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 THREE years of law school (holy crap, I'm done!) 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: I'm done with law school and on vacation, so hopefully updates will continue to be more frequent. :) Enjoy!

October 2016

"No. No, Claudia. No artifacts at my wedding."

"But they're harmless little-"

"No! And if I see an artifact, I'm having your maid of honor privileges revoked."

Claudia gives a gasp of affront and then pouts.

"Fine," she acquiesces. "Fine. But friendly reminder: we're two weeks away from the wedding and your wardrobe situation is still up in the air."

"You're HG's maid of honor; shouldn't you be worrying about what she's wearing?" Myka points out.

"Psh," Claudia dismisses, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. "HG and I already know what she is wearing."

"Claudia, this is not your wedding, you know," Leena admonishes.

Claudia shakes her head.

"HG made me maid of honor and said I could be her stand-in in all wedding planning matters."

"That's because HG wanted to get out of doing anything," Myka rolls her eyes.

"Hey, I'm probably better than having her here," Claudia defends. "She'd probably just say 'Oh, Myka, whatever you want, darling.'"

Myka laughs at Claudia's over-the-top HG impression.

"Okay, so we have the location squared away," Leena begins the checklist.

"Featherhead's finest hotel," Claudia chimes in.

"And I've got food under control. I have a connection at L'Etoile," Leena continues.

"Rehearsal, um, activities," Myka checks off. "My sister is going to kill me."

Claudia has a Cheshire grin.

"All we need is, y'know, someone to do the marrying."

"An officiant," Leena supplies.

"I believe I may be of service."

Mrs. Frederic's familiar voice is followed by sneakers pounding on the wooden floor and a gleeful exclamation of:

"Found you!"

"Yes, you did, Max. Now I'll count to thirty and find you," Mrs. Frederic says, her voice still professional but with an obvious touch of warmth.

"Okay," four-year-old Max says brightly, sprinting off in the opposite direction.

"How can you be of service, Mrs. F... rederic?" Claudia asks.

Mrs. Frederic's eyes smile.

"I was just at the county courthouse. I picked up a marriage license and made sure all of the paperwork was in order. If you are in need of an officiant, I volunteer my services."

Leena beams approvingly, and Claudia gives an excited clap.

Myka says, softly:

"You'd marry us?"

"It would be my honor. Unless you had someone else-"

"No. No one else," Myka says quickly. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Mrs. Frederic nods. "Now, if you will excuse me, I believe my thirty is up."

Mrs. Frederic walks out towards the foyer, but within a moment, back from the vicinity of the laundry room, they hear a triumphant:

"I believe I have found you, Max."

"Aw, man!"

The three women around the table exchange a smile, and then Leena brings them back to the agenda.

"Music."

"Ooh, HG thinks you should let me DJ."

Leena is skeptical. "Is this one that HG told you or one that she didn't care about so you could pick?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Going to the chapel and we're, gonna get ma-arried," Pete croons.

HG, riding shotgun, rolls her eyes. At first, she hadn't gotten the reference, but after the last month of Pete's relentless singing, she is well-acquainted.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather sit up here, Deandre?" HG calls over her shoulder to Dre in the backseat.

"No, no. Seniority, I insist," Dre counters, sharing her frustrated look. "Pete, you gonna sing that for the next two weeks, too?"

"Just getting everyone in the mood," Pete defends.

"I guess it's better than 99 Bottles of Beer," Dre says under his breath, leaning forward but to the right, so that only HG can hear him.

"Mm," she agrees.

"Are we doing the bachelorette parties on the same night?" Pete asks, actively ignoring their complaining. "I mean, then we'd have to split up. Do you know?"

"I hadn't given that particular tradition very much thought," HG answers.

"I'll talk to Claudia," Pete dismisses.

"I don't believe we're having one."

"Of course you are," Pete argues, and Dre chuckles. "Dre, tell the woman she's having her party. It is a sacred rite, celebrating your final night out as a free woman. I promised Myka strippers."

"Oh? Do tell," HG says with interest.

"There is no way you're getting away with that," Dre bursts his bubble from the backseat.

Pete deflates, hands drumming on the steering wheel.

"Yeah. It was a nice dream," he sighs.

"If you wanted to spend all of the last few days talking about the wedding," Dre notes, "you should've stayed home. They're actually doing wedding planning."

"Well, as someone whose wedding it actually is, I'll ask that we stop talking about it."

"See," Dre argues. "Even the bride doesn't want to talk about it."

"Spoil-sports."

"We will be living it in two very short weeks. I'm sure you will survive," HG offers.

"Yeah," Dre consoles. "C'mon, let's get lunch. We'll be in Univille before dinner, and you and the ladies can party plan to your heart's content."

HG chuckles. "I would ask for something a little less fried for lunch this time."

