A/N: To say that the last couple of weeks have been busy would be an understatement of the greatest proportions, but I feel kinda terrible for not having time for this. So, I apologize for the long wait. I hope you enjoy this little chapter…that I wrote instead of doing my work, or my grading, or my research :-)
A/N2: Again thank you for all the reviews that have been left for this story. And, please don't take this the wrong way, but if you don't like the story don't read it. I would hate to put you off to my writing just because you don't like this particular story. I would hate to lose readers, but if you don't like the ideas, or the plot, or the details of the story please don't force yourself to read it. I am by no means writing this with any sort of social agenda, or otherwise. It's just a story, that I'm enjoying writing, and I sincerely hope you're enjoying reading. If you want my personal views on society, politics, religion, morality, or anything else feel free to PM me; I'm more than willing to discuss them with you.
Chapter 6
Snapping out of her shock as a soft hand landed delicately on her shoulder and gently shook her, Myka inclined her head toward Helena, but did not look up to face her. Taking the hand on her shoulder softly in hers, she noticed the stark difference in the size of their hands. Where normally Helena's hand was slightly smaller than her own, now Helena's hand was dwarfed in this new strange appendage that listened to her mind's commands. She considered their hands before Helena gently clasped their hands together and pulled her up from the chair. Myka resisted for a moment but acquiesced as Helena apparently wanted her on her feet.
Standing well within the bounds of each other's personal space, hands still clasped, Myka sighed and finally looked at the woman standing in front of her. Really looked. Helena was as stunningly beautiful as she remembered, but much younger. The Helena she remembered was striking in her own right. She was strong, brilliant and unbelievably beautiful. But, the Helena Myka remembered also carried a constant burden on her shoulders; a weariness and exhaustion that always lurked just behind her eyes; the weight of grief ever present in her. This Helena, however, lacked all that world weariness. This Helena had the same carriage, but none of the injuries that wounded her soul. The same curiosity without the burden of knowledge of curiosities answered.
Her eyes cutting down the length of the woman, an obvious epiphany hit Myka: Helena had not lived through all the terrible things that happened in her life yet. This woman had not yet tasted the bitterness of grief and the ashes of loss. Unconsciously licking her lips as she raked her eyes up the woman's body, Myka also realized how very much attracted and in love with this woman she was, or at least her memories of this woman.
Heart suddenly thudding loudly in her ears, Myka's eyes made another (much slower) pass over Helena. This gaze was one of appreciation and not of study or scrutiny. Not realizing, or considering far enough ahead to care, how Helena may interpret the ogling, Myka slowly ran her eyes up the completely covered figure.
She devoured Helena with her eyes from the dainty feet she knew to be under the deep blue flowing skirt (encased in, what she assumed, were lace up boots) to the small waist where the flow of the skirt tapered. Up the flat stomach covered in a stark white blouse, that while billowy, when tucked into the skirt, accented Helena's tiny waist while simultaneously showing off her bust. A place where Myka's eyes stopped and seemed glued to. She knew what lay beneath the whole ensemble before her and her thoughts readily turned to imagining exactly what lay beneath the lovely vision before her. And without prompting, Myka's mind immediately supplied the feel of Helena against her. The taste of Helena's essence on her tongue. The sound of Helena falling over the edge.
Swallowing thickly at the very familiar scenario playing in surround sound as she stared fixedly at Helena's chest, Myka could feel the tell tale signs of arousal quickly coursing through her. She swore she literally felt all her blood supply suddenly diverted to the juncture of her legs. That sensation was not completely unfamiliar but the sudden hardening of a very unfamiliar member arrested all her mental faculties.
Quickly turning away from Helena, Myka involuntarily clenched her fists as she tried to get herself under control. This can't be happening, her mind raged, not now. Oh god. No, no, no! her mind screamed at her new body's refusal to calm down. Cringing as she looked down, Myka tried thinking of something, anything, that would stop her quickly rising problem.
Thoughts of doing taxes, mundane paperwork, Warehouse inventory, and several other dull activities helped slightly, but the exercise in control was mostly offset by Helena's presence behind her. Groaning softly, Myka changed her tactics to imagining people to whom she was not attracted. Pete, her mind readily supplied. Pete kissing her body when she was trapped in the mirror. Being in Pete's body for the artifact induced body switch. Well, I guess this isn't that novel of an experience given my history, she thought wryly. A picture of Pete kissing Helena appeared in her mind's eye staunching her arousal, but igniting an immediate and powerful feeling of jealousy. Woah, she shook her head. Relax, she told her borrowed body, she's not mine.
