Chapter eleven
Notes: Again, sorry for the delay! We're getting close to the big climactic action, so I'll try to post a bit more regularly from here on in. Thanks again for reading and a special thanks to everyone that has reviewed the story. I really enjoy hearing what you all think.
Helena sat perched on the edge of the tub, trying to calm herself down. Though it had happened just a minute ago, she could hardly believe she had lost control so spectacularly. She was now attempting to take a deep breath, but it kept catching in her throat before filling her lungs. The result was ugly and pathetic; she felt like a child after a temper tantrum.
After several more attempts she was finally able to catch her breath, though it still came in shaky half-sobs. She wiped angrily at her eyes, frustrated that she was seemingly unable to control her own body, and stepped over to the sink.
Seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror almost set her off on another crying jag; she looked absolutely horrible. She had trouble recognizing her own eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot as they were.
Helena sighed. She felt hollow, emotionally and physically. The lack of sleep she had gotten during Myka's bedside vigil the night before was clearly catching up with her. Actually, if she was honest with herself, she hadn't been sleeping well for months. Not since Myka and Pete had come to Wisconsin and reminded her of the endless wonder she had left behind.
Oh, Myka, she thought, absently registering pleasure that she could finally inhale deeply without incident. The woman was clearly her Achilles' heel. Helena George Wells certainly did not normally cry over women. She especially did not cry over women with whom she was not romantically involved.
Though, she had to begrudgingly admit, her and Myka's accord did always tend to defy labels. In many ways, probably all the important ways, what she had with Myka was the most raw and romantic relationship of her life. It was all tragically unspoken and unconsummated, of course, but real nonetheless.
She supposed she could shoulder just as much of the blame as Myka for that particular fact. Where the younger woman had always been cautious and somewhat defensive, she had been a shameless flirt. It had been so much easier to be cavalier with her feelings than to truly acknowledge and understand the depths of them.
And now here she was, the sodding Father of Science Fiction, a red-faced mess of a woman hiding in a bathroom. She had all but confessed her love back there and, now that she had calmed down, was feeling thoroughly embarrassed. She had a fleeting hope that perhaps Myka hadn't read too deeply into what she had said.
Of course, what she had said had actually been brutally honest. She had little desire to continue living in this world if Myka was gone. To that end, Helena had no doubt in her mind that she would be implementing Mary Mallon's butcher knife today. And while she certainly hoped the other woman would now agree easily to her plan, she knew Myka's stubborn streak all too well to expect it.
/
Myka's face was red. Too red. Pete was getting increasingly anxious that his partner might pass out or pull her stitches or do something equally bad that he had no idea how to fix.
"Mykes, I'm gonna get Dr. Vanessa, okay?"
"No," she sort of coughed, her eyes wide, "please, I don't want anyone else to come in."
"Alright, well," he slid onto the bed, grabbing her hand, "in that case, you really have to keep breathing." She nodded and squeezed his hand, trying to catch her breath.
Pete stared at her while her eyes were downcast. Whatever happened between Myka and H.G. in his absence had been… intense. Well, he thought, most things between those two seemed to be intense, but this had to be a new high. Maybe he should've stuck around- or, at least, listened at the door. He had no idea what to do or say to help the woman and it was terrible. He would usually try for a joke to lighten the mood, but she seemed beyond that.
"Can you tell me what's wrong?" Pete asked as gingerly as he could. Myka just sort of shrugged and hiccupped.
"I don't know," she mumbled between sniffles.
"Oh, come on," he tried to shoot her a grin, "there are very few things that you don't know. Which, come to think of it, is a fact you usually love to remind me of."
"Pete," she began half-heartedly.
"Alright, alright," he quickly surrendered, "I was kidding. You know you don't have to tell me anything, Mykes. We can sit here and not talk, if that's what you want. Just try to calm down, okay?" She nodded and wiped her eyes.
"There's just a lot going on," she told him quietly after a few moments. Pete simply nodded, hoping she would elaborate.
"I- I'm worried about Claudia," Myka continued, not meeting Pete's eyes, "we don't even know how she's doing in there." Pete frowned; that hadn't been the response he was expecting.