"Why does Claudia get to make all of your decisions?"

"Hmm?" Helena asks, oh-so-innocently.

"It's our wedding," Myka argues. "You don't have any opinions?"

"It's simply not my cup of tea, darling. She was excited. Besides, I thought the paperwork is what was important."

"Helena," Myka blows out a frustrated breath.

Helena puts down the book in her hand and looks up. They are five days away from "The Big Day", and Myka gets daily (or more) phone calls from both her mother and her sister. Tracy, especially, it seems, is skeptical about their small ceremony. They seem to be getting to Myka, who is certainly on edge. Adding to her tension is the fact that they haven't had a "ping" in three days, which according to Myka only increases the chance that something catastrophic will happen before they can exchange vows.

"Do you even want to get married?" Myka asks plaintively.

"Myka..."

"You should be saying yes, you know. A very excited, emphatic yes.

Myka has crossed her arms over her chest. That never ends well for Helena.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, yes. I even want to be married to you. But I can't say that I am particularly looking forward to the wedding itself."

"Why?"

"I didn't dream of a white dress, as a child. Nor flowers and beaming relatives. I told you; in my time, I didn't even believe in marriage. I am happy to show up and say my part and love, honor, and cherish you for eternity. But getting all aflutter about the big party seems... false."

"Oh." Myka's shoulders relax, hands falling to her sides.

"Before you, I was quite the rebellious, can't-be-tied-down sort, you know," Helena says, lifting herself off the bed and stepping in close to her Myka.

"You don't have to remind me," Myka says testily, avoiding her eyes.

"You're very cute when you're jealous of people long dead," Helena teases. Myka smirks and begins to meet her eyes out of the corner of hers. "They were nothing compared to you, Myka. Not worthy of my time."

"Never trust a writer with your heart. They can talk themselves out of everything," Myka complains, leaning in, pressing her forehead to Helena's. "Sorry if I'm being a little crazy."

"You are not," Helena insists. "I apologize that I'm not a more enthusiastic participant."

"I'll let this one slide. When the baby comes, though..." she trails off meaningfully, her threat unspoken and softened by the teasing glint in her eye.

Helena feels that familiar spike of emotion in her heart, three parts excitement, one part terror.

"I'll do my fair share of diaper changing. And then some," she swears.

Myka smiles, stepping further into her embrace.

"Do you know who did dream of the flowers and lace?" Helena asks into her shoulder.

"Charles?" Myka teases.

Helena laughs and then drops a kiss on her shoulder.

"Christina," she corrects.

Myka's arms tighten around her. Helena returns the embrace then steps out, hand seeking hers to squeeze out reassurance.

"I was quite appalled," Helena continues. "She loved the pageantry of it all. She'd make Charles, or the butler Mr. Jarrod, be the groom, our cook was the priest, and she the bride."

"And you?" Myka asks softly.

"Flower girl, under protest, but I could deny her nothing."

"Maybe you can give Olivia a few tips," Myka smiles.

Helena laughs. "I'm sure she'll manage beautifully. Come to bed, love."

"You're much too smooth a talker," Myka complains, allowing herself to be pulled into bed. "I was just mad at you."

Helena laughs and begins to toy with the bottom of Myka's t-shirt.

"I know, darling, but how can you stay mad at me?"

"I'm trying to figure that out."

"Well, until you do, I think that bodes quite well for our marriage."

"This is dumb," Myka says agitatedly.

"Hey," Pete says firmly, taking his eye off Max as he notices Steve has him. "It's not dumb. I told you, if you want a dress, you should have a dress."

"It's not that big of a deal. The wedding's small, and HG-"

"Nuh-huh. If you asked HG, she'd say the same thing. It's your wedding day, Mykes. You said you wanted a dress as a kid-"

"I didn't dream of a white lace dress," Myka interrupts.

"But you said-" Pete protests.

"I think my mom did. And I guess whenever I did take a second to imagine my wedding, I was wearing a dress..."

"See!" Pete cries triumphantly. "You should have that. So no whining. No excuses. We're buying a wedding dress."

Myka groans. "Okay."

Pete grins. "Okay!"

She picks a few dresses off the rack, and Pete insists on a couple others she can't fathom wearing. By then, Steve has wandered back over to them, Max on his shoulders.

"Ready to see Aunt Mykes wear a pretty dress?" Pete asks his son.

"Oh boy, I am," Steve says dryly, though he passes a warm smile at Myka as Max plays with his ears.

This is is her entourage. This is who she is shopping for a wedding dress with. It's kind of perfect.

Lucille, the kindly woman who owns the shop, is probably around 80 and 5'2", 100 lbs, if that. But she insists on wrangling the dresses into the dressing room herself, cheerfully chatting about the wedding.

