Title: Ours

Author: A. Windsor

Fandom: Warehouse 13

Characters: Myka Bering, HG Wells, Pete Lattimer, Max Lattimer, with supporting roles from everyone else.

Pairings: Myka/HG, Claudia/Leena if you're inclined to see it.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. My two years and a half of law school could allow me to legalese this a little more, but it also tells me it's pretty useless. So please don't sue; it's not mine, I'm just playing! And Max is mine, so please don't steal him!

Summary: Helena allows herself to want.

Author's Note: The new chapter is here, and it's over 2800 words to make up for my absence! I've started to add general dates at the beginning of chapters, since I think it makes it easier to follow along, since the pace sorta accelerates and then slows way down. So, for reference, Macsen August Lattimer was born August 7, 2012, and Ours began in February 2016.

Early May 2016

Helena has to admit that she was more prepared for no than yes, and rather unprepared for either answer at this moment, with Myka, rumpled and sleepy, in the hallway, with Max just shuffled back to bed. Of course, she'd sprung the question Myka is now answering on her in a similar situation, and she's always allowed turnabout as fair play.

"Yes?"" Helena repeats hopefully.

Myka nods. Helena smiles.

"Alright then," she takes Myka's hand and pulls her into the privacy of their own bedroom, though no one but Max is up at this hour, and when she left him, he was half a breath from the land of Nod.

"This just means that there's a million more questions to answer."

"Of course, darling," Helena agrees, shutting the door behind her.

"I mean-"

Helena cuts her off with a firm kiss to her lips.

"Not tonight."

"Yeah, you're right. Okay," Myka smiles tremulously.

"Tonight we celebrate. And then we sleep, because I believe we'll have quite the grumpy young man in our midst tomorrow."

Myka nods, hands on Helena's hips, rubbing slow circles.

"I'm still scared," she admits softly.

"As am I," Helena echoes, pressing a kiss against her neck.

"But not so scared that I don't want to try."

The shrill blast of the Farnsworth breaks her concentration.

Only an American could have invented something so patently obnoxious.

Helena rubs at the bridge of her nose and flips open the annoying little box:

"Oh, hello, darling."

"Hey," Myka gives her a small smile. "Dr. Calder is here."

"Excellent. Is she giving him a once-over?"

Max has had a fever on-and-off for two days, and halfway through the second day, Dr. Calder was called in. He's barely keeping anything down, and he's cranky and quiet. Pete is back from San Francisco and fussing over Max's every little cough and moan.

"He's getting the full work up," Myka promises. "Are you going to come back to the inn? There's no rush; Vanessa's spending the night. But I though we were going to talk to her about..."

"Of course," Helena nods. "If I may have just an hour or so more? I'm rather in the middle of something and-"

"Take your time," Myka interrupts, and Helena once again marvels at how she found someone so very understanding of her mad scientist tendencies. "You just wanted to know when she got here."

"Yes, thank you, very much. I'll be along soon. How is Max feeling?"

"The same, except loving the attention."

"His father's son."

"I'll see you soon," Myka promises as she moves to switch off the Farnsworth.

Helena smiles as her image flickers away, and then she returns her attention to the calculations in front of her.

"Ah, yes. This should produce just the right amount of thrust. I hope."

"And then he puked all over him," Claudia is guffawing, smacking Artie on the shoulder.

On Artie's other side, Vanessa pats his shoulder soothingly.

"You were a great sport," she praises.

"Yeah, sure," Artie grumbles.

"Aw, no, you were. Gramps is good to his Maxy," Claudia ratifies. "But oh man, HG. I wish you an' Leena had been here. His face was classic."

The protagonist of this story is currently snoring against his father's chest, having fallen asleep there halfway through dinner, his almost four ("three-and-three-quarters!")-year-old frame curled up in Pete's warm embrace.

"He's been feeling better ever since," Pete finishes the story.

"Ah, so that's the magical cure, then," HG grins. "I'll keep it in mind."

