AN: So, it's FRIDAY! Here we go yet again, and while I was working on this, I had a little thought. Big thoughts scare me. And, I ended up making a little tweak to the story, an addition if you will. Thanks again, everybody, for the responses. They have made my day, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story. Also, please do note after this chapter, we're going to start earning the rating.
It had taken all of six hours before Mrs. Fredrick found out about Claudia's fishing expedition. There was a flash of amusement when she watched the young woman flit around the files, trying to cover her tracks as she went. She was certainly talented. There was a flash of amusement, but she had told them no. They did not listen. She would need to remind them of why that was not okay.
It was not good. It was not pleasant at all. "Given that I know I do not stutter, and you are, by reputation at least, not a fool, would you care to explain, Arthur, why you decided to disobey me and have Ms. Donovan dig through the files on Agent Wells?" She hadn't raised her voice, but Mrs. Frederick managed to get far closer to a new Ice Age than Helena could have ever hoped for.
"Well, she can't be—she's dangerous—and I thought it best—"
"You thought it best?" She tilted her head.
"Yes."
"You thought wrong. I've already told you once, Arthur about misusing my resources. I see you've forgotten that particular lesson. Now, sit down please. I will deal with you later; there are slightly more important things at the moment to discuss than your listening comprehension."
Artie plops, rather unceremoniously, into his favorite armchair, quite intentionally ignoring Claudia's muttered, "snaap," coming from his right. They all sat around in the living room, the pair of women upstairs notwithstanding. And his Vanessa. Upstairs. With that woman. And while injured, she was still able to walk. He redoubled his grip on the arms of his chair and could feel the joints in his hands pop. The atmosphere was less than congenial.
They had been sequestered down here, theoretically for some sort of debriefing, but so far it had been nothing but tea, bad conversation, and Pete hijacking more of his cookies. There was a lunatic upstairs, and they were having tea. Great.
Mrs. Frederick perched herself in the rocker beside the empty fireplace, sliding back and making herself comfortable. Her purse sat primly on her knees. "Generally," she cleared her throat, letting the chair start to rock gently. She had always found rockers soothing, ever since she was a girl. Such a long time ago now. "Generally, I would not be divulging quite this volume of information. The actions of the Regents are not the concern of the agents unless there's an overriding need. I've decided, in this particular case, that there is such a need. Unfortunately, but the circumstances being what they are, there's little else to be done."
She waived her hand upward, indicating the bedrooms above. "Agent Wells has been released from detention. She will remain here, under Agent Bering's expert care until she is well enough to re-instated to full active status, assuming that is her wish, of course. She has my every confidence." Mrs. Frederick let that last statement hang for a moment. Claudia was practically dancing in her seat, fists pumping, but Pete and Artie were practically apoplectic. She put her hand up to stave off any protests coming. Given the shade of red covering Artie's face, there would be protests. Loud ones. "This is about more than just Yellowstone, Arthur. Though, we really should all be slightly ashamed of ourselves. There is a question I would like each of you to answer. What are the effects on the user of the Minoan Trident? We drill into every agent that every artifact has a downside, sometimes many, so, tell me, what is the downside to the Trident?"
"Other than the end of the world, you mean? That's not downside-y enough?!" Pete spit out. He could still smell the fear rolling of Kelly when they had neutralized the artifact, see the resignation when she told him goodbye. Anything else he may have added was cut short by the grim look Mrs. Frederick threw his way. You could hear his teeth clap together.
"Yes, Agent Lattimer, other than that. I admit, I didn't give it much thought either. Until recently, that is, when I was having tea with a Warehouse archivist who asked me that very question for his records. There were none listed, and he was curious if there were any special handling requirements. When I began to do some research, pulling information from the Regent's files as well as some independent sources, I discovered something rather disturbing."
She set her teacup down and leaned forward in her chair slightly. She had their attention. It was for a good reason; when Mrs. Frederick became disturbed, things tended to become unpleasant rather quickly.
"The Minoan Trident, unlike other artifacts, derives a certain amount of its power from the holder. You could say it's parasitic. But, unlike true parasites, the Trident creates its food in the holder to a degree. The Trident amplifies negative emotions. Rage, fear, pain, sorrow, guilt. All of them build and swell in the holder, increasing exponentially as there is more for the Trident to work with. The greater the energy created, the greater the energy of the Trident when used. The holder would eventually have little to no control over those emotions as they overwhelm him, or her in this case, until eventually the Trident's purpose would be carried out."
Claudia's eyes were large, her jaw hanging slightly open. Running her fingers through the pink stripe in her hair, she tried to make sense of it. "So, what you're saying, is that H.G. got whammied by the Trident, and that's why she went all Dr. Jekyll on us? She's not really a big baddie afterall?"
"H.G. wasn't holding onto anything when she blasted us. She was just standing there, all badass, before trying to turn Myka and me into KFC extra crispy. Next thing I know, Myka's swearing like a squid on liberty and I'm strapping dead kid feathers to my back trying to not be exploited to death. Lady Friggin' Cookoo up there was not whammied. If she touched the Trident after, then fine, she can have a get out of the nuthut free card for that, but not before."