Wedding questions make Myka nervous; she's painfully aware of the fact that they're in South Dakota.

"And are either of you handsome gentlemen the lucky groom?" Lucille asks sweetly.

"No!" Pete and Steve exclaim with equal fervor.

"You don't have to be so horrified about it," Myka teases them.

"Oh, of course. Sorry," Lucille says. "I should have know. I think it is just so wonderful that you two can raise a family these days. That little boy must love having his daddies around."

Myka lets out an unexpected snort of laughter as Pete's and Steve's mouths hang wide open. They are both on the little couch set up for viewings, Max seated very politely between them, oblivious.

"We're all just friends," Myka corrects gently. "Max is Pete's son."

"Oh," Lucille pulls a bit of a frown. "I'm just so excited about all these new weddings. I think we finally got it right on this whole marriage silliness."

"Then you'll like this wedding," Pete grins. "There's two brides."

Lucille beams brightly.

"Very nice! Is your lovely bride going to be coming in for her own dress?"

"I have no idea," Myka admits honestly, but she can't imagine it.

"Well, your gentlemen are eagerly awaiting you in those dresses," Lucille shoos her towards the dressing room. "Let's not keep them waiting."

The "gentlemen" appropriately 'ooh' and 'ahh' over a parade of dresses, but Myka is not particularly impressed by any of them yet. Neither is Lucille, who stares at her appraisingly in this last dress, then shakes her head.

"No, we need another direction. Give me a moment, yes?"

Myka nods as Lucille disappears into the vast maze of dresses that dominates most the tiny store.

It doesn't help that Myka feels pretty ridiculous with this whole thing, and would've call it all off if it weren't for her entourage's enthusiasm (Lucille included). She may have assumed the role of model in pursuit of Man Ray's camera all those years ago, but she still feels like an impostor in these beautiful dresses, just as she had then. It may not be a runway, but the raised dais surround by three mirrors an a couch stills puts her squarely as the center of attention.

"I think Max and I better take a walk," Steve announces, standing up and stretching. "He seems a little antsy."

Max actually has been very calm, playing with his daddy's phone and chatting happily with all involved.

"Max, huh?" Myka asks, tugging gently at the scratchy fabric of this recent "definitely no" she is stuck in while Lucille searches her collection.

"Sorry, Myka," Steve grins sheepishly. "I can only take so many dresses. We'll be back soon; we wanna see The One."

"Maximus," Pete gets the four-year-old's attention. "Phone, please. Take Uncle Steve for a walk."

"Daddy..." Max begins to whine.

"Nuh-huh. You've had enough," Pete insists, hand out.

Max gives up the fight (and the phone) and pushes himself off the couch.

"Bye, Aunt Mykes."

"You two look out for each other," Pete calls playfully after them. "Stay out of trouble."

The bell on the door jingles as Max and Steve leave.

"Maybe we should just go," Myka sighs.

"Hey, no. Lucille's got your back. We're gonna find you that dress," Pete insists firmly.

"When did you get so gung-ho about this wedding?" Myka asks, and Pete's ever-chipper demeanor slips away. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean-"

"No. You're right. I'm sorry I wasn't more excited when you told me." He sighs. "It's just... Things were the way they were for awhile, right? It felt like everyone had just gotten back into a rhythm after, you know, Max, and now everything's changing so quickly."

"Not that quickly," Myka says softly.

"It felt like it at the time," Pete admits. "And I'm, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I'm- jealous."

"Jealous?" Myka repeats incredulously, brow furrowing.

"I don't know!" Pete defends. "I just- I love Max. More than anything. And I wouldn't trade him for the world. But that's not how I expected to be a dad. I expected to find a woman I loved and ask her to marry me and decide to have a family together. I guess I've already done that first part before and screwed it up, so... it makes sense that I'd screw up the kid part, too."

"Hey," Myka says firmly. "You're not screwing anything up. You're an amazing dad. The world doesn't always work how we want. But just because you're doing it in a different order doesn't mean you can't still have everything you want."

Pete gives her a smile, boy-ish as usual but with a soft vulnerability instead of the normal exuberant charm.

"Thanks. You're right," he says. And he might be brushing her off, but she thinks that some of it, at least, has sunk in. "I am excited for you, you know."

"I know," she promises.

"You're gonna be awesome parents."

Myka smiles. A little lost in all her wedding planning and family coming stress has been the steady progress made on the baby front: doctors' appointments come and gone, a donor picked from the random line-up, a timeline in place.

"Thanks."

"Also, will you punch me if I ask your hot wife to dance?"

"No," Myka laughs, glad to see the playfulness back in Pete's face. "But watch you hands, Lattimer."

Pete grins.

"I will. Now, partner, I think it's time to get serious about finding you a wedding dress."

tbc