"I think it's time I give this back."

Though clearly not willing to part with it, Myka dropped the locket in the outstretched palm.

"Why now?"

Myka bit her lip. "Because I know I have you and Christina. I don't need a locket to remind me of that."

"But it eases your anxiety. I have seen this hand polish it to a shine when you think I'm not looking."

"I'm no longer anxious." Myka leaned in, eyes drawing down. A flush rose to her cheeks and her stare diverted as if timidity had taken a hold. Her one shoulder shrugged. "Well, at least, not the kind of anxious that can't be cured by the real thing."

"And what, pray tell, exemplifies the real thing?"

Myka swallowed. Her heart jumped. "I'm looking at it," she whispered dryly.

H.G. licked the thing being held under a gaze of hooded eyes. It was an exacting stare filled by intent but with the added flickering of apprehension. It was an attractive anxiety H.G. was becoming familiar with and hoped one she had not seen the last of. Presently, it was an anxiety she was delighted to cure.

"I make you anxious." H.G. smiled.

"Helena…"

Myka's arm was grasped and returned to its place well over the armrest and into her seatmate's area. H.G. noted the hand's stiffness and allowed it room to thread its fingers through hers when they were ready.

H.G. hummed softly as she watched Myka's hand join with hers. "You know I wouldn't let you go without it," H.G. said.

"The locket?"

H.G. pursed her lips to make it authentic. Contemplation was her forte but so was seduction. Playing both hands (sometimes in the literal sense) was a strategy H.G. had perfected. Myka going weak in the knees happened to be one of myriad reasons why. If foreplay with the professor was exciting, H.G. was eager beyond words to journey further into the mind and body of Myka Bering.

She didn't even pan around there surroundings before answering. Truly, the flight was sparse and provided little interruption to the pair. In theory, Myka didn't care about an audience, either. H.G.'s one-track mind seemed to be having a similar effect on her. As they closed in Myka canceled out the noise of the drink cart wheeling along the aisle, the rush of cool wind from an above air fan, and the signs of life going on around them in their cabin. Her anxiety was surrendered for what was between them, which was a distance that was dwindling so agreeable to her liking.

It only took a nip at her bottom lip for Myka to grant entrance. When a tongue sought out hers, Myka knew it wasn't just the locket H.G. would leave her with. She berated herself for not picking up on the detail earlier. They had been talking of the precious keepsake not minutes earlier, which had somehow fast-tracked to an arena Myka was not keen to share with anyone else but H.G.

Missing details, threads of conversation, or a simple locket were of the kind that nagged a woman like Myka. After all, she was a scholar first, a socialite last. Very last. The Englishwoman had an effect that shut down all her deduction skills. She could blame anyone else, even the culprit; if it were not for the way it made her stomach perform Olympic level gymnastics.

That topsy-turvy, flippy-floppy feeling scared her from the start; probably the moment H.G. boldly stole a forkful of lemon meringue à la subtext. Though having professed profound love for one another, Myka still had reservations. The word 'relationship' struck an odd chord. What will happen when they return home? Where was home? Was there a future for them? And what about Christina? Was Myka ready to be a family with them?

The ever-so-perceptive Helena Wells knew when an acquaintance was interested and, therefore, was more experienced in the art of wooing. Myka, well, she was a bit of a tenderfoot in matters of the heart. She was measured in expressing her attraction, so measured and preconceived H.G. had to take matters into her own hands and kiss her in the heat of a decrepit temple. The professor was almost too humble for her own good, leaving H.G. to take up the mantle of reminding her just how priceless she was.

H.G.'s teasing never made her feel less brilliant than she was. At its best, the woman's powers of persuasion made her feel tongue-tied and a bit doltish, as H.G. had copped to the same. What was more, Myka never felt unsafe with the woman. It was intoxicating in the moment, but Myka didn't know how long it would last, so her frustrations were put away for later in favor of the lips pressing against hers.

The flavor and wetness… Those lips so full and brazen in the best of ways …

Oh my god.

H.G. chuckled at the small moan that had slipped into her mouth. "We should slow down," she suggested, retreating only far enough to get Myka in her sights. "Wouldn't want to give the passengers a show now, would we?"