"H.G. always wore gloves anyway. She wouldn't have risked handling the artifact without them; if the downside is that bad, it could have risked the whole plan on her part. If she were willing to wait a hundred years to blow us up, why would she risk anything going wrong? Grabbing the artifact in Egypt without protection could have set it off there, and there's no way using it down there would have done enough damage for her. Collapsed a chunk of Africa, sure, but not the world."
Mrs. Frederick just shook her head and eyebrow spiking and lips pursing. "I'm surprised at you, Arthur. You know your Warehouse history better than that. Have you any idea just how much contact agents used to have with artifacts? The ability to create effective barriers is a relatively new one, thanks to Mr. Einstein. The agents of Warehouse 12 routinely worked barehanded, a practice their Caretaker spent a great deal of time trying to correct. Why do you think agents had such short tenures? We had three turn into goats back in the eighteenth century before we subdued that particular artifact. When Agent Wells was initially interrogated, she informed us she had found the shard attached to her daughter's coffin while looking for Little John's staff. There had been a rash of donations to poor houses at the time that led them to a blacksmith, and in looking for the staff, she also came across the Trident fragment. They worked with barehanded, Arthur. Agent Wells, taking her statement to be true, and I do, was under the effects of the artifact from the moment she touched it."
There was silence. No gasps, no deep breaths, no breathing at all. The four people in the room just stared at her, varying degrees of shock and horror beginning to settle in as the implications hit home. It was easy to forget, with their gloves, neutralizing bags, Farnsworths, just what their job was. It was easy to forget that not all agents had the same luxuries as they searched, that there had been risks deemed unavoidable because, while it was the Warehouse, sometimes one was simply bound by the abilities of the time. There hadn't been an artifact to save her Simon in Flanders when he caught the flu that changed to pneumonia. The antibiotics twenty years later would have been helpful. Time was fickle that way. Pete dropped his mug of cocoa on the table, paying no attention when it sloshed over the rim, scalding his hand. "When did she find it? Back then, I mean."
"A little more than two months after the death of her daughter. It escalated quickly it seems, after that, not surprising given the emotional state she would have been in at the time. And then, her actions killed her partner—"
"And the 'oh so good and knowing' Regents allowed her to bronze herself, locking her in a century of world-ending crazy building fun times." Claudia just snorted, disgusted. H.G. was whammied, like super-whammied and nobody noticed. Nobody bothered to wonder what the hell had happened. Their agent, their friend goes from brillant if loveably off-center to Silence of the Lambs, and they just chalk it up to being a grieving woman. Idiots. She drew up short at that thought. So had she. She just accepted that the flash she saw while Myka was using the time machine, the muttering she heard while J.G. read technical manuals was just nothing more than loss. It was easy to. H.G. was a genius, and had made Myka laugh, and tucked Claudia in when she had a nightmare. She could still hear the song H.G. would sing, stroking her hair, soothing away the monsters. Even super-sized whammy, H.G. had cared in a way Claudia had lived without for years, and nobody bothered to try and figure out what the frak had happened. They all just let her go. Suddenly, she felt nauseous. She slapped her hand over her mouth and bolted.
Pete jumped out her his chair to follow, but was stopped by Mrs. Frederick's upturned hand and a small shake of the head. "Give her the moment, Agent Lattimer."
"Dear God." Artie's voice was rather breathless while he slumped back in his chair, his hand scraping down his face. The full impact of just what transpired began to settle in, coating his insides, mixing in with all the rage and distrust to the point that he just couldn't tell anymore what to think. No one had ever been under the thrall of an artifact for so long, no one.
"Quite." Mrs. Frederick took a sip of tea, wishing it were whisky instead. There was nothing like a solid shot to right any situation. The whole house seemed to sag under the information only to be jolted by a scream echoing though the halls, cutting off just as quickly as it came. It reminded Pete of the dog he'd seen get caught in a bear trap once. All the men stood, ready to run for the stairs, but they were again held back. There was nothing they could do, but make it worse. "Sit down, gentlemen. There is little you can do that Dr. Calder cannot, and a group of men busting into her bedroom is likely the last thing Agent Wells needs at the moment."
All three simply slumped back into their seats. It just didn't make any sense, none at all. Which meant, in the Warehouse, it made all the sense in the world. Pete reached back and rubbed at his neck, scratching along the hairline. He could feel electricity skitter up his spine; it was not a good vibe on this one. "But, if she spent a hundred years doubling down on the crazy, why was she all normal in the beginning?"
"That, I would surmise, was a combination of Agent Well's strength of character, Agent Bering, and the Trident's influence. She still had to find Warehouse 2 in order to reunite the artifacts. It really is remarkable that she held up as well as she did, but then again, Agent Bering can be most persuasive when she choses to be." Mrs. Fredrick's lip quirked just a touch. No one chose to comment.
"Once the Trident was neutralized, the energy effect was as well, and the hold over Agent Wells was broken. Unfortunately, it was too late. The act was done and she was utterly unaware of the Trident's effects to defend herself. She was, and in all likelihood still is, under the impression that it was all her doing. That will be a discussion for another day."
