Sorry for the late update - t'Internet was being stupid!

Chapter Four

Eleanor watched her granddaughter closely as Helena climbed the tree-house ladder to where Catherine had hidden herself. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten and wished for the umpteenth time that she could wave a magic wand and bring Myka back to them. As she'd told Helena on her return to Colorado, she had faith that the couple would manage to find their way back to each other eventually. In the meantime though, the entire family had been torn apart in some way and there were new fires popping up every day, which the inventor was attempting to douse almost single-handedly.

Sighing again, she turned back to the kitchen to check on dinner. Rupert stood by the stove, stirring something in a large pot while Freddy watched on from a stool at the island and tried to cut carrots with one hand. His left leg, covered by a cast, lay propped on a chair and a wheelchair sat ready by the door to the hallway. One half of the teen's torso was covered with bandages, his right arm wrapped tightly against his body, and a dazed expression sat on his face as a result of the painkillers he'd been prescribed. Though a jaunty tune played from the radio, a dark cloud hovered over the room.

Up in the tree-house, HG crawled through the hatch and found her youngest child lying face down in a pile of beanbags and blankets. While her son's injuries brought to mind images of her bare hands wrapped around the neck of a faceless stranger, her baby girl's tears and confusion threw her back to an empty room in a warehouse outside of Renmark and a falsely contrite face telling her that this was necessary. She hadn't needed more incentive to want to stop Heracles' quest to take over the Warehouse but, while there had been a fair amount of obligation fuelling her motivation before, now the fight was entirely personal. She might not be the impulsive, vengeful creature that she once was, but she would not let this attack go unpunished.

Finding a space close by, Helena sat and immediately threaded her fingers through dark hair. A sniffle came from the bundle of blankets, followed by a series of muffled words. "I'm sorry, love," HG said gently. "I didn't quite catch that."

An indignant huff rose into the air before the eleven-year-old rolled onto her back. "I said – I want Mama to come home! Why isn't she here?"

"Catherine," HG sighed. "You know why, darling."

"Because she doesn't love us anymore. She doesn't remember loving us," Cat replied, her voice cracking as more tears streamed down her face. Her arm fell over her eyes to hide her misery and then she felt herself being lifted into a warm embrace. Instinctively, she twisted so that her head fell onto a welcoming shoulder.

Helena rocked the pre-teen back and forth for several minutes as she waited for the sobs to subside and to find her own voice again. When the girl's hiccoughs slowed to around one every dozenth breath, she fished a tissue from her pocket and began to wipe away the tracks of tears.

As she smudged through a fine layer of dirt, she frowned. "Catherine, your face is filthy; what have you been doing?"

"Hiding," came the scratchy reply.

"Where precisely?"

"Spyder showed me a hole in the hedge," Cat explained, her pout still prominent. "It's like Hattie's from 'Tom's Midnight Garden'."

"Does it also lead to geese and chaos?" Helena wondered lightly. She had hoped to draw a smile from the girl but only received a small shrug. "My love," she began softly but with a strong sense of conviction in what she was about to say. "Our love for you, your Mama's and mine, can never be extinguished. Myka has a temporary block on her memories, but that's only up here," she tapped her daughter's forehead to make her point and then moved her hand to press against the girl's heart. "You will always be in here."

Catherine appeared to contemplate the idea, her gaze alternating in turn between the swaying leaves of the tree outside and her mother's forlorn expression. There was a depth of sadness behind the inventor's eyes that she had never seen before and a creeping, churning unease filled her stomach and throat. She suddenly realised that her Mum, always full of energy and vibrance, was hurting. "What about you?" she blurted without forethought.

Helena frowned. "I don't comprehend your meaning."

"Are you still in Mama's heart?" she asked hopefully.

HG swallowed and smiled through a sudden prickling behind her eyes. "Yes," she answered quickly, barely needing to think about her answer. By her wife's own admission, Myka had never stopped loving her, even in the aftermath of her actions at Warehouse 2 and Yellowstone. "Myka is angry at present; she recalls some very bad decisions that I made, as if they happened yesterday, but she loves me. Of that I am sure.

