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 eventually.

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 law degree (holy crap) 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 love every single person that is still reading this, so much. There are people out there reading this, right? I once again apologize profusely for the delay. Life and some hellacious writers block and the commute from hell. Also, yes, the first part of this story has an Earl of Sandwich joke.

January 2017

"No, no, no. I swore three blood oaths, and who knows what you had to do to get HG to let you come on this mission. I am doing the heavy lifting."

"Pete! I am still a person, not an invalid."

"Nuh-huh. The only reason you got to come was because it was supposed to be a simple grab. And now it's not."

"Got to?" Myka balks. "I am an active agent, not a charity case."

"Oh yeah? You already puked twice today."

"So? You puke all the time."

Pete grabs his stomach. "That is because of food, not a baby."

"I'm fine. The baby is smaller than a peanut. It's fine. And now as we're arguing, the guy is getting away."

"Sit, stay, don't make me get in trouble with the Victorian crazy lady," Pete orders, taking off at a sprint before she can further protest.

Myka considers following after, but she won't complain too much about making Pete do the grunt work of chasing down an insolent teenager. She will not, however, sit down.

A few minutes later, a breathless Pete returns with the cuffed artifact thief. He turns the teenager around and says: "Back pocket. You got something that's gonna hurt my partner in there, dude?"

"No," the culprit says sullenly.

He's so young, and Myka is inclined to believe him. She snaps her gloves into place and cautiously fishes for John Montague's lucky coin. Successful, she slips it into a neutralizer bag.

"I was just trying to make a quick buck," the kid complains.

"Yeah, well," Pete says, "Wasn't your buck."

"Can I at least get something to eat? I'm starving."

Myka grins and meets Pete's eyes: "Maybe we can get you a sandwich."

It is rare that Irene Frederic finds herself called into a meeting at Warehouse 13. Usually she is the one doing the calling. However, Arthur had reached out. And after checking her purse to make sure she had some of the sweets she liked to secret in for the youngest Lattimer, she had set off.

When she arrives in Arthur's office, Agents Lattimer, Bering, and Wells are there as well, Bering flanked by the other two and looking none too pleased with either.

Irene joins them at the table with cursory greetings, and then Arthur finally makes his usual fumbling entrance, Trailer at his heel.

"Mrs. Frederic, thanks for coming. We have, uh, what I would imagine is an unusual situation, uh-"

"Agent Bering is pregnant," Irene says matter-of-factly.

"You knew?" Artie asks.

"It's a natural progression of events," Irene notes. "And it easily explains your discomfort, Arthur." The lead Warehouse agent blushes. Irene turns her attention to Agents Wells and Bering. "Congratulations."

Myka manages a smile and a nod of thanks.

"So, you see why we needed your input. This situation presents us with a challenge that Max's arrival did not." Arthur's hyper-professionalism is doing a decent job of covering the stuttering and blushing of earlier. "And a situation I could not find any precedent for."

"Namely, a pregnant Warehouse field agent," Irene says.

"I don't think she should be in the field," Agent Lattimer speaks up for the first time, cringing and passing an apologetic look at his partner.

Agent Bering is indignant but unsurprised.

"That's ridiculous," she objects. "I'm not broken. My brain and body work fine."

"Fieldwork is dangerous," Lattimer counters. "I'm supposed to have your back. This is too much responsibility."

Myka rolls her eyes. "That's a healthy dose of paternalism."

Pete opens his mouth to object, but Arthur cuts him off.

"Children, not in front of company."

"Mrs. Frederic," Bering addresses her more calmly. "In the Secret Service, agents are put on desk duty on an individual basis, but never until at least the second trimester. I haven't even finished the first trimester. To be honest, no one but Helena and I would know if it weren't for all of us living on top of each other. Keeping me in the field is standard procedure."

"Teslas and artifacts are not standard procedure," Agent Wells finally enters the conversation, her voice more measured than Bering's or Lattimer's. "There is no way to know the effects of even the proximity of them on the baby, let alone any direct contact.

Bering softens as she looks at her wife.

"I'd be careful. Just small, easy jobs. Normal ones."

"There is no such thing. A retrieval can turn deadly in an instant. The risk is too high," Wells argues. Bering's eyes are locked on her, so she doesn't notice Lattimer nodding vehemently in agreement.

"Mrs. Frederic?" Arthur asks.

Irene considers.