Myka gasped. "People were looking?" She twisted in her chair and scanned the cabin with wide eyes. There was no audience, of course. People had better things to do on their social media devices than witness the romance of two lovers. She turned back to a coy smile and a head tipped angelically against the head rest. Those sweet eyes just blinked at her. "I guess we got a little carried away," Myka said, crossly.

Myka pressed her back into her seat and looked straight ahead, counting the blue colored threads against the grey upholstery chair. She had good vision. And she liked counting.

1…

2…

3…

"It irks you, doesn't it?" H.G. asked, narrowing her eyes with the playfulness of a Labrador puppy. "When I presume to speak of us in the real world?"

8…

9…

10…

"Do you think we can't have this in public? That what we felt in London, in France, and in Egypt cannot exist in the realm of daily life?"

14…

15… Wait, what?!

"We felt that way before London!" Myka's admission was quick and took some of the breath from her. "Well, I-I mean, at least I did."

"I was hoping you would correct me," mused H.G. with a catlike grin. "But you haven't answered the question, Myka. Can what we feel for one another go beyond a few days in Europe? Because if you don't think it will – if you don't want it to – then please declare it now," H.G. didn't mean to, but her fingers went out to trail against the skin of Myka's cheek, "before I fall even further in love with you."

Myka sighed and shivered. She loved the way it sounded. Even more, she loved how it made her feel. She closed her eyes, the sum total of blue threads dissolving from memory. When she opened them H.G. still had her head resting against the seat. Her face was just a hand span away from Myka, and prized with a patient, loving gaze.

"I'm scared," Myka whispered. She dared not say any more.

H.G. closed her eyes and nodded. That pumping, fragile organ called a heart plummeted to her gut and would have kept going miles further to splatter against the earth. Then it was all for nothing? No, she wouldn't think that. She couldn't. She still had Christina, after all. Her little love would stay with her forever. Until someone came along to capture her heart.

H.G. took a deep breath and let it out. She felt shaky – dizzy almost – and not at all herself. She was set on turning away and looking out the window for the rest of their flight until a gamble took her by the hand. Literally.

"But if I'm going to be scared," Myka said, her green eyes watery but focused, "I want to be scared with you. I like the way that feels with someone who takes chances and who will throw themselves into danger for me. I know you've experienced fear alone." Myka squeezed the hand and pulled it into her. It was the hand that had soothed eight years' worth of tummy aches and fevers with the sole help of instinct and a book or two. "Fear is a condition of life and I don't want us to experience that without each other. We shouldn't have to. And who says we can't have what we felt in Europe anywhere else? I like a bit of an adrenaline rush every now and again," Myka quipped with a sniff and a smile.

"You know me." H.G.'s brow arched while the corner of her mouth turned up. "Adventure follows me everywhere."

Myka exhaled, laughing. It was a relief like no other.

A Warehouse debrief was not at all what Myka and H.G. thought it would be. To the professor, it was less formal than expected. She envisioned a panel of administrators and suits more absorbed in upholding department politics. Rigorous, it was supposed to be akin to the Spanish Inquisition. But it wasn't. As usual, Myka held her chin high while simultaneously drying her palms on her thighs.

H.G. didn't prepare herself, and so went in with no expectations or set instructions on how to behave. She never arranged statements prior to monthly teacher reviews, so why would she at the Warehouse? The whole process of assessment was rather appalling. Evaluating a teacher's value based merely on student performance was beyond uncivilized. As usual, H.G. put on her cool face and sauntered in like who dared question her methods.

"You snagged your first artifact. Good for you."

Myka shifted in her chair, casting a glance at H.G. The Englishwoman was leant back in her chair with an arm thrown over the back and one leg crossed over her knee. Her lips were pursed and her eyes were glazed over with boredom.

Myka forced her back straight. "Thank you, Artie – I mean, Mr. Nielsen."

The Warehouse custodian, with foreboding eyebrows and spectacles perched on his nose, grunted in response.

The professor nodded silently. H.G.'s eyes wandered to a sloping neck.

Artie continued to make his inquiry over the general points of their mission. Among the topics discussed during the debrief were Pete's breaking and entering activities, the flagrant disregard for cover identities, working gloveless through a black market nobleman's inner sanctum, and, lastly, the enormous room service bill.