"I know that life is difficult without Myka at home with us, my darling. We all must soldier on as best we can and be supportive of each other. So, do you think we can manage to do that?" Helena asked as she gently guided the girl's eyes to her own. "None of this is fair on you, Fredrick or Christina, but we are a family and if we help each other through the hard times, we will be ready to appreciate the good times when they come. As in, when your Mama decides to come home." She pushed hair behind Catherine's ear. "We want to be ready for that, don't we?"

Cat nodded eagerly, her young mind clinging to any crumb of assurance that her parent would return. She liked the idea of having a goal to work toward. "I can do that. And I can help you when you're sad, Mum. Ma said it's ok to cry 'cause it lets people know we need them. But tears are powerful, so we should be careful how we use them. Like the boy who cried wolf."

Helena smiled and shook her head. "Myka said that?" she wondered aloud. "Well, I do not know if I have much control over when I cry, but I will take her words into account." She ruffled Cat's hair and was relieved to finally see a genuine smile. "Are you ready to join the others for dinner? I fear that if we leave your brother alone for too long, he may lose a finger. I don't know about you, my darling, but I do not want to find severed phalanges in my evening meal."

Catherine pulled a face. "Yuck! I'm going to check all my carrots, just in case."

"It would probably be easier to check Fredrick's fingers to see if they're all there," the inventor suggested as they hastily packed the blankets away and descended into the garden.

"Good idea, Mum," the eleven-year-old praised the Brit, as if it was a rare occurrence. She beamed from the ground before taking off across the lawn.

"Thank you, darling," Helena murmured to herself with amusement. She followed the girl at a more reserved pace, her smile fading as she replayed their conversation. Catherine's tears had apparently been cathartic enough to pull her out of her slump, but the inventor knew that she would have to keep a close eye on the eleven-year-old. She was cautiously optimistic that they could be a family again someday, but there was no telling how long it would take before her wife was ready to see that.

Though the initial shock had been devastating, since bringing their son home from the hospital and feeling Myka's phantom presence in and around the house, that sense of loss had lessened. Artefact effects could be reversed or neutralised and she knew that the entire team would not stop until Myka had her memories back.

Then there were the offers of support that kept coming her way. Some had been surprising (Jeannie Bering's firm support over the phone), and others not so much (Pete hugging her much longer than was necessary or comfortable). But more than anything, remaining with her was the burst of love that hit her right before their connection had faded away. It was that feeling that she focussed on to get her out of bed in the morning or to hold herself together when she thought to reach out for her wife and found her absent.

As she stepped into the house, away from the last vestiges of orange from a setting sun, she hovered in the kitchen doorway and watched her family for a moment. Her mind was caught between opposing impulses: to rage and scream at the powers responsible for the cloud of grief that hung around their heads, or to be grateful for the tender smiles that passed between brother and sister, elders and youngsters, despite their circumstances.

Anger had been her go to answer to every perceived slight for a very long time, but life with her soul mate had tamed that impulse, and so had the need to be a role model for her children. So, she took a breath, and then another, letting the love-infused walls around her soak her thoughts with urges not of the murderous variety.

To get her wife back, she had to be better than the tormented and misguided woman who had betrayed her lover for the pursuit of vengeance. Myka's and their children's needs had to come before her own selfish demands, and with that realisation, she made the decision to show 'Agent Bering' that the brunette's initial instincts in trusting her had not been so misplaced after all.

Sweat dripping from her forehead, Meghan creeped past the same van that she'd escaped capture in some days before and found the unguarded passageway that she'd spotted from a window above. With no other option available, she crossed the street and began to weave a winding path through the neatly gridded streets, disappearing into the residential heart of the city.

Though looking harassed and unkempt, she was relieved to find that no eyes lingered too long on her person. How long before that luck ran out though? She dared not call anyone else; she already suspected that there was interference somewhere along the line and calling Steve had felt like a big risk. But she was trapped between a rock and a hard place and needed help. She'd made the decision now, so there was no going back. Still, it worried her that Jason had been the one to pick up her call. She didn't want to think the worst of her former partner, but with her own life on the line and a potential double agent in their inner circle, she had to explore every possibility.