An utterly bewildered Helena looked on at the scene playing out in front of her thinking she was somehow missing a vital piece of information. Though this stranger's behavior was more than a little perplexing, Helena felt no danger from this man. She was, in fact, greatly intrigued by him. He piqued her interest. There was something indefinable about him that pulled at her heartstrings; he seemed so lost sometimes. And, not entirely understanding why, she wanted to alleviate that for him. She had only known the man for a little over a week, but the way he called out her name in his fever induced dreams touched her. It was evident he was very much in love with whoever his Helena was. She had a sneaking suspicion that he thought her to be that Helena. She had to know more about this man. "How do you know me?" curiosity laced the Victorian woman's voice. "I do not believe we have ever met."
Myka shifted uncomfortably, her back still to Helena. She was embarrassed. Moreover, now that she was not drugged, or otherwise impaired, she did not know exactly how to respond to this Helena. A Helena who she was very much in love with, but who did not know her. And even if Helena had known her, she would not be able to recognize her in this body she was trapped in.
Now sufficiently calmed down, Myka turned back around to face Helena. Looking down into eyes shining with curiosity, she knew she would not be able to outright lie to the woman. She did not want to, but she knew she could not simply divulge everything. Momentarily forgetting her situation, Myka lifted her hand to twirl a lock of hair while she thought only to be brought up short as she felt only air where her hair normally fell. She instead ran her hand through short, dark curls in silent frustration. Mind coming back to Helena, Myka worried her bottom lip as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She opened her mouth, but closed it again at the inadequacy of what she was about to say.
At the arched eyebrow she received from Helena (and the amusement that was threatening to take over her face), Myka blurted out the first thing that popped into her head, "It's complicated. And convoluted. And I can't entirely explain it all." She rolled her eyes at herself and blew out a puff of breath. "Mostly, because I don't exactly know what's going on myself," she mumbled to no one in particular.
"And that answers my question not at all," Helena noted immediately, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Myka smiled involuntarily at the familiar tone in Helena's voice. She shrugged and shook her head slightly; smile still firmly in place and broadening as Helena's lips turned up in a smile with her. A smile from Helena and the situation now felt a little more comfortable for Myka. She did not have the faintest idea of how Helena had the ability to make everything better without really doing anything but being present.
"I seem to have lost my way home," Myka said softly, in lieu of an actual explanation, while looking deeply into brown depths, "perhaps you're just a vision of a dream I dreamt to make my existence a little easier to bear."
"It could be that I am here to help you find your way," Helena replied just as softly, staring intently into Myka's green gaze. "Dreams are often more substantial than reality. And, I find them more fascinating than anything this world has to offer."
A knock disrupted the moment. Myka could hear one of the servants making their way to attend the door. She knew Helena would not be bothered unless it was specifically for her, but she stepped back from the woman nonetheless. Myka needed distance and time to think. She was not sure what she was doing, but the very possibility that she was flirting with this Helena scared her. She did not want to affect anything before she got back to her own time. Whatever, she did could be detrimental to the future. She had to be careful.
Helena moved to close the distance between them, but was halted in her effort as a servant came in to announce she had a visitor. Nodding her thanks to the servant, Helena turned to Myka apology written all over her face at the interruption. Myka nodded her understanding. "We shall continue this later," Helena asked more than stated.
"Yes," Myka affirmed distractedly. "I'll be up in my room," she said, walking by Helena (making sure not to touch her in any way). Helena looked on as Myka quickly exited the room, wondering what had caused the hasty departure.
"Your affinity for trouble is astounding," Helena casually informed Pete as a shot blasted the wood above their heads to little more than splinters. Their heads swiveled simultaneously to take in the damage, while they shrunk lower behind the crate they were crouched behind.
"Well if that's not the pot calling the kettle black," Pete grumbled pulling out his Telsa in preparation to end this supposedly easy snag, tag and bag operation. "You're the one who offended her and got us in this predicament in the first place," he whispered harshly as he peeked around to see where the crazy, rifle wielding woman had gone.
"I did no such thing," Helena shot back indignantly, pulling out her own weapon to follow whatever lead Pete took. "I was talking to her civilly before you barged right in and interrupted us."
Pete looked over at Helena with his mouth hanging open. "She had a rifle to your head, with her trigger itchy finger ready to blast you away," Pete responded loudly as he mimed the motions to better demonstrate his point. He braced for some sort of hit as saw Helena's hands quickly making their way to the proximity of his face. He did not even attempt to block whatever she was planning on doing. After the swing he had taken at her in Warehouse 2, he swore to himself that he would never raise a hand to touch her again. Myka would kill him. Though, considering how easily she had stopped him, Pete well knew that Helena could more than handle herself in any situation.
