AN: So, here we are again. Hopefully, I'll be able to update more frequently over the next month or so. I have passed the bar, term is coming to an end, and the great vacation shall commence. I hope everyone is still enjoying the story; I love hearing back from everyone.
Jane found herself spinning through the air with the greatest of ease. Her sons arms were wrapped tightly around her, and, for the first time in longer than any woman would care to admit, she squealed like a little girl when her feet left the ground. "Peter Lattimer, put me down!" Her feet brushed the ground and she looked up into twinkling eyes that were his fathers.
"Mom, what are you doing here?" Pete did a fast check in his head. It wasn't his birthday, her birthday, anniversary of anything. He reached down and grabbed her bags sitting at her feet, grunting when he went to lift them up, trying to ignore the smirk on his mom's face when she heard him. It was time to break out the bench press.
"Lift with your legs, Pete. You're not eighteen anymore." She breezed past him and into the B&B, listening as the door clicked shut behind them and the thunk of her bag landing on hardwood. "As to why I'm here, can't a mother come visit her son?" She turned and stepped forward, letting her hands cup his cheeks, stroking the fine hairs that dotted them. He looked tired, and there were new lines burrowing into the skin beside his eyes. There were a few more scars, a few new greys, but he was still her little boy. "You sounded sad when you called last month, and I haven't made it out for a visit yet."
"I'm fine, mom, really. You didn't have to come out here." He shuffled them into the living room, pulling her down beside him on the couch.
"Well, I'm here. Don't worry too much; I only planned on staying a couple of days. I know it's a full house from what you've said." She leaned back against the coach, readjusting her jacket and rested her head against her fist. "Now, are you going to tell me what's been going on that you've got that look on your face like you did when your sister said Green Lantern was the best super hero ever?"
Pete sighed, rubbing at his face roughly, the bristles making his hands itch. The testimonies from his last meeting blended with the sound of Helena's screams and cries as she wakes up in the night. The nightmares had started and it took Claudia and Steve the better part of two days to soundproof Myka's bedroom. According to Myka, it had been Helena's demand. "Something . . . happened a few months ago. There was a thing, and, when we thought it was over, a few months later, the big bad turned out to be not to bad. It's just, it threw off our qui around here."
Jane just looked at him, and carded her fingers through his hair. He never saw the way her eyes trailed up the stairs to their right, never saw the way she tipped her head upward, following the sounds of steps over their head.
Both looked back as Claudia came bounding down the stairs, stomping and stumbling over herself, sliding in stocking feet across the hardwood. "Hey, Cookie Monster, where are those sodas? You're the one that wanted to see the glory that is the Papa Bear Moonwalk. What's — Oh. Hey." Claudia looked confused between the two, her head tilting slightly to the side while taking half a step backward. The woman reeked of responsible adult, and she had more than enough of that as of late.
"Hey, Clauds, this is my mom. She's staying for a couple." An eyebrow arched up, disappearing beneath a fire-red fringe, and her fingers twitched.
"Ooohkie-dokie then. Good to meet you, Mama Lattimer. I'm a just gonna go. I'll let Mykes know we've got company after Mrs. F. leaves. I think she mentioned H.G. was getting a little restless. She may try to make a break for it in the next couple of days." And with that, she was back of the stairs.
"H.G?"
Helena hit the stones gasping, the air rattling in her chest, tearing through her. Her entire body ached, burned, or was utterly numb. Water ran down the side of her face, pooling beneath her and wetting the grime, making it stick to her rags, and a rat scurried along the back wall. Her body began to tremble, the cold seeping in the tears, clawing at her. She was having trouble remembering why she was wherever she was. It was dark, it smelled bad, it was cold. She wanted to go home. She wanted food. She wanted sleep. She wanted "My—."
The questions had stopped. He words had stopped. No matter how hard they hit, no matter how long she was in the tank, she had stopped. Her face pressed into the cold stone, her body curling in on itself while her mind drifted back and forth over a century. She listened to Christina's laugh, her screams, Wolly's stuttering, Einstein condemning the Bronze as an abomination when he visited, Myka asking her to sign her copy of The Invisible Man, the click of the hammer as she pressed the gun to Myka's skull. That click just kept repeating, reverberating around in her skull, taunting her. Slowly, so very slowly, that click shifted, morphed as her mind reached out for any comfort it could find. That click became a tick, a soft, swishing tick.