"Don't you dare," Artie throws at her.

Dinner is winding down: coffee and tea are on the table, and dessert has long since been decimated. The whole team, plus Vanessa, is home tonight, and the meal has been a happily unhurried affair, as evidenced by the way little Max couldn't stick it out to the end, even with all of that attention.

"I should get him up to bed," Pete says, struggling to get a firm enough grip to stand without waking Max.

"Let me help," HG insists, standing and scooping the toddler into her arms. It will not be much longer that she can easily do that.

"Anyone else?" Pete asks lightly. "Tuck in party at Maxy's."

There's a good-natured round of laughter and eye rolls around the table, and Myka shoos them both.

"Hurry back or I'll finish your tea," she warns HG.

"Ooh, trouble in paradise," Pete teases. "Them's fightin' words."

He gets a napkin thrown at him for his troubles.

"You do bring out the violent side in her," HG notes dryly as they head for the stairs, Max balanced against her shoulder.

"It's 'cause I'm so charming.," he counters.

"Oh, I'm positive that's it. Full of charms you are, Mr. Lattimer."

"Don't forget it, Wells."

They reach Max's bedroom and perform a well-practiced balancing act to change and tuck in the boy without waking him. After the last few days, he needs as much rest as he can muster. Once Max's safely under the covers, Pete feels his forehead and nods approvingly, giving HG a thumbs up.

With that, they begin to creep out of the room undetected (the most difficult part of their undertaking). Before she can make it to the doorway, however, HG is stopped by Pete's insistent stage whisper:

"Wait. Where's Pooh?"

HG scans the floor quickly for their target. Leaving Max without his beloved stuffed animal is basically begging for a disaster. She finds Mr. Winnie-the-Pooh a few paces away and tosses him across the room to where Pete stands by the bed. Pete catches the silly old bear and, with lightning speed, inserts him into Max's arms.

The intrusion leads Max to whine and snuggle in his sleep. Pete and HG freeze in place, Pete comically mid-step. Max just pulls Pooh closer, though, and settles back down. With relief, the two make their escape.

"That was close," Pete says once they are outside the door.

"I was reminded very much of that one time in Istanbul," HG says wryly.

"Hey, I though we weren't going to talk about that."

"Not a word, Peter," HG says with a devilish grin.

"You didn't tell Myka, did you?" Pete asks as they make their way back downstairs.

"Are you insane? There's as much peril in the Istanbul story for me as there is for you."

"True," Pete agrees. "Our little secret."

With a full house of naturally nosy Warehouse agents, it takes a while for the two of them to subtly get a moment alone with Vanessa. In fact, it isn't until right as everyone is headed up to bed that they can pull her aside.

"Sorry to keep you," Myka apologizes.

"And for pulling me into the laundry room?" Vanessa asks, clearly amused by her shanghai-ing.

"Yes, sorry for that," HG agrees. "It's surprisingly one of the only places here one can avoid eavesdroppers."

"Intentional or otherwise," Myka adds.

"Well, you've got me. What is it?"

"We would like to make an appointment. Somewhere a little more confidential," HG starts.

"Of course. Is everything okay?" Vanessa asks, brow furrowed with worry.

"Hopefully," Myka smiles nervously. "We want to have a baby."

"Oh!" Vanessa beams. "That's wonderful!"

"We haven't told any-" HG says.

"Yes, of course, perfectly confidential," Vanessa promises. "Let me read up a little, then we'll make an appointment. Early next week? I'm coming back here midweek, but perhaps we can sneak away to Featherhead a day early? I'll be in touch. Congratulations."

"Save those for later. This is just... preliminary," Myka says.

"Got it," Vanessa nods. "Well then. We'll get started."

She's enjoying the finally warmer weather and her rather large stack of reading material out on the front porch when Max comes barreling up from the dusty driveway, backpack bouncing behind him.

"Aunt Mykes!"

"Hey, monster!"

He jumps and trips up the stairs, slamming happily into her side.