Steve Jinks received a thorough grilling and barely scraped by the skin of his teeth. While the team was away Artie had Leena dig up information on the ex-FBI agent, his history with the Bureau, and circumstances of his resignation. Though the background check barely scratched the surface, Artie was willing to take a chance on him. A very slim chance. According to a private exchange with Pete, the agent had shown promising skills in the field. He was smart, centered, and seldom restless in a tight situation. He was also oddly intuitive. Pete also made sure to mention Steve's ill consideration for making jokes, but Artie took that with a grain of salt. The Warehouse needed more of a dry sense of humor, anyway. In the end, the Regents had the final say-so and possessed far greater techniques for evaluating a potential Warehouse agent.

"And Lallement." Artie stared at the file in question. "He was taken down in a struggle."

Myka felt the outside of her pocket, but there was nothing there to fiddle with. There was no change in H.G.'s posture.

"One shot to the chest. I presume it was for reason of self-defense?"

"There was a struggle," explained Myka. "I was recovering from the artifact's effects when he attacked Helena."

"And who eliminated Lallement?"

"I did."

H.G. turned to the professor who spoke up before her lips even parted. Myka stared straight at Artie, ignoring the rigid change in her friend's posture. H.G. gripped the back of her own chair, glaring at the woman in the most covert way possible, daring her to meet her eyes.

That was not what they had agreed upon. Before arriving in Univille Myka and H.G. had discussed the consequences of Lallement's death and the options available to them. It lightened H.G.'s heart that Myka thought of it as their burden. The sharp mind of the professor worked tirelessly to defend her friend, keep her spirits up, and work every angle in getting her off the hook. She was always there to lift a chin and speak reasonably.

But H.G. didn't want Myka involved. If anyone was claiming responsibility for what happened in France it would be the one who shot Lallement. She borderline demanded that she alone would suffer the consequences if it came to that. Myka wasn't willing to concede to that so they met each other halfway. The pact stood that no one, not Pete, Steve, or Artie could know what really went down in the Lallement's chamber. They understood well that H.G. would have to live with her actions for the rest of her days. The sting of memory was punishment enough. The plan was simple: H.G. would attest to gunning down Lallement in self-defense.

Only that's not how Myka was playing it. That irked H.G. more than anything.

Artie moved on without further questioning. H.G. watched as Myka's eyes drifted down and to the side, fighting to meet angry brown eyes, but failing in the endeavor. For the rest of the debrief the two woman stewed in the tension growing between them. They offered brief contributions to Artie's questions, but remained startlingly composed, considering Myka's broken promise.

At the meeting's closing Pete took Steve to show him around the Warehouse. Myka shot up from her chair and wasted no time in exiting Artie's office. Not one for being ignored (or deceived), H.G. made to follow. Something strong clamped onto her arm instead.

"Ms. Wells," Artie's voice was as firm as the grip, "we are not finished. Please take a seat?"

"Whatever you have to say to me, Mr. Nielson, can be done quickly and with me standing. I am in a bit of a hurry."

"I'm sure you are." He released her, but his brevity never waved. In fact, his expression seemed to intensify. "If I ever find out that you gunned down an unarmed man without cause," his arm rose, not to strike but to unleash the point of a finger in warning, "I will make it a personal goal to make sure you are disciplined for it."

H.G. blinked. "Just what are you insinuating? Myka confessed to shooting Lallement. She saved my life."

While it was true that Myka took responsibility for a deed she hadn't committed, there was no doubt in H.G.'s mind that if she shattered the noble deed of a woman hell bent on protecting her and revealed the truth to Artie, Myka would be severely cross with her. Though there was a ball and chain ring to it, H.G. would never disrespect a heroic deed. To do so would jeopardize their friendship, not to mention their budding partnership. It had nothing to do with guarding her innocence. It was about faith.

"You see this?" A file waved in front of her. "This is an autopsy report sent on behalf of the National Police. How I acquired it doesn't matter. What do are its contents. Bullet fragments from a SIG-Sauer were extracted from the left lung. It shredded through his chest causing prolonged death and unimaginable respiratory distress." He stared hard into her eyes. "Do you know how good a shot Myka is?"

H.G. stared back.

"I already did my research before she even crossed the South Dakota border. She has excellent marksmanship. That bullet may have come from her gun but if she used it she would not have missed. If she was responsible for killing Lallement like she claims, that bullet would have entered his heart. He would have died instantly."