As a mother herself, she understand the need to stand apart from that role, to maintain yourself as an independent person. You don't want to be seen only as a mother. It was even more difficult to accomplish all those decades ago when she became a mother, but that challenge remains today.

Of course, as a mother and the Caretaker of the Warehouse, she can certainly see it from Agent Wells's perspective as well, and that is even without the acute sensitivity that Helena must harbor on such a topic.

"Are you asking for my opinion or my direction?" Irene asks.

Arthur looks at his agents, then at her.

"Direction," he says firmly.

"Then I'm sorry, Agent Bering, but I must agree with your wife. The risk is too high. You will be put on 'desk duty' for the duration of your pregnancy."

Myka sets her jaw once and nods, resigned. Her wife and her partner have the decency to refrain from gloating in victory.

"I believe this is also a good time to inform you all of my intention to recruit an eighth agent to the Warehouse."

"That's a lot of agents," Pete comments.

"It is, but it is not even close to the full capacity of earlier eras. I'll be requiring Claudia to accompany me more often , and given the unique demands on our agents' time, I believe an additional body would serve us well."

"Deandre will be excited," Helena comments lightly.

Myka cracks a smile, and Pete laughs.

"Why would this news be of special importance to Agent Williams?"

"He's tired of being the "New Guy" for four years," Myka tells her.

"I see. Well, I'll inform you all when the new recruit is ready. If there are no more matters for me to attend to, I will head to Leena's." She glances at her watch. "I believe Max should be home by now?"

"Leena should be back with him any minute," Pete grins. "I'll give you a ride. Coming, Mykes?"

Myka glances at her wife, who answers for them. "We'll be along shortly."

"We'll come," Arthur says. "Tray."

The dog's ears perk up over on his bed.

"Let's go see Max."

That gets Trailer leaping to his feet and trotting to the umbilicus.

"Save me some lunch, Pete," Myka calls after them, and Irene is glad to see no hard feelings are evident between the two.

"You're eating for two now," Pete grins.

"Which still isn't as much as you eat," Myka says cheekily.

"Children," Arthur sighs.

"I'm sorry," Myka says as soon as they are alone, turning her chair to face Helena's. "I hear you, I do. I don't meant to scare you. I just-"

"Want to remain independent. Remain useful," Helena says.

Myka smiles. "Remain something other than barefoot and pregnant."

"We've been over this, love. It is winter in South Dakota: please wear socks."

Myka shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

"I understand that drive, Myka, I do. But the risk."

"I don't want to spend the rest of our lives calculating the risk," Myka sighs. She sees the tightening of Helena's mouth, the mount frustration, and quickly adds: "But this was too much. You're right."

"You can be quite helpful from here," Helena offers helpfully.

"Alright. But I'm not doing your paperwork. And especially not Pete's."

"Sounds fair," Helena chuckles.

"Okay."

Helena reaches over and takes her hand. "I will be overprotective on many occasions."

Myka squeezes her hand: "I know."

"This is not one of them," she says seriously.

"Yeah, I've been outvoted," Myka bite her lip. "I kinda knew I would be." She pauses. "Does that make me already a bad mom?"

"No," Helena promises. "It makes you human."

Myka makes a face.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think Artie would mind if I puked in his office?" Myka asks, voice strained.

"He'll have to deal with it," Helena grins, helping her to her feet.

February 2017

Pete loves the Warehouse. Pete loves his family. But today? He really wishes both were based somewhere, anywhere, warmer than South Dakota. Like, say, Antarctica.

He rubs his hands together as he waits for release time at Max's pre-K. Mittens would probably be warmer than his gloves, but he refuses to look like that much of a dork, even in the car pool line. So fleece-lined leather gloves it it. And a nice warm scarf Leena got him for Christmas. No hat: they mess with his hair.

"Cold enough for you?"

Pete looks up to see one of the moms of Max's classmates smiling kindly at him. Now if only he could remember her name. Or even her kid's.

"Hey!" he says, hoping the enthusiasm covers his lack of recognition. He wishes Grace was nearby. As his primary parent friend and mother of Max's BFF Derek, Grace usually saves his ass in these situations.

"Hi," the mom smiles. "You're Max's dad, right?"

"That's right."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember your name," the woman apologizes.

Pete sighs in relief.

"I'm Pete."

"Pete," she nods. "I'm Lacey's mom. Jackie."

Lacey. Pete tries to place the name, but he's drawing a blank.

"Lacey's been taking about Max a lot recently. She said he's been talking about his aunts getting married."