"Myka?" Helena slipped into the small library Leena had put together in the B&B after watching Myka try to sneak first editions out of the Warehouse during her first month there. Helena wiggled her toes as she moved, enjoying the soft fabric underfoot. She watched the pendulum swing on the wall clock as she made her way around the corner of the low table.
Myka was curled in the corner of the overstuffed couch, seemingly small despite her stature. Helena could feel her heart skip a beat just looking at her. Hair in a loose braid, sweat pants, socks, and a flannel button down, a soft blue that just made Helena want to touch her.
Myka looked up when she heard her name, index finger pushing her frames back up her nose, a small smile tipping her lips, her eyes questioning. It was rare for anyone to bother her here, even Helena in the month she had been back at the Warehouse and left her to the peace. She closed the book softly, her fingers dragging along the binding while she set it aside, uncurling from the little nest she had made. "Helena? Is everything all right?"
Myka started to get up, but Helena just waived her back down, setting herself on the other side, folding her hands in her lap. She looked down, refusing to meet the other agent's eyes while her fingers found a bit of lint on her trousers to fuss with. She twisted her body, facing Myka, picking at her trousers when a hand entered her field of vision. Cautious fingers wrapped around her own, stilling the movement. "Helena?"
"I have never wanted to destroy my own creations before. Not until today. When you were in that chair, and we were uncertain as to whether we could— I have never so badly wanted to destroy something I created. Claudia wanted to spend the weekend repairing the Time Machine. I'm fighting the urge to take a sledgehammer to it."
Myka shuffled across the couch. "Oh, Helena. No. No." They ended up knee to knee, Myka all but forcing her way into Helena's side, wedging herself between Helena and the couch. Helena had yet to change, so she smelled like brass and oil and Scotch. She wrapped a hand around Helena's upper arm, just above the elbow, pulling them together completely. She rested her chin on a shoulder. "I'm okay, Helena. I'm right here. You fixed it; you brought me back. You built a machine that let me help people, snag, bag, and tag before I was even born. It was amazing." Her free hand grasped Helena's, squeezing until Helena looked up. "I was never afraid; I knew you were there. I always knew you'd bring me home."
Helena's entire body seemed to sag, leaning further into the solid weight beside her, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair, the warmth of her skin, her breath on Helena's neck. The clock just ticked away, an irony she was too tired to contemplate. She tipped her head, resting her forehead against soft curls. "You are a wonder, Myka Bering." Helena sighed, resting for a moment, drawing strength and a sense of calm from the woman she hadn't felt since the last time Christina slept in her arms.
"When Arthur pulsed the system, I was afraid. Truly, and inescapably scared, such as I have not been but the once. And then, when I was trying to restart the system, and he put the Tesla to my head, kept me from — threatened to ki—I would have welcomed it had we lost you."
"He what?!" Myka jerked up, looking at the woman with no small amount of panic, tinged with a fair share of incredulity and rage. "I'm going to kill him, I'm genuinely going to kill him! Of all the asinine, childish, foolish!" She just trailed off, starting to shift, as if to get up, when Helena simply held her tighter, refusing to release her.
"He thought I was hurting you; I tried to explain, but he couldn't hear me, wouldn't hear me. He doesn't trust me, and I don't blame him, even if McPherson did need to be put down like the dog he was. But he was standing between me and helping you, Myka. That he could think I would, that I could ever cause you harm, I would never, never, Myka. You have to believe that." Helena could feel the desperation seeping from her pores, but she didn't care. Myka had to know; she had to understand.
"Shhhh, I know. I know, Helena. Don't worry. I'll talk to Artie; there will be no more sticking weapons in your face, not while I'm around." She was quiet for a moment, fingers stroking the crook of Helena's arm, feeling her soft breath tickle her eyelashes. Then, she spoke, in a voice so soft even Myka wasn't sure she'd actually made sound at all. "I won't let him hurt you, not while I'm around."
Breaths didn't hitch, stomachs didn't clench, and hearts didn't flutter. It was a bald statement, truth as real as it could ever be. They put it on like an old winter's coat, familiar and warm, soft in all the right places. Helena's lips touched the shell of her ear, soft, before resting against her crown again. That was it then. "Did you just quote that Sweeney Todd film Peter made me watch?"
"Ummmm, yeah." Myka leaned back slightly, looking up with no small amount of trepidation. Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, and Helena could hold it back no longer as a laugh rumbled up, forcing her to tip sideways, eyes watering, into Myka's laugh. Myka followed shortly thereafter, landing on Helena, the two forming an ungainly mass of giggles and broken tension.