Unmoving, H.G. continued to fix her eyes on the custodian. She never even glanced at the evidence file.

"A lovely bedtime story," she spoke in challenge. Her eyes narrowed slightly, while her nostrils flared. She tipped her head to the side, conceding, "Not one I would tell my child, though. She prefers realistic fiction before bedtime."

"You know, then, what is at stake. Just remember I gave you a chance to come clean. From now on I'm fresh out."

He slapped the file down on his desk, papers fluttering upon its landing. His sneakers squeaked out of the office and down the Warehouse steps. H.G. was left alone to wallow over a lost chance and threat that would follow her till the end of her days.

"Myka!"

The door swung open at the woman's furious entrance, nearly coming off its hinges and crashing to splinters. H.G. rushed into the bed and breakfast, breathing hard, mind racing, and boots stomping the hardwood floors. Every muscle in her body was singing with urgency that she couldn't tell what she would do when Myka was found. A myriad range of emotions swirled around her like a hurricane. She was anxious to see her daughter again, angry that Myka had betrayed their arrangement, worried that Myka would suffer undo punishment because of it, and heartbroken at the thought of her love running away in order to remedy their state of affairs. There were more feelings but they were so spiraling and stubborn it was like trying to pin storm clouds to earth. But those were mere feelings compared to what she was experiencing in her heart. If Myka ever regretted what happened between them or accused her of pressuring for a desired reaction such as love then… well, H.G. was not in her right mind to finish that thought.

"Myka!" she shouted up the stairway, breathlessly.

An answer was barely waited on before she was flying through a deserted study and a quaint kitchen. Evidence in the form of a percolating coffee machine and three mugs remained untouched and ready at the kitchen counter. A scrap of a chair sounded from the sun room and H.G. was in motion.

"Myka, just what were you th –"

H.G. came to a stop, finding that all this time Myka was not out of ear shot, and neither was her visitor.

"H.G.," Mrs. Frederic greeted, oddly more affectionate than the Englishwoman had expected or heard, "you're here. Now we can get on to business."

Entering the room, H.G. joined the two women. "Business?" she asked, but not before glancing questioningly at Myka. The professor's face was unreadable, save for her active avoidance in joining eyes.

"A proposition, more like."

A chime rang out from the kitchen.

"One moment."

"Mrs. Frederic," Myka insisted, "you don't have to…"

"Please, sit. You have already done a great deal more than asked."

Mrs. Frederic smiled warmly before following the scent of brewed coffee. Myka sat as told, resting an arm on the table while the other stayed on her thigh, fingers drumming silently. She cleared her throat, staring at Leena's plants. They were all very well taken care of, with the exception of one scrawny ivy which was yellowing at its tips. She made a mental note to inform its owner of the plant's near demise and suggest a good dose of water.

"Myka."

The softness in H.G.'s voice snapped Myka out of her trance and brought her attention to the other woman. The warring face of her friend pleaded without so much as a word. The depths of what H.G. must have been feeling were so unreachable to Myka then it almost brought her to tears. It occurred to Myka that there was only so much she could do. No one could change what occurred in that chamber any more than one could rearrange time and space to fit their needs. She could swear on her career that the shot that killed Lallement came from her gun which was in her hand, but it wasn't Myka alone that would live with it. H.G. would still know who was really responsible and knowing was just as painful as the lie.

Myka's voice was small and scared. "I didn't mean to go behind your back." She kept her eyes on Leena's sickly ivy. "I don't know what came over me… I wanted to protect you. There was nothing that could have convinced me to remain silent during Artie's inquiry. He asked and…" eyes shown glassy behind fluttering lids and they finally rested on H.G., "… and I said it. I took responsibility." Her brows shivered up, expectantly, the crease growing deeper. "Are you angry with me?" she whispered.

H.G.'s swallow was audible. Instinctually, she leaned forward in her chair and smoothed Myka's arms. Her hands progressed soothingly along the shirt's thin material to create a warmth that penetrated. "Darling, I may be angry, but that is not directed at you. I am angry about the situation as a whole. That you felt no other option than to take on my trials… I don't ever want that for you. Your happiness means more to me than my own."

Myka breathed. Her chest rose and fell with a cascade of affection for H.G. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm being like this."