He was confused when all he felt Helena do was pull him by the collar of his shirt and swing him to the other side of the crate they were hiding behind. Opening eyes he did not realize he had closed, Pete saw, almost in slow motion, the spot he had just vacated burst into a pile of splintered wood. A wide hole marking the place his back was placed on before Helena moved him over.
"Do lower your voice before her aims gets much better, Agent Lattimer," Helena whispered falling back on formality as real worry gripped her. Pete, wide-eyed, only nodded. Pulling himself together, he decided now was not the time to worry about anything other than the artifact that was currently in the hands of a woman who thought herself Calamity Jane.
"So, what's the plan?" Pete asked, making sure his Telsa was ready.
Helena peeked over the side of the crate to get the position of the artifact. Indicating the position of the woman, Helena tucked her Telsa into the back of pants. "I'll distract her while you take her out," she said simply.
"No," Pete replied, "that's too dangerous."
"You are a better marksman, Peter," she said calmly. She looked him straight in the eye, "Do not miss." He nodded as she made her way from behind the crate.
Hands raised and walking slowly, Helena hoped she did not meet her end in a dirty barn in the middle of nowhere. "Do not shoot," rang around the enclosure, "I am unarmed."
"What's a pretty little thing like you doing out here, unarmed and unescorted?" came a voice from behind her. Helena felt the muzzle of a rifle placed firmly between her shoulder blades. "Where's the other one? The one without the manners?"
"That would be me," Pete said shooting the woman with the Telsa set at the highest setting. She crumpled to the floor, landing in an undignified heap. Pete quickly moved to take the rifle out her hands. He handed it off to Helena so he could check that the woman was not actually harmed. "I thought Calamity Jane never maliciously killed anyone," Pete said as he checked the woman over. "How is it her rifle, that is apparently endued with her personality, can cause a regular Sally Mae here to turn into a rifle wielding crazy woman who shoots first and asks questions later?" Inspection complete, Pete stood and unfurled a specially sized artifact bag for the rifle.
"When you let something fester for over a hundred years, who is to say how it will come out when finally unleashed?" Helena muttered absentmindedly as she held the old rifle in her gloved hands. Handing the artifact off to Pete, she turned to walk out of the barn, "I will be in the car."
Alone again in the safety of her temporary room, Myka slumped against the door. She breathed out a deep sigh as the back of her head thudded against the door. She felt so off kilter. Closing her eyes against the reality she found herself in, Myka fought the sting of tears. Gritting her teeth against the constriction of her throat, she pushed off the door and made her way to the window. She felt so helpless in this time and place that were so far from her own.
Looking out into the cobbled stoned streets of a London she had only ever seen in paintings and pictures, Myka felt despair pull at her. "How did this happen?" She whispered harshly to no one in particular. "How could a feather do this?" shaking her head at her remembered foolishness at touching the feather in Warehouse 2.
Her eyes dropped to take in the horizon once more. Resting her forehead against the glass, she closed her eyes and remembered the leafy boscage behind Leena's Bed and Breakfast that gave way to rolling hills and meadows. She could clearly picture the bright hues of autumn overtaking the green leaves of summer, and walking through the colorful landscape hand in hand with Helena telling her how it all reminded her of Colorado, of home, of the best part of her childhood. "I need to find a way home," she breathed onto the glass, fogging up and obscuring the view of London.
Claudia's fingers tapped a furious staccato over the keyboard. Her eyes flying back and forth as she scrolled through the information on the screen. Coming to the end of the file, Claudia sat completely still trying to digest the information before her. Artie looked up from the file he was reading at the sudden silence filling the room. Turning to face the young woman, Artie felt an uneasy feeling grip him.
"What is it?"Artie asked getting up and closing the short distance between them to read over Claudia's shoulder. "What did you find?"
"If the feather is an artifact," Claudia moved closer to the screen, rereading several lines of text, "which I don't think it is," she shook her head slowly in disbelief, "there's no way to neutralize it." She moved the curser down to show Artie what she found, "But somehow I don't think that's the biggest thing we have to worry about."
Artie's brows furrowed deeply above his glasses as he read the line where the curser stopped and blinked continuously.
Last known incident: Myka O. Bering, 1890- Sealed Confidential File (Regent Authorization Required)