"Whoa, hey there, be careful," Myka say gently. "Are you okay?"

"Yep!" Max beams, stubby fingers playing at the watch on her wrist.

"Where's Uncle Steve?" Myka asks. She instinctively moves to brush his hair from his forehead, but Pete took him yesterday to get it buzzed for the summer, even though it's still early in May. Instead, she leans forward and kisses his forehead, grateful he's feeling so much better. His stomach flu knocked him out for most of the previous week.

"He's comin'."

Just then, Steve comes up from the driveway, looking a little harried.

"Thanks for picking him up," Myka smiles.

"No worries. Did you and HG get whatever you were looking for in Featherhead?"

"You know, I think so. Sorry for the change in plans."

"It's the Warehouse; last minute errands always happen."

"We went to the park," Max says. "After school."

"Ooh fun," Myka says to the little one, tickling his sides.

"Definitely," Steve grins, fishing in his pocket. "Oh, here's the GPS. Tell Claudia or HG that they'll need to fix it; it fell out of his shoe on the playground. As nice as it was to see Graham, it's probably best to keep the SWAT-style raids to a minimum."

"They didn't."

"They're very well trained. GPS comes off, they're there in a flash," Steve says.

"Oh no. There weren't other kids there, were there?"

"No, we were clear. Max thought it was awesome."

"He always does," Myka sighs. "Did you tell Graham to stand down?"

"Yeah, and he told me to tell the technogeeks to stop with the false alarms."

Myka snorts. "I'll pass that along. How do I know you didn't pull out the chip just to see your favorite man in uniform?"

"Watch it, Bering."

Max has been "chipped" for a couple years now, and Myka idly wonders if her child will have a GPS chip in its swaddling blanket. Knowing Helena...

"Where's Daddy?" Max asks.

"He's at work with Dre. He'll be home any minute now."

"Okay. Play trucks with me?" Max pleads, turning his big brown eyes up at her.

"Try again," she prompts, gathering her reading, making sure the Warehouse files cover up the material they brought home from their visit with Vanessa.

"Please play trucks?" he says obediently.

"Sure. Let's go. I get to be the orange truck."

"Okay," Max agrees reluctantly. "We take turns."

Helena wanders up the stairs a little after eight. Myka has already headed up for the night, but Helena was caught up with Claudia trying to get one little GPS chip to stay in a toddler's sneaker. The option of inserting the chip directly into Macsen has been bandied about, but so far resolutely rejected. Helena herself can see both sides of the argument, and she wonders which side she'll come down on when she holds her own child in her arms. Again.

(She also wonders what she would have decided with Christina, but the times were different, the dangers were different, and a GPS locator would not have saved her darling girl, so she finds it best not to dwell on it.)

Upstairs in the hall, Helena smirks as she hears Pete's over-dramatic bedtime storytelling and Max's vibrant giggles, wondering how Max ever sleeps after such adventures. She's been charged with telling too exciting bedtime stories herself, and she's glad she won't be to blame this time.

When she enters their bedroom, she finds Myka already in her pajamas, tucked into the chair in the corner, knees drawn up underneath her. Helena would tease her about the early hour, but the day has been quite exhausting, and Myka has been contemplative since their visit with Dr. Calder, save for the moment she found her playing monster trucks with Max in the living room. (Her Myka has a fondness for pretending to crush toy cars.)

"Did you figure out the shoe problem?" Myka asks as Helena squeeze onto the chair next to her.

"The GPS problem or the outgrows them every two months problem? The former, yes. The latter, I'm afraid, is a necessary fact of life."

Myka smiles.

"Claudia and Pete just use it as an excuse to get different characters on the shoes."

"Yes, Claudia promised me we could watch Toy Story tomorrow night, so that I can be more familiar with this Buzz Lightyear fellow. She seemed rather giddy at the prospect."

"It's a great movie. I'm surprised you haven't seen it yet."