H.G. smiled. She pinched a lock of hair and dragged it behind an ear to join the rest of its curly counterparts. "I never thought I would meet someone who overthought quite as much as I."

"I'm not always like this," insisted Myka. She huffed slightly, but kept up appearances.

H.G. contested with a solitary raise of a brow, the smirk right on its heels.

"You think you know me so well."

"I claim so, yes. And have remarkable evidence to back up a statement such as that."

"Sure you do."

"It is a privilege and I am overjoyed."

Myka didn't have to make a thorough study to measure the weight and prove the exact substance in the words. They came with a gravity of faith and untarnished admiration. H.G. loved her. She loved her with her words and her voice, with each brush of hand on Myka's arm and flicker of warmth in her eyes. Her love came in smiles and snarky one-liners and every "bloody this" and "bloody that." It came in quiet moments of longing even when they were in each other's presence. H.G. longed for and loved Myka in any place and at any time. Near or far, together or apart, she would continue to love for as long as there was life in her.

"I do apologize for the delay," Mrs. Frederic drifted into the sun room, looking quite an unremarkable sight carrying a tray of coffees, milk, sugar, and biscuits. "The coffee handle was problematic for a time, but I managed all right."

Myka and H.G shared a look that was anything if not conspiratorial. Neither could attest to knowing the goings on of one Irene Frederick, but her penchant for timing was legendary. If she meant to be tardy her entrance was no doubt executed with forethought.

The caretaker sat at the table, swirling a teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. Her head tipped slightly to the side as the silver spoon clinked along the inside of a china cup, making one turn, two, and three before slipping out of the caramel colored brew. Without a word she brought the coffee to her lips which she then pursed to blow and then meet to liquid.

"Well then," Mrs. Frederic began, placing the cup gently down as if the first sip was a check off her grand master plan. "I would like to start off by declaring my sincere gratitude. You were both instrumental in leading Agent Lattimer to the artifact, and managed to apprehend a very dangerous man in the process. Putting your lives in danger for a cause brought to light not a week ago shows unusual integrity. Not many would believe in what we do here at the Warehouse, even after witnessing its wonder with their own eyes. Your faith in the principles we maintain here have far-reaching outcomes even I cannot comprehend. Your heroism saved the world from a lethal artifact and ensured the safe return of one of our finest field agents. If there is any greater thanks I may award I would find it in my power to do so."

Myka said, "It was our pleasure to help in any way we could."

H.G. nodded along with her, though with the understanding that she accepted the mission for entirely different reasons than saving the world.

"I am glad you see it that way. Which comes to my next topic." Dark, strong hands clasped on the table between her and her cooling coffee. "I would like to offer both of you full-time positions at the Warehouse. Though the process of recruiting civilians is a lengthy one, you two are exceptions. H.G. has been in a position that allowed me to watch over her from a distance, so I am well aware of her abilities. Dr. Bering, your record speaks for itself. Just months from tenure, you have shown longevity and dedication in your field in addition to outstanding skills in deduction and reasoning. And from what I've been told, you two made an excellent team in Europe. The Warehouse is in need of this kind of rapport, not to mention a more feminine touch in the field. Our cause has always been for the good of society and is should never be without a bit of diversity."

"Wow," gasped Myka, "this is a lot to take in."

H.G. sighed. "Indeed."

"You by no means have to decide this minute. But I should warn that if you accept there is no guarantee you will be slated for fieldwork upon instatement. It takes time for new recruits to acclimate themselves to the daily life of being a Warehouse agent, not to mention they must develop a trustworthy bond with their partner before their first mission. It is a process very unlike any profession you can imagine. It will require stamina, conviction, patience, and more than a fair share of confidentiality."

"Are you sure we are the right people for this?" Myka asked, forehead bunching. "I mean, we only went on one mission. How can you know for sure?"

"Knowing is not an exact science." Mrs. Frederic smiled. "But if anyone knows for certain it is you. I merely oversee and protect the Warehouse. My opinion shouldn't matter, however if you wish it I will say how pleasantly surprised I am by your due diligence on the case and how much insight was provided in hunting down the artifact. The three of you, in addition to former FBI Agent Steve Jinks, worked like a well-oiled machine. You worked as a team who trusted and supported one another, and that is exactly what we strive to be here at Warehouse 13."