"Did the Regents know?" Pete was looking a touch ill.
"That I cannot answer. I do know they found out sometime after she was taken into custody initially. Likely, they had a researcher look into it as I had, but I have yet to narrow down the when. But, it has been some months now."
"Myka's gonna kill them." Pete said plainly, and it was a more accurate statement than any of them wanted to contemplate at the moment.
"And it will be for us to prevent her, Agent Lattimer. We owe Agents Bering and Wells that."
Artie's head ticked to the side, his eyebrow rising and he licked his suddenly dry lips. Something was off. Something was very off. "There's more, isn't there? What. Did they do? How do we get from 'H.G. isn't actually evil to—" He looked up and gestured, "to that?"
"Painfully, Arthur. Painfully. Agent Lattimer, now would be a good time to collect young Claudia."
Myka just held on while Vanessa had wrapped her right foot, the flexing of it into position mixed with the barest pressure in just the wrong spot widened the fracture of one of the bones. Helena had screamed, eyes wide, and had managed to tear a hole in her shirt from gripping the fabric so tightly. Myka could only hold on, whispering nonsense she didn't remember in the softest tones she had, peppering the woman with kisses. Helena's skin was clammy, pain breaking her out in a sweat, strands of hair plastering to her forehead. Vanessa's hands were steady, unfailing, but Myka could see the sheen over her eyes, could do nothing while she bit her lower lip to stop the trembling. Myka could only watch, and it sucked.
Despite the pain, Helena didn't flinch away. She kept her foot exactly where it was, allowed Vanessa to finish wrapping it, simply clinging all the more tightly to Myka. She frame was trembling and her breath rattled in her chest. Her eyes were slammed shut, face forehead to forehead and Myka rubbed their noses together gently, lips grazing. "It hurts. Hurts."
"I know, Helena, I know. You're almost done. You're doing so well, almost done." Myka burrowed her fingers into Helena's hair, scraping the spot just behind her ear she had discovered made Helena smile. There was almost a giggle last time. She let her thumb dance around the spot, pressing and dancing away, only to come back while nipping on Helena's lower lip. Helena's breath shuddered against her mouth, lips moving slightly in reaction. "Tell me a story. Make it stop."
Myka snuggled closer, fingers sliding from her hair down Helena's arm, stroking the soft skin up and down, following the veins she found there, circling. She watched, fascinated, as goose bumps followed in her wake. Myka looked down at Vanessa, looking to see if she was paying attention. She then decided she just didn't care. "When you feel better, I am going to take you on vacation. A real vacation." Her voice was butter soft, and she grinned softly. There's a cabin, not far from where I grew up in the middle of the forest. It sits on the top of a hill leading up to the Rockies. The air is fresh and smells of earth and pine. There are deer that like to graze in the meadow around the bend beside a little stream that actually gurgles. I'm going to take you there." Fingers slid down into the elbow, tickling the soft skin there and making their way south, tugging gently at the soft hairs on her forearms.
"The cabin has two stories, hand milled logs, and a set of fireplaces. A massive one in the living room, stone with a thick rug set down in front. There's a big four-poster bed in the bedroom, a smaller fireplace tucked away in the corner. It'll be covered in silk sheets, something soft to wrap you in." Fingers curled around a wrist, and Myka could feel the steady pound of Helena's heartbeat. It was fluttering rather wonderfully.
"I'm going to lay you out and take my time. I am going to take lifetimes and make you feel every ounce of happiness, every ounce of love, lust—" she tipped her head down, burrowing her face into the pillow between them, nuzzling the warm skin and sweet hair she found there. She was warm already, thrumming in all the best ways possible. She tried to reel herself in. "We can be together, just you and me and the deer. We can light a fire, open a bottle of wine, and I will read to you. And," she reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, rubbing her eyebrow on the way back down. "If you're good, it won't even be Jules Verne. Though, I cannot guarantee there won't be any Byron."
Helena was quiet, just looking at her. Her cheeks were flushed, a brilliant scarlet. Her pupils were dilated, taking in all of Myka, breaths still shallow but fuller than in longer than she cared to remember. Vanessa had let go, sometime around the second deer, and her feet had resolved to a dull ache. Her fingers danced up Myka's stomach, tracing the muscle below and coming to rest just under her breasts and clutched the fabric, letting her body heat warm her knuckles. She pulled herself closer, cuddling in. For a moment, Myka was afraid she had pressed too hard, gone too far too fast. "I like that story." Helena settled down and closed her eyes. She was asleep almost before she finished talking.
Vanessa was bundling her things up, flashing a stack of papers at Myka before placing it on the dresser. The door closed, they were alone. "It'll be a good memory." She could see it, two weeks, maybe three. Feeling her chest move while Helena breathed, the slight flutter of eyelashes, the very real warmth pressed firmly to her side, something just finally cracked. Myka held herself still, taking the deep breaths that would keep he frame loose, and let herself sink into the bed heavily. The remnants of warm sunlight danced along their feet, and some bird chirped in the window. In the end, even she would never have known she was crying if it weren't for the wet spot developing in Helena's hair. Myka never made a sound.