"Well, yeah, that's true," he countered, "but I think it's pretty safe to assume Paracelsus isn't going to do anything to her until H.G. gets back." At the mention of the other woman's name, Myka's eyes squeezed shut tightly, a tear slipping down her cheek.
"Myka," Pete said in the softest voice he possibly could, "what did you and she talk about?"
In response, Myka simply bit her lip and shook her head slightly. Pete inched closer.
"I'm really not trying to push you," he told her, "but, Mykes, come on. I can't stand to see you like this. Since the moment you told me you had cancer, I've felt nothing but useless. And you- you're my best friend and I love you so much, but I haven't been able to do anything. So, can you let me do something? Can you just tell me that I need to go find H.G. and- and bring her back here? Or tell me to punch her? Or- I don't know, Mykes, I need some help from your end. All I know is you're sick- you're dying- and she wants to save you. Can't you please let her save you?" Pete was fighting back tears, his voice catching by the end of his impromptu monologue.
"And how am I supposed to do that, Pete?" Myka asked, her voice wavering, "How can I let her just take this disease and put it into her body? Knowing how many ways things could go wrong, how could I do that? It's basically a suicide mission." Pete shifted on the bed so he could bend over and hug his crying partner tightly.
"It's dangerous, sure," he whispered, "but, suicide? No way." He pulled away so he could maintain eye contact while he spoke to her.
"H.G. Wells is, like, the most capable woman I've ever met- besides you and Claud, of course. When she puts her mind to something, I would be willing to bet my life savings that she's gonna succeed at it. And then, if we throw you into the equation? It's a done deal." Myka shook her head and opened her mouth to argue, but Pete cut her off.
"Nope, don't even try to deny that. You know I'm right," he paused, taking a deep breath. The next thing he was going to say was a gamble. He thought his partner needed to hear it, but he had no idea how she would react.
"Myka, you love her, don't you? You're in love with H.G.?" Her lip quivered almost imperceptibly as she closed her eyes tightly.
"You don't have to say anything," he added quickly, "I just brought it up because, well- I don't know what I'm trying to say, exactly. Just that you and me? We're partners and we're close and- and I would do anything for you, Mykes. If I could be the one to take your cancer, I would do it, too. I'd do it in a heartbeat. But you and H.G? It's different, you know? And I used to be, I don't know, kind of jealous of her, I guess. I'm over it now, but, the point is, you guys have this sort of untouchable thing. So, I think if you asked her, if you told her to come back safely, she would do it. There would be nothing that could stand in her way of coming back. For you." Pete anxiously waited for any kind of reaction from Myka, but she simply laid there with her eyes closed, a few tears following well laid tracks down her cheeks.
"I asked her to come back once," she whispered finally, "and she didn't." Pete frowned; he wasn't sure how to respond to that. Sure, H.G. had royally fucked that situation up, but she was here now. Wasn't that what mattered?
"Pete," Myka sighed before he could figure out what to say, "I just need to be alone for a little while. Is that okay? I need to, I need to think."
"Okay, Mykes," he said simply, squeezing her hand with finality as he stood up, "but humor me and let me give you one piece of advice?"
Myka raised an eyebrow in response.
"Don't think so much. I know things were messy sometimes, but your instincts have always been right on about Helena. You should trust them."
Myka's face tightened and Pete could tell that she was trying to keep her emotions under control.
"Thanks, Pete," Myka managed after a few moments. He nodded and walked to the door.
"Jinksy should be here in about 20 minutes. I'll do my best to keep everyone away for at least 10 or 15." If possible, Pete's heart broke even more at the sight of Myka looking so small and broken and on the bed.
/
"Thank you, Abigail," Mrs. Frederick smiled tightly as the other woman placed a cup of tea in front of her.
"Of course, Irene. Mr. Kosan, Artie, you're sure you don't want anything?" She questioned the two men at the table.
"No, thank you, Ms. Cho," Mr. Kosan said warmly. Artie merely waved his arms which, she supposed, meant he didn't want anything either.
Abigail hovered awkwardly for a moment, nodding, unsure of her place.
"Please," Mrs. Frederick said suddenly, "join us." Abigail shot her a grateful smile before pulling out a chair and sitting down with her own mug.