As she stepped onto a bus that was bound for her next stop, Pueblo, she knew that she had to leave some evidence of her investigation for the rest of the team to find. After logging everything in her journal, she wrapped it and her cell phone up in an old t-shirt. She knew that it was a risk, to give up one of her lifelines, but if she didn't manage to make it all the way to Denver, at least the team would stand a chance at finding out what had happened to her. If she was being romantic and fatalistic about it, she could even imagine that someone might avenge her untimely death.

The long bus ride gave her plenty of time to think and plan. At each stop, she hopped off the bus to stretch her legs, and each time she wondered if she should change it up – swap her plans so that no one would know her next step. The decision hinged heavily on the identity of the double agent. She hadn't detected an artefact during her escape, at least, not one that she thought could be helping to track her, but that didn't exclude the possibility of a person watching her every move. If she was being followed, then delaying her journey would only give them more opportunity to strike. If Jason, or another person close to her, was feeding information to the enemy however, then she would do well to deviate from anything she'd shared in conversation with either Steve or his husband.

Neither scenario filled her with confidence and, in the end, she made her decision based on wanting to look her enemy in the eye and have a chance at capturing the traitor on camera. After the bus dropped her in Pueblo and she checked into a motel, she spent most of the night anticipating a knock on the door. The quarter that she flipped in her hand alternated in turn between heads and tails, just the same as the images in her mind so that, when she finally heard footsteps approaching her door, she knew that her life was about to change direction again.

There was almost a sense of relief to be facing death with complete comprehension for what awaited her. She might be a pawn – a seemingly insignificant piece on the board that was inconvenient when in the way – but pawns could be powerful when played right. She checked the position of the hidden camera again, making sure that it was pointing at the door before she put her eye against the spy-hole. As she recognised her visitor and opened the door, she smiled.

"I had a feeling it was you," she told the assassin coolly. She eyed the tranq-gun in his hand, knowing that it was probably loaded with something deadly. "You're too late, you know? They're going to know everything and there's nothing you can do about it." She watched him hesitate and used the moment to step into his space. Certain that his superiors would want to know more, she gambled and made the decision for him. If she couldn't escape, then she damned well wasn't going to let them take her alive.

The quiet 'pop' of the gun filled her ears and she looked down to find a dart sticking out of her stomach. Her finger fell from the trigger and she stepped back, a satisfied smirk tugging at her mouth. So much relied on faith: her team's ability to find her warnings, her years of effort to discover Chapman's plans, her surety that she was not wanted alive… Faith was not the enemy; she just hoped that she was making the right choice based on hers.

Boulder, Colorado

Myka hovered on the doorstep of the house that she supposedly lived in and willed herself to knock or use her key.

She'd taken Pete's advice and, after hours spent staring at photographs of her children and watching home-movies with Tracy, she decided to bite the bullet and arrange time to visit… to meet her children for the first time. The first time for me at least, she thought nervously. Helena had agreed readily and even offered to spend the morning with her grandparents so that Myka could concentrate on the children and not have to concern herself with that awkward meeting just yet. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but now that she was standing on the threshold, she wondered whether it would have been better to have someone she knew present, even if that was someone who confused her to no end.

The sound of movement inside drew her from her convoluted thoughts and she glanced briefly back at the street when she became aware of how long she'd been standing there. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her key to the lock and let herself in. Though she'd agonised over the decision for longer than necessary and came to the conclusion that it would be stranger to knock on her own front door than simply walk through it, she still felt apprehensive as she stepped off the welcome mat, closed the door behind her and stood in the hallway with her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

She considered and then doubted the urge to call out and announce her presence and instead tried to pull herself together. Just as her careful breathing was bringing her body back under control, a door slammed upstairs and made her jump.

"I can't find my tense t-shirt!" a young voice yelled across the landing, followed by an aggravated huff.

"Cat, just put something else on," came a rigidly calm response from the opposite direction.

"I can't!" the young voice replied insistently. "It's Mama's favourite!"

A pause filled the air for several seconds and Myka swore that she could hear the second voice quietly counting to ten. "Have you tried the laundry hamper?"

There was no verbal response, but footsteps approached the top of the stairs and Myka steadied herself. When the pre-teen appeared in a rush of gangly limbs, the regent couldn't help but remember her own uncoordinated gait at that age. She stood frozen by the front door and watched with baited breath as the girl began a rapid descent only to stiffen half way down when she noticed the visitor. Hazel eyes met green for what felt like a millennium and for a moment, Myka wondered whether she was being assessed. Then the young body was hurtling towards her and it was all she could do to brace herself for the impact.