Helena yelped and tried to pull herself away as the door to her cell swung back open, flooding the room with light from the corridor, such as it was. Hands came up over her head, blocking out the light, covering her eyes, protecting her from the blows she anticipated. None came, but she continued to push herself into the furthest corner of the cell. "Agent Wells—Helena. It's going to be all right. I'm here to take you home." Mrs. Frederick took a step forward, crossing the threshold, and knelt down. "You just take your time, Helena. You're safe now; I promise. Agent Bering has been asking about you. Let's get you home, Helena. Myka's waiting." With that quivering stopped, hands didn't move, but a pair of eyes peeked out over the filth and bone. Two manic, brown, eyes fixed on her and Irene could feel the shiver run down her spine. "My—, My—." Twenty minutes later, Helena Wells was dragged back into the light and back to life.
"From there, I brought her directly here. You know the rest." Myka just stared at the older woman. The bed shook, rattled against the wall as teh woman in her arms trembled, fingers digging crescent marks into her chest. Helena's eyes were slammed shut, face buried in Myka's neck, feet tucked deeply beneath the covers and between Myka's knees. It had started as a good day. She had slept most of the night, only the faintest nightmare, easily chased away. She had made the trip to the rest room wholly under her own power, her feet aching, but not painful. And, after a breakfast far more like those of before, Myka had spent the morning giving her a massage. Yes, it had been a good day indeed. Now, now Myka could barely handle the unfamiliar feeling curling in her stomach. It was hot, heavy, threatening to creep out, spread. Her pulse pounded behind her eyes, and for the first time in her life, she genuinely wished to cause pain.
Every muscle in her body tensed, vibrated in a way unfamiliar. Even as she watched Sam die it was nothing such as this. It wasn't until the quivering ball in her arms whimpered, curling around her further, that she took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to drop, her muscles to unwind. Her fingers relaxed and began scratching at skin between shoulder blades, the last of the bandages having come off the day before last. She looked at Mrs. Frederick, the woman they all turned to for answers, often with great reluctance and little hope of a straight answer, just stared back. She had come, laid the answers bare. With every word, Myka remembered the bruise, the scrape, the broken bone. With every word, she watched Helena shrink just a little bit more, fighting not to get lost in the past.
"Who?" Myka's voice was sharp, cutting.
"They are being taken care of, Agent Bering. Those involved have already been removed from their post and are facing judgment. Do not concern yourself; they cannot harm either of you any further."
"Tell me who they are! Forgive me if I don't find the justice dished out by the Regents to be horribly reliable at the moment. I will not sit idly by after what they did to her. I want names, and I want them now." Her voice had dropped off, growing deep, callous. The hairs of Irene's neck stood on end, and, even if she wouldn't show it, she was uneasy. She pulled the glasses off her nose, pinching the bridge and then leaned forward in the chair she had pulled to the bedside. She would make her see. Irene was tired of losing agents to the stupidity of those sworn to protect; she wouldn't lose these two, not again. She reached forward and put her hand on Myka's ankle, grasping the warm skin, making the woman look at her.
"Agent Wells and I met before. Were you aware, Myka? I was one of the agents helping to prepare for the transition to Warehouse 13, just at the tail end of Helena's tenure. I was young, not much older than young Ms. Donovan at the time, and the world itself was a place of wonder. You should have felt the excitement when the Wright Brothers actually flew. It was as if everything was possible." Irene smiled softly at the pair of eyes peeking out over Myka's breast, staring, assessing, digging. No, she likely wouldn't remember the younger woman who sat quietly in awe. "It was 1905, and the final plans had been set in place for the location, the beginning of the transfer of artifacts. We had five years to prepare, build, and a small group of us were sent to London to see the Warehouse, try to see where improvements could be made, and to learn. You really were quite mad by that point, Helena. But, I was enthralled by you. We knew it wasn't your brother that wrote; I knew of the things you had built, the adventures you had had, the heartache. You were a marvel, and I was petrified. I don't believe I said more than hello to you for the entirety of my stay. In all these yers, I never forgot the woman who smiled when we entered the room, offering tea and wandering the aisles at night muttering to herself." Irene sighed, leaning back in her chair. For all the Warehouse gave, it always seemed to be taking away.
"I startled you." Helena whispered, lips barely moving while she stared out from her den. Her voice was rough, the words still stilted. "You tripped over the stool and landed on the hearthrug. I remember you, Ms. Harrison."