"Now," Mr. Kosan began, his tone all business, "what should we do about this Wells situation? It does seem like an unnecessarily risky plan."
"It certainly does" Artie chimed in.
"However," he continued, looking to Artie, "I have to say that I'm inclined to allow her to go through with it."
"Mr. Kosan," Artie sputtered, "I don't understand. We absolutely cannot risk that- not only does it put Helena in danger, but it could very well leave Claudia hanging out to dry."
"Not if she succeeds, Arthur," Mrs. Frederick replied.
"If, Mrs. Frederick, a big if," Artie was already starting to get worked up, "An if that I don't believe is worth the risk."
"Agent Nielsen, correct me if I'm wrong, but Ms. Wells does not seem to me to be a person who takes no for an answer easily. Is she?" Mr. Kosan asked.
"Well, no," Artie agreed, "but that doesn't mean we should allow her to act on her every whim!"
"Thats true, but I find myself believing that she will have more success with a plan she is 100% committed to, even if it is more risky," the soft-spoken man continued, "She seems rather determined to help Agent Bering."
"Exactly!" Artie pointed at him, "Her emotions are clouding her decision-making skills! It's up to us to stop her from doing something stupid."
"Arthur," Mrs. Frederick began.
"Irene," he interrupted her, "she is my responsibility! And when I think back to the way I've treated her in the past... She's a good woman. I wish I had realized it sooner, but I know it now. And I won't let her die again." The table was silent for a few moments.
Abigail looked around the table at three faces lost in thought, wishing she knew the right answer. On one hand, this seemed like a perfect plan- they could save Myka and defeat Paracelsus in one fell swoop. On the other hand, if things went bad, they would go disastrously bad. All the pressure would be placed on the shoulders of a woman she barely knew.
"Artie," Abigail surprised herself by speaking up, "do you trust her?" She maintained calm eye contact as Artie opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.
"Do I? Trust... Yes, but-"
"No," she said quickly, holding up a hand, "no buts, no explanations, no qualifications. Do you trust H.G. to carry out her plan to the best of her abilities? To help Myka? To protect Claudia?"
Artie's bushy eyebrows quirked up and down as he attempted to answer her question. Finally, his face softened.
"Yeah," he said simply, "I do."
"Well, then," Mr. Kosan nodded, "I think we have our answer. As long as Agent Bering consents to this plan, we will dedicate all of our resources to helping Ms. Wells. Excuse me, I need to make a few calls." With that, he pushed his chair away from the table and swiftly exited the room.
"I'll go see if I have anything that might help Helena," Artie sighed resignedly, following Kosan out.
Abigail grinned, pleased that she had helped facilitate a decision. Her smile slipped away, however, when she noticed Irene Frederick staring at her in a way that was not entirely comforting.
"What?" She asked nervously. Mrs. Frederick lifted an eyebrow.
"Well done, Ms. Cho," she said enigmatically.
"Um, thank you?"
"How did you know what to say to Arthur?" Mrs. Frederick asked before taking a sip of her tea.
"Well, I just thought that the crux of the problem really came down to H.G. Wells and whether or not she was capable of carrying out the plan. But then I thought about the fact I don't actually know her, so I couldn't make that decision," Abigail explained.
"So you simply tried to steer Arthur to the heart of the situation?"
"Right," she agreed.
"Very well done," she repeated, "Thank you for your assistance. I believe this is the right decision."
"You're not nervous about it?"
"Make no mistake, I am always nervous when one of my agents' lives is in danger. And, yes, I do still consider Ms. Wells to be one of my agents. However, I disagree with Arthur on an important point," she confided.
"What's that?" Abigail questioned, leaning closer.
"I believe Helena's emotions will be an asset, not a deterrence," Mrs. Frederick sipped her tea with an almost impish grin.
"What's the story between them anyway?" Abigail wondered. "Did they date?" Mrs. Frederick pursed her lips.
"Their relationship is what you young people today might call," she paused, "complicated."
"Ah," Abigail nodded, "say no more."
The two women drank their tea in comfortable silence, knowing that things were about to get very hectic.