A small 'umph' escaped the adult at the point of collision and she instinctively wrapped her arms around narrow shoulders and pulled the girl closer. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before, holding her daughter. A fierce sense of belonging pulled at her from all sides and tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids as she breathed in the small body. She almost wanted the moment to last forever and somewhere in the far recesses of her mind, an idea took root: she could kill to protect this feeling.

Before long, the eleven-year-old retreated and beamed up at her lost parent. They shared the warm expression for a long moment before the girl appeared to remember her previous mission and her face fell. "You're early," she accused sharply. "I'm not ready yet!" she added and took off abruptly in the direction of the kitchen.

Before Myka could wonder at the sting of rejection in her gut, another figure appeared at the top of the stairs and descended with an energetic but controlled pace. Her arms opened again to receive the body of her eldest child and she felt the same compelling and wonderful sensations all over again.

Christina's arms enveloped her mother's shoulders and she buried her head between clavicle and jaw. "We're so glad you're here," she whispered before pulling back to look the regent in the eye. "I know this has to be confusing for you, but you don't need to worry. You're a great mom and we will help with anything that doesn't come naturally."

"Thank you," Myka replied, feeling genuine relief at the young woman's words. She studied the adult in front of her and marvelled at the strangeness of having a grown child. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around all of this. You're so big," she muttered, drawing an amused smile from her daughter. "How did we… How did she and I…"

"Make us?" Christina hazarded a guess. At her mother's nod, she explained, "Rick… Fredrick and I were a happy accident. Apparently, you and Uncle Pete were doing inventory at the Warehouse and he was being clumsy. Sophie was conceived at the same time."

"So, Pete and I…?" the regent frowned, not liking the implications of that thought.

"No," the young woman laughed. "Whatever the artefact did to you and Pete, you each went home to your significant others." She paused there, knowing that the older woman wouldn't be comfortable with too much detail.

"And Catherine?"

Christina shrugged. "Another artefact I was told, only you and Mum talked about it first. I wasn't interested in more detail than that," she added, pulling a comical face.

From behind the young woman came the sound of returning footsteps, but rather than the exuberant young girl, a woman with large, curly hair and a naturally tanned complexion appeared and made a bee-line for the regent. "Myka," she greeted and pulled her old friend into a hug.

Myka sank into the embrace as her eyes became instantly and unexpectedly glassy. "Leena?" she asked, needing to confirm what her eyes were seeing. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"We thought that you would appreciate an old, familiar face, and mine is definitely both of those," she joked before releasing the ex-agent. "Come on through to the back," she suggested and chuckled as she added, "There's a handsome young man waiting for you out there."

"I'm going to check on Cat to make sure she's not ransacking the laundry room," Christina told them as they split off in different directions.

Myka followed her friend out to the back garden and found her eyes widening at the large open spaces and copses of trees; she hadn't ventured out into the garden on her last visit. A large cottonwood stood prominently, almost in the centre of the garden, boasting the most impressive tree-house that she'd ever seen.

"Cool, huh?" said a new voice, prompting the regent to turn toward a teen in a wheelchair. He grinned up at her, his dark gaze reminding her of his other mother. "Mum helped us build it, and you helped us decorate it."

"It's incredible. You're all very talented," she told him and hesitated. Do teenaged boys accept hugs? she wondered before deciding that she needed one and moved to wrap her arms around her son as best she could. When his good arm wrapped tighter around her body than either of the girls', she decided that gender was not a factor in the desire for parental comfort and held on for a bit longer. As she lowered into the chair beside him, her gaze fell on his wrapped shoulder and cast-encased leg and she suddenly understood Helena's distress a little better. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she held onto his free hand.

Fredrick shrugged and flushed; his back straightened unconsciously and his face hardened just enough to show his discomfort without words. "I'm ok. Wish I could get around by myself but it could be worse, right?"

Myka cringed at the allusion to the end he might have met without interference from an outside party. She felt her gut tightening and wished for a second that she could feel the depth of emotion she would have felt with her memories intact. Though she was aware of the unusual destiny hanging over this family, only in the last five minutes had she truly wanted to know all the details and join the investigation. "We'll find out what happened and make sure it doesn't happen again," she heard herself promise and gently squeezed the hand in hers.