Myka pressed her lips together; a somewhat manic need to laugh built up. The stress was going to break her one of these days.
"I ask, if you cannot trust the words of the Regents, trust me, one malcontent to another. Trust me when I say they will be dealt with, they will be held responsible. Do not give them the satisfaction of making you into what you're not, Myka. You don't belong in the shadows, Agent Bering. Don't let them draw you there." Irene stood up, tugging down the bottom of her jacket and smoothing her hair. She set her bag down on the bed on reached inside. She pulled out an envelope, bound shut at the top with red string, the whole thing screaming bureaucracy. "There is one more thing we have yet to discuss. Yellowstone." She put her hand up as Myka opened her mouth, indignation plain on her face. "No. Read the file, both of you. It will shed some much-needed light on the subject, and take solace in it, Agent Wells. You're a good agent, and a good woman, Helena. Agent Bering seems to believe it, so it must be so. Wouldn't you agree?" With that, Irene walked out of the room to the sound of crinkling paper and a closing front door.
Myka slid further into the blankets, sighing as a warm body molded itself to her, wrapping around her firmly. She smelled like Helena again, Claudia taking the time to go shopping for them. She was warmth and spice. She was trembling. Sliding fingers under her chin, Myka tipped Helena's head up until their eyes met. Slowly, she leaned forward, foreheads touching, eyes locked. She smiled, only slightly, eyes crinkling at the edges while she rubbed Helena's nose with her own, lips brushing. With a sigh, Helena burrowed back into her shoulder, lips grazing the pulse of her neck, a finger reaching up to tap the envelope before curling her fingers around the nearest collarbone.
Myka unwound the red string, lifting the flap, and pulled out the stack of paperwork, a sealed envelope sitting on top, both their names in unfamiliar handwriting on its face. Setting the papers aside, Myka slid a nail under the edge, opening the envelope and unfolding the heavy-bond paper inside. She pressed her lips to Helena's ear before settling back and bringing the letter into focus.
Agents Bering and Wells,
Please find enclosed all research currently available on the Minoan Trident. Most of it has been done in the past year, as you will see, and there are still gaps to be investigated. However, the main reason for my inclusion of this information is of a more personal nature for you both. I do hope you will forgive me for not delivering the information in person; I thought, given the circumstances, you would both prefer privacy when considering the ramifications of what I am about to disclose. I became rather concerned after the incident at Yellowstone about the Trident when one of the Warehouse researchers began asking questions as to the side-effects of contact with the Trident. The full description is provided within the research enclosed so let me be brief. The Trident amplifies negative emotions, feeds on them, until it is strong enough to force its bearer to complete its purpose. In short, once an individual comes into contact with the Trident, she is under its thrall, a victim to its whims and the rage it creates within her. In short, Agent Wells, you were its victim from the moment you touched the first fragment. That you were left under its influence for so long only solidified its hold on you.
Agent Wolcott was not your fault, Helena. Dr. Hernandez was not your fault. Yellowstone was not your fault. You were the victim of a hideous artifact, no different than any other victim. That you were able to stave off its effects for as long as you did is a testament to your strength of character, goodness, and, forgive me, Agent Bering's rather tender regard. You were harmed in service, and practically abandoned by those meant to help you; that will not happen again. Time is yours to use as you see fit, as it has ever been. Read the research; take solace where you can in it. I know the guilt will remain a good while, Helena. It is in your nature. You have spent your adult life protecting and caring for others; now is the time for us to return the favor.
With Warm Regard,
I. Fredrick
Tears slipped into Helena's hair as Myka dropped everything over the edge of the bed. There was just too much to think, to understand. Helena didn't move at all, just stared straight ahead until Myka shifted, bringing them eye to eye once more. "Hey."
"Hello. How about that." Helena was just tired.
"I love you."
"Why?"
"Because I could do nothing else. Plus, you manage to beat me at Scrabble. I knew I was finished at that point." They cuddled closer, Helena reaching out to catch the last of the tears. There would be time enough to digest everything later. As it was, she could barely keep her eyes open, the thrum of Myka's heart, and rush of her breath the only things within her realm of knowledge at the moment. She would think of Wolly tomorrow, the sounds of screaming men, crying women, clicking guns. She would think of it tomorrow. She was warm; she was safe. She was loved. Tomorrow could wait.
"It's the triple word score." Her eyes drifted, fluttering shut as her hand went lax, rumpling the shirt beneath it. "Love you—even more than post-its."