Myka disengaged her hand from her coffee and sat back in her chair. She let out a breath and with it, she hoped, her insecurities. The offer was a grand one. It was her dream, really. For the past few years Myka had been unhappy as a professor. She hated the hours, the ungrateful people she worked with and taught, and had no patience for office politics. She would rather see the world, discover new places, and maybe write a book or two on her travels. Realizing how much she wanted these things was appropriate timing for this strange, polite woman was offering the very same.

More than excitement, Myka thirsted for family. It came out of nowhere, but she did find it at the Warehouse. Pete Lattimer, Steve Jinks, Leena and Artie were fast becoming akin to that every day warmth found in close friends and relatives. Since childhood Myka had yearned for a place in the world and people who understood her bookish, Twizzler-crazed ways. It annoyed her to no end when Pete pulled on her hair and made unrecognizable Star Trek jokes about her doctor title, but at the same time she loved that he protected her as only a Tesla-carrying , big brother would. She felt a calm sense of being, like everything was right in the world as long as Steve and Leena were in it. And Artie… that distinct smell of freshly baked cookies and stale books made her heart melt. Simply put, the Warehouse felt like home.

Where Myka mulled for a prolonged time, it only took H.G. less than a moment to decide. She was, honestly, humbled by Mrs. Frederic's offer. H.G. was aware of her own abilities, her reliability, and though she tested her threshold only recently she could swear to live up to her own personal principles. More importantly, the Englishwoman had a hearty curiosity for puzzles. There was no doubt that H.G. would have thrived as a Warehouse agent, saving lives and grappling for more adventure. She would accept the offer without hesitation if it were not for Christina.

As much as she relished the thrill of living one of her own novels she genuinely liked being a mother. With the self-scheduled hours before and after work she was able to give Christina all the attention a child of her age required. But in order to give that love and attention she must be around. H.G. could not be off on some mission halfway around the world, risking her life for a bloody historical object. As an agent of the Warehouse there was no guarantee she would return safely into the arms of her child. There was no promise to be made that Christina wouldn't be left childless. If it was a choice between full-time agent or full-time mother there would be no contest.

"Mrs. Frederic," H.G. voiced with a bout of concern, "I must respectfully decline your offer."

Brunette curls bounced with Myka's twisting head. The line between her eyes deepened at the unlikely response.

The caretaker's brow rose. "This is a monumental decision. You do not wish to think about it?"

"I am thinking of my daughter. And I do not make the decision lightly. Working for the Warehouse is a noble profession that I am sure reaps many benefits to one's conscience. However, it is a life I cannot lead now. Maybe in another life…"

"Very well," Mrs. Frederic intoned. She turned to Myka who looked a bit on the edge of her seat and ready to faint from indecision. "I detect from you silence that you would like more time to consider what I have brought to the table?"

Myka nodded wordlessly. She fiddled with the handle of her china cup, twisting it a centimeter clockwise, then a centimeter counterclockwise.

How on earth am I supposed to decide something like this?

H.G. was watching closely, longing to reach out if it were not for the presence of Mrs. Frederic. The professor's indecision was painted so vibrantly across her face it pained H.G. to the depths of her heart. If only it didn't have to be this way.

Oh, Myka.

As if struck by some lightning alternative, Myka straightened in her chair and turned to H.G. Before a syllable could be uttered the front door latched open, followed by the quick pattering of feet.

"Mummy?" came the angelic voice.

There was the sound of a paper sack dropping.

"Christina," Leena's voice, so kind one could imagine her smiling while speaking, followed with a chuckle, "careful for the eggs!"

"Mummy?! Myka?!"

H.G. had leapt from her chair before Christina even appeared.

"Christina!" she cried, catching the speeding bullet of black hair and fur-lined overcoat in her arms. "My love, oh how I've missed you!"

The only response was fragmented weeping.

By the trembling little body it was clear just how overcome with relief the girl was to be in the arms of her mother. Being a child, Christina did not realize the depth of her love nor how much she longed for the focus of that love. It was out of sight, out of mind, really, when H.G. wasn't around and Christina's mind was kept occupied thanks to Leena's baking activities and Artie's piano lessons. It was her first experience being without a parent, not exactly having been abandoned or forgotten but left behind for a time. With H.G.'s appearance those repressed feelings of yearning, fear, and affection came to the forefront. It was too much for a child of Christina's age to bear and so it spilled over in tears and the shaking fortitude she tried so hard to avoid. With H.G. mightily embracing her that adult-like manner crumbled to coax out her eight-year-old self, brittle as she was.

