, that's the galactic core. It's right there, 27,000 light years away and nothing stands between it and you but some space and quiet. Like you could reach out and touch the stars themselves."
She found herself glancing back up at the spot Pete had indicated, squinting hard.
Pete sighed. "I haven't had this good a view in years."
They each leaned back in their seats, cookies and Dickens abandoned. It was the most refreshed Myka had felt in a long, long time. She was surprised at herself, at how she didn't really want to move, didn't want drag herself upstairs to press her suit for tomorrow or set her alarm or even go to sleep.
Maybe the warehouse could be her home. Maybe Pete could be her partner. Maybe South Dakota could make room for her after all. No, she thought. Maybe I can make room for them.
Myka, who had just returned from bringing the plate of sticky toffee pudding to the kitchen, leaned against the doorjamb of Helena's room, reassured to see that the woman was, finally, fast asleep. The sun would be up soon, and Myka was, admittedly, in desperate need of sleep (the cause of which Myka would only publicly blame her excitement and privately chalk up to activities involving the now-sleeping woman before her, but she knew she wasn't fooling anyone), but nothing seemed to refresh her more than this, the sight of the most gracefully formidable person in her world granted reprieve from the sheer weight and wonder and wildness of the untamed future of which she was now an active part.
Myka considered it all, as she ran a hand through her tangled curls: the job, her life, and the woman before her. It was different now, wasn't it? Felt like all give and no take…but that wasn't completely true. It had given her Helena, hadn't it? But it had taken her away, too.
Yet, there she was.
And that's what mattered most.
In the time since she'd started at Warehouse 13, Myka had beheld some of the most awe-inspiring sights in the world, the sort which most people would never see in a lifetime. But that night sky was the last truly breathtaking thing she'd seen. Until now.
Helena was finally home and Myka was in awe. She could finally breathe again.