"I know," Freddy smiled sadly. "Mum's digging into it with the others. She won't give up."

The regent's mouth hardened at the mention of the Victorian and she bit back a sharp retort. "She is tenacious," she said once she managed to find a milder adjective.

The teen watched his mother's expression darken and felt a stab of compassion for his Mum. He'd seen his parents when they were angry at each other, but this was a different level of ire. He was beginning to realise just how much he took their love for granted. Their reunion wasn't going to be easy. "So are you usually."

Feeling a little shamefaced at being so transparently disparaging about her son's other mother, Myka attempted an apologetic smile and changed the subject. Leena joined their conversation about the teen's planned physical therapy and his hopes that he could include some hydrotherapy at his usual outdoor swimming hole. It wasn't long before they heard the backdoor swing open with a jarring thud, revealing a happy eleven-year-old who was no longer togged in pyjamas, and her harried-looking sister.

The regent's amused smile further crinkled the laughter lines already present around her eyes and she gave the young girl her full attention as Catherine came to stand directly in front of her. Quickly scanning the text on the pre-teen's t-shirt, she chuckled and read aloud, "The past, the present and the future walked into a bar… It was tense!"

"Do you like it?" Catherine asked – a disproportionate amount of hope lighting her expression – as if her mother's identity hung in the balance.

"Very witty," Myka replied. "I love it," she added and found something intangible but precious in the sheer delight gazing back at her.

She caught a brief exchange between the older siblings, but it wasn't until she was back at the shop, locking up and ascending the stairs to the apartment, that she began to consider the meaning behind it. Her children had suddenly found themselves part of a broken family and it had to be playing on their minds, and yet they were upbeat, well-mannered and enthusiastic in the face of all that. This resilience had to be a testament to their upbringing and to the continued care they received from their Victorian mother, which created something of a conundrum in Myka's thoughts. Knowing how fiercely she resented Helena for her betrayal and knowing that she could never blindly love someone who continued the pursuit of revenge and murder, she could only come to the conclusion that HG had reformed.

It didn't change her feelings towards the woman who had taken her to bed with full comprehension of her plans to deceive her, but it did make her think better of the woman Helena had become. A thread of confusion wove around her feelings, wanting to separate the inventor into two people: all the easier to be angry at one and open to liking the other.

As she settled into bed and placed a photo of her children close by, she replayed the afternoon, appreciating how lucky she was. It was disappointing, as her eyelids became heavy, to acknowledge the fact that she could not wake up to their bright voices and faces. The only consoling thought was that she would be back in Boulder before the end of the week. Christina had informed her of a meeting with the other regents and ex-agents to discuss the investigation and she was determined to be a part of it.

She would find out who had hurt her babies.

Stuttgart, Germany

On the edge of the historic city, Heracles entered the private gardens of his modest estate and placed a paper cup in front of his companion. She glanced up at him with the trust and gratitude of many lifetimes combined and returned to her task. A mortar sat on the table, a lumpy mix of medicinal plants and oils sitting in the bottom while Cassandra ground further ingredients into the mix with a pestle.

"Some rituals become almost therapeutic after so long, do they not?" Heracles commented as he slipped into a chair beside his friend and watched her prepare the elixir that had sustained her for the majority of their time together.

"If only it did not taste so foul," she threw back and glanced up through her eyelashes with a sardonic edge.

He lowered his head in response, lips pursed to cover any instinct he might have to show amusement. They were not average citizens – humour was a concept that had evolved so many times through the centuries that it had almost outgrown them. Moments like this were enough to concrete their bond; they didn't need anything more to maintain motivation.

Cassandra continued crushing particles until a viscus paste coated the base of the mortar. Once she was satisfied with her work, she pulled a small scalpel from a purple cloth and drew it across the fleshy underpart of her left arm, letting it drip into the bowl. When she felt that there was enough, she wiped the blood from the blade, pushed the mortar across the table, handed the scalpel to Heracles and began the lengthy process of suturing the deep gash.