It took great strength, but when H.G. finally released her she met the pair of eyes that had fluttered so sweetly the first time eight years ago.

"I saw the cars and I just knew you were back! I knew it!"

"My observant daughter," H.G. mused with a smile and shake of her head.

"Do I get a hug?"

Before Myka finished her request Christina pried herself from her mother's arms and wordlessly flew into the professor's. "Of course you do," she sobbed unsteadily. Her little fists locked around Myka's neck so she could press a salt wet face into it.

Myka hadn't wanted to intrude on the mother/daughter reunion. It was truly a satisfying sight to see H.G. with her daughter. The tearful embrace was a long time coming as being apart was a harrowing experience for both. Myka knew how much they needed this time and didn't want to be selfish, but damn that because she missed Christina just as much. Since wrapping on the Rosetta Stone case she had experienced a most strange and pervading desire to hold that little bundle of energy in her arms. It shocked Myka deeply how much she missed Christina, and wanting her near again felt so right.

"Your hair is different."

"It is, isn't it? Do you like it?"

Christina nodded her serious features. "It quite becomes you."

Myka's laugh was as sweet and joyous as when it was met with the child's.

"Welcome back you two," Leena sang. She glided into the room as if she were not burdened with three overstuffed bags of groceries. "Christina begged me to leave the grocery store early, citing this was sure to be the day 'Mummy and Myka' return." Leena chuckled and shook her head, dumbfounded. "This one has a sixth sense, I tell you."

"It's true!" screeched the intuitive girl. "Perhaps I have superpowers like Miss Leena and Mr. Lattimer!"

"Just don't be too quick to set off and save the world," H.G. warned with a stern eye. She smiled and touched the girl's chin when Christina pouted. "At least not until you turn… thirty-five at the earliest!" she bellowed playfully, snatching the girl up and tickling her sides.

"Mummy, no!" Christina's petulant whine was more of a giggle as the fingers at her sides sent her into fits of them.

"Forty?"

"Nooo!" she squealed and squirmed, but H.G. was having too much fun to stop. "That is much too old!"

"Eighty-nine, then?"

"I would barely lift a brick at eighty-nine! Tee-hahaha! How am I supposed to save all the princes?!"

Myka was consumed with hearty laughter at that, musing to H.G. with a beaming smile, "You have taught your daughter well."

"Princesses need saving, too, from time to time," H.G. held with a wink to the professor. "Remember? Discrimination is for –"

"Discrimination is for dastard cave dwellers." Christina exemplified with a roll of her eyes. "Yes, Mummy, I know."

Leena joined in the hardly stifled laughter. "So you guys just got back?"

"We were just speaking with…" Myka turned and gestured to the empty chair and its previous owner's coffee cup. "Um…" she murmured. Her frown panned around the sun room.

Leena giggled, more than aware of whom the professor spoke of. Knowing the three girls needed this time of joyous reunion, she and the groceries proceeded to the kitchen.

"Oh, I have so much to tell you!" Christina's hair bounced as she jumped up and down on her feet. Her excitement, clearly, could not be contained. "I've been learning to bake and measure ingredients… and I found Mr. Lattimer's comic books so agreeable to read… and… and the garden is splendid here. Have you seen it? And the butterflies… and… oh! Mr. Artie has shown me scales and with enough practice he believes I can learn to play a whole song."

"That's wonderful, darling."

Myka knelt down beside the girls. "Can we hear you play?" She squeezed the girl's hand encouragingly and immediately felt the spark of excitement pass from Christina to her.

"But I wish to hear of your adventures! Mr. Artie says you went to Egypt. Did you see the pyramids? And the Nile? Were the camels friendly?"

Knowing a chuckle alone would enable the boundless nerves of her daughter, H.G. pressed a palm to the round, rosy cheek. "There's time, my love." Her thumb brushed at a late blooming tear of delight as Christina shared in the smile. "All the time in the world."

How much time left with dear Myka, though, I haven't the foggiest.