"I believe I shall have Claudia accelerate my cultural education in the coming months. The better to raise a twenty-first century American child," Helena teases, and Myka laughs.

"Claud'll be happy to help. You haven't told-"

"No, not yet. Not beyond our initial conversation."

"I wish I could've seen her face during that one."

"She is still quite the prude sometimes, but she rose to the occasion admirably. Have you told Pete yet?"

"No," Myka shakes her head. "Soon. Just not yet. So, I've been thinking..."

"You do that quite a bit, I hear," Helena says, leaning close and kissing her.

After a few moments, lips slipping against each other, tongues teasing, Myka gently pushes her away, keeping a light hand at her clavicle.

"You were distracting me."

"So very sorry. Please continue," Helena grins impishly, fingers sneaking underneath the soft cotton hem of Myka's tank top.

"Well, I've been reading everything Vanessa gave us."

"Yes, you're very adorable when you're studious."

"Helena."

"Sorry. Darling, we've already talked about this. There are a multitude of reasons it makes sense for you to carry the child, and I'm fine with it as long as you are. And we'll choose from a line up of strapping young men to contribute, and that'll be that."

Helena's hand creeps higher.

"I know," Myka huffs. "This is something else."

"I'm so sorry, carry on," Helena murmurs against her neck.

Myka blows out a breath, hand steady on Helena's shoulder, and says:

"I think we should get married."

Helena freezes where she is, and Myka can feel her muscles tense under her fingers, so she lets her go, lets her escape to her own space.

"Married?"

"Yeah." Myka's prepared for this, so she's not as offended by the confusion bordering on horror that crosses Helena's face as she would have otherwise been. She's even prepared to tease her a bit, turner her earlier words back on her. "Haven't you ever thought about it?"

"Well... no," Helena admits, standing. "To be quite honest, I've never really considered marriage for myself at all. Quite the opposite, actually."

"I know."

"It was tantamount to slavery. Escaping marriage was one of my greatest accomplishments. Being tied to one puffed up man was- "

"I'm not a man," Myka points out calmly as Helena paces.

"Well, no-"

"And it's a little different these days."

"Obviously."

"It's just better. For the paperwork."

"Well, I know I'm not one for marriage, darling, but that was quite honestly one of the least romantic proposals I've ever heard," Helena says indignantly.

Myka laughs, and Helena turns on her heel, giving her a glare.

"Are you going anywhere?" is all Myka asks.

"What?"

"I mean, I assumed with a baby came forever. Otherwise we need to start this conversation back at the beginning."

"Of course," Helena nods. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"Then nothing has to change between us. I wasn't one of those girls who dreamed of white lace and wedding cake. I don't need that. But I did always think that when it came time to have a kid, I'd be married. Call me old-fashioned."

Helena smiles softly at that, relaxing a bit, finally standing still.

"And it's safer," Myka says more quietly. "It's one piece of paper that protects us as a family. So if we got married, it wouldn't change anything between us, but out there it would protect our relationship, and it would protect our child. So please. Think about it."

"Myka."

"You don't have to answer now. If you want to-"

"Okay," Helena interrupts, and it's Myka's turn to be flustered.

"Okay?"

"Well, ask properly, and then, yes," Helena says cheekily.

"Properly?" Myka laughs.

"Yes. I believe a bended knee and an actual question are in order," Helena insists, hands on her hips.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. If we're going to be old-fashioned about it, Agent Bering, I expect you to properly ask for my hand."

Myka wasn't really ready for this conversation to end like this, but Helena always does keep her on her toes.

So she complies, pushing herself out of the chair and, in her pajamas, dropping to one knees. She looks up into Helena's eyes, warm in the low lamplight, and she takes her hand.

Suddenly, this playful moment seems oh-so-serious.

"Will you marry me?"

"Well, I suppose..."

"Helena," Myka groans.

"Yes," Helena smiles, pulling her up off her knees and into her arms. "I'll let you tie me down forever, Myka. And I believe I'll even be happy about it."

tbc