After letting a few drops of his own blood fall atop of Cassandra's, the heir grabbed a gauze swab and pressed it casually against his wound. He watched with only a passing interest as she added enough vodka to make the concoction drinkable and then poured it into the paper cup. "Bottoms up," he said with a crooked smile and watched her face as she tipped the cup back and recoiled at the taste.

"Never enough alcohol," she observed, not for the first time, and crushed the cup before beginning to clean the bowl. A companionable silence existed between them as the ritual came to an end and the artefacts were rewrapped in a series of purple fabric strips and placed into a carved chest. "Our inside man fulfilled his obligation with the traitor. Her remains are in the vault."

Heracles nodded as if pained to hear his friend's words. "Such an unnecessary loss. You know how I hate to lose such potential."

"She made her choice," the bodyguard responded dismissively. "What is my next assignment?"

He almost smiled. "Much as I appreciate your dedication, we have reached another point of sabbatical. Your task for now is to close down the cells until we have need of them again."

"You are sure?" she asked as a frown pulled at her features, deepening the scar along her cheek. "Bering and Wells will not remain at odds for long. In Mr Jinks' latest report, he stated that he'd witnessed conflict in Myka's anger. With no stage to display her contention, she will fall to her wife's charms once more. We must make the most of this opportunity."

"And so, we have," Heracles replied. "I am strengthened. They will rebuild. It is as I'd hoped. You do not approve?" he asked somewhat tersely.

"I do not understand," she clarified.

The heir reached over the table to run a slender thumb over the deep crevice of the scar that dominated his friend's features. She had sacrificed much to protect him. It behoved him to quell his inner demon and offer patience. "You do not need to. But if you must, then remember that there is no honour in beating a foe who cannot defend themselves." He leant back in his chair, his entire demeanour relaxed. "I must face their champion as an equal. That is all."

Cassandra straightened and nodded. It was enough for her and she immediately resolved never to question his judgement on this subject again. "I have one more issue for your attention," she told him. "Your son's mother."

An almost eye-roll pulled at Heracles' face. "She wishes to see the boy," he concluded rightly.

"She is insistent."

"You have attempted to subdue her again?" he asked as more of a formality than to suggest that she'd not considered the option. "And there has been no response?"

"Initial indications show that the amulet works, but her maternal instinct appears to overpower the artefact's power," she informed him. "She will not bend to our will."

"Yet another unnecessary loss," he commented. "Very well. Remove her from the rest of the group – I do not want her compulsions to contaminate the others. See that she is confined in isolation."

"It will be done."

"Cassandra," he added in a warning tone. There was a tiny, gleeful spark behind her eyes that always precluded injury to someone's person. "She will be treated with the respect earned. See that her prison is comfortable, her food plentiful and her guard not prone to violence."

Blue eyes met his defiantly for the briefest second before the expression melted away. "Yes. You are right. Thank you for reminding me," she answered contritely.

He watched her with more compassion than he ever showed to another, recalling the injustices she'd suffered at the hands of a tyrant. "We cannot all carry our demons dear. You must remember to make yours work for you, not the other way around. To follow its whims is to remain beneath his lash."

"I carry my prison and build or demolish its walls with my thoughts and actions," she reminded herself of the philosophy they'd shared throughout the years. "I weaken or strengthen its walls depending on the thoughts and actions I choose to listen to and follow."

"Very good," he nodded, satisfied. He rose from his seat and watched as she followed suit. "I will leave you to it. I must prepare to move my son into the city. It is time to begin to inoculate him into society."

"I will return when my tasks are complete," she announced before inclining her head and leaving the garden.

She strode back through the house, her heading clear. Temporarily dissolving the cells – the cultist groups that gave Heracles increased influence around the world – would be as easy as flicking a light-switch. Leaving the head of each church the only remaining activists, who would lie low to keep an eye on their flock. Eventually, the sheep would not be needed and they could serve as cannon fodder should any of the Wells-Bering clan stand in Heracles' way. Her idol was always so collected and calm when he decided that it was time to blend into the background again, and Cassandra tried to take her cue from him, but with each strategic retreat she was aware that they were moving ever closer to the pinnacle of his mission. Taking back the Warehouse.

This was the last time that they would lay low. Years might pass before they reared their heads again, but when it happened, they would finally face their destiny.