She says it tentatively, and Pete tries to read her. Plenty of Univille's residents have a live-and-let-live or even a welcoming attitude towards Max's gay aunts and uncle, but there are others…

"Yeah!" Pete decides to go with excitement. "Last fall. Max had a blast."

"It's just…" She meets his eyes. "We 've never had a play date at our house. It's hard to tell which parents are going to be okay with it, and I don't want to put Lacey in a harder situation. But when Lacey mentioned Max and that she told him about her moms… Yeah. I was wondering if you and Max wanted to come over some time for lunch and a play date with Lacey, my wife, and I?"

"Oh! Yes!" Pete says, finally catching on at "moms". "No, we'd love to, sure." He's not sure that Max is already friends with this Lacey, but Max is kinda friends with everyone, so he's sure his son will enjoy such an afternoon. "When?"

Jackie looks relieved. "Is next week okay? Are weekdays or weekends better for you?"

"Whichever. My work is flexible. Do you want to do next Monday?"

"Perfect. Thank you."

"Daddy!"

"Hey buddy!" Pete greets his sprinting son with an 'oof' of contact.

"Hi, Lacey's mommy."

"Hi Max," Jackie laughs.

"Maximus. We're going to Lacey's house on Monday."

"Cool! Lacey's got horses."

"She does?" Pete asks, directing the question to Max but looking at Jackie.

"She does," Jackie confirms with a grin.

"Hers is named Princess," Max tells him.

"Hey Max, did you see Lacey when you were on your way out?" Jackie asks.

"She 'n' Emma were at the end of the line," Pete's little social butterfly answers easily, grabbing his daddy's hand and dragging him towards the car.

Pete laughs and takes his leave from Jackie with a wave and a "See you Monday!".

"What are we gonna do now, Daddy?"

"I dunno, what do you want to do?"

"Bowl!"

"How do you feet about Herbert for a boy? After his mother."

That Helena looks at her in disbelief for even half a moment tells her that she sold her earnestness well. Even if it is quickly replaced by mock affront.

Myka presses on. "I hear George makes a good middle name. Boy or girl."

She's all but laughing by the end as Helena stops her puttering around the bedroom and zeros in on her. Helena's eyes narrow as she stalks toward her, and Myka grins as she leans back against the headboard, setting the baby name book onto the nightstand.

"Are you mocking me, darling?"

"Definitely."

Helena slides in beside her with a grin, and Myka shifts, laying her head in Helena's lap.

"Do you have any serious suggestions?"

"Those were serious," Myka grins.

"We'll keep looking."

"If we're going to get serious, we should settle on a last name."

"A hyphenate is a fair compromise."

"Yeah, but in what order?"

"Aha."

"Alphabetical is always easy," Myka says.

"Says she whose surname begins with B!" Helena accuses.

"They'll always be towards the front of the line in school," Myka argues.

"No offense meant, darling, but I believe Wells-Bering simply flows better," Helena says lightly, fingers burying in Myka's curls, gently massaging her scalp.

"Mm. You would."

"Perhaps a wager is in order, then?"

"We're not betting on our child's name."

"Surname," Helena corrects cheekily. "The first name should be another adventure altogether."

Myka laughs.

"What's the wager?"

"Ah. That is the question. Shall we keep it simple? Bering-Wells if they are born on an even day, Wells-Bering if they are born on an odd day?"

"That's extremely simple," Myka smiles.

"No need for competition. It seems fair."

"Alright. You really don't like George as a middle name?" Myka beams up at her wife.

"No," Helena shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. "Do you wish to pass on Ophelia?"

"No," Myka laughs. "Fair point."

"Let's table the first name conversation for the night. Unless you have a more serious suggestion than Herbert."

Myka laughs again and pushes up on her elbows to kiss Helena.

"I'll put together a list."

"Mhmm," Helena murmurs against her lops. Her hand drifts to Myka's belly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Myka answers as she settles back into Helena's lap. "Really looking forward to that second trimester energy boost, though. And the lack of morning sickness. Which is - "

"Very poorly named, yes, love. We should get some rest. It is late, and Deandre and I must leave early tomorrow for Kathmandu."

"I'm so jealous," Myka groans, shifting to her pillow while Helena shuts off the lamp and slides down the bed to spoon behind her.

"I know. I promise not to have too much fun without you."

"No, you don't."

Helena chuckles into her curls and kisses behind her ear. "No, I don't."

tbc