Author: Kloperslegend
Pairing: Myka Bering & HG Wells
Rating: T (for a bit of sexual innuendo)
Spoiler: Season 2
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, but some days I sure do wish I did.

Summary: Unleashed into the world, the last thing Helena could ever wish for is to be wide awake. Forced to deal with her circumstance, she reluctantly turns to those who hunt her...

11/15/12

2.

"How dare you?" She screamed, "This isn't fair!" Helena stood defiantly in the rain and the storm, wind threatening to topple her over. "You won't take them both from me!"

Helena lurched forward, gasping for air as she clawed at her neck for material comfort. She grimaced and held back tears as she remembered her locket was still gone. Her link to Christina… gone. Sterning herself up, she threw off the covers and dangled her feet over the bed. She had slept in a simple nondescript shift. Today she would get the imperceptor vest, and, God willing, finally meet the agents Macpherson so violently opposed.

Running her hands through her hair, she mentally skimmed through her disturbing dream. In the bronze you can't sleep, so your entire existence feels like a watered-down nightmare. The vivideness of the terror and anguish she had felt last night hadn't felt watered-down; It made the musings of her cold prison seem delightful.

Slowly she stood, and took a small minute to gather the clothes she had tossed on the end of the bed and fold them into neat little piles. She was surprised that silence still held an appeal for her. When she awoke from the bronze it had felt akin to being born, and after spending a century in solace had looked forward to some noise, even if it was static. But no, Helena was Helena, and she would always be a creature of dark and solitude – even if the darkness clenched her nerves a bit too tightly at times.

She showered quickly, throwing her hair into a sloppy bun before dressing in something she thought conservative. Black and white seemed appropriate. Helena was, after all, mourning her lost years, was she not?

Leaving her bags in the hotel, she quickly departed for her home. Or rather, what once was my home. It wasn't too far. Hopefully, I'll make it in time for the grand tour, she thought sourly, gripping her handbag as she brushed by a hurried fellow going the opposite direction. She had planned on stopping for a nice cup of tea, but she figured the sooner she got the vest to Macpherson the sooner she could get her locket and ring and be rid of the horrible man.

After a fifteen minute walk she entered her house – 'Home of H.G. Wells – WRITER' – and was greeted by a cacophony of people. Helena simply could help herself: she chuckled. It was just like one Charles' old dinner parties, but modern. And no one was eating.

"Oh hello darling, aren't you a doll!" her head turned as the blonde tour director approached her, "I think there's one more spot in the tour for this hour. Go ahead and sign in the guest book; we're going to get started here soon and we like to make sure everyone has signed in!" She didn't wait for Helena to even respond, moving through the small horde of people with the ease of a knife through butter. The artificer shuffled with much less ease to the guestbook. She scanned the pages, disappointed to see the two warehouse agents had failed to make an appearance. No matter, she thought, undoubtedly they'll be around. She lifted the pen next to the book and paused. How was she to sign her name? H.G. Wells? Surely not, especially with a few final guests standing in line behind her. Edward Prendick, she wrote, feeling clever. Undoubtedly there had been other errant guests reluctant to sign their name; using her own character's gave her a sense of possession she desired.

"Are you done there, miss?" A fellow with an obnoxious ball cap tapped her shoulder.

"Oh, yes, my apologies." Helena handed him the pen and moved out of the way. Glancing around quickly, she moved toward the tour guide. "Ma'am?" A tourist bumped into her, causing stray hairs to fall into her face. The woman looked up. Feigning distress, Helena asked for directions to the loo. Smiling, the guide patiently explained directions the 'tourist' already knew by heart. She figured heading off like she knew the place wouldn't arouse suspicion in the average joe, but precaution was her ally.

She rounded a corner to return to the lobby, and sure enough, there they were. "… Hey, H.G, lookie here, we're waiting for ya!" Shocked, Helena absentmindedly looked to her left and moved forward. After all, Macpherson had informed her that it was indeed her brother Charles that was renowned for all the work, not her. If the agents hadn't been informed, they wouldn't know.

She walked right into the two of them. "Oh, sorry," the woman said. "Sorry," Helena intoned in reply, before walking off.

What she then had to endure she mused about for the rest of the evening.

After watching the man she knew as Pete completely humiliate himself (or rather, she thought, his flushed and irritated partner) in confronting the actor (half of whose stories were complete rubbish anyway), she had seen enough of her house to know that all the important things were likely still in place. After all, if the tour guide knew about the cavarite and the secret room, wouldn't that be on the 'to see' list? It wasn't, and Helena was banking on such ignorance.

After the tour, the two agents requested quietly that they be left alone in the house. She doubted they'd find anything she had to worry about, but she did want to meet them and possibly talk some more.

That plan had flown right out the window when she saw they were ransacking her house.

It was good that Helena had switched the boots she was wearing for the magnetic ones after everyone had left the room of "Herbert's sweet albeit uncouth" sister. Helena had nearly taken the head off of the infernal guide. She supposed the frustration was worth the pure delight she felt at outwitting Agents Pete and Myka. All in all, she was almost disappointed. She figured in the future maybe everyone would be smarter or with more sense, but she was wrong. If anything, things had barely changed at all.

And worse still, she admitted as she hurried back to her hotel imperceptor vest huddled under a peacoat, they hadn't even bothered to learn why I was bronzed before coming here – If anything, she felt like they ought to have given her the benefit of the doubt. Instead they had sought to persecute her mindlessly.

Helena nodded to the doorman as she entered the hotel. Macpherson would be here tomorrow morning to take them back to the warehouse, where she could finally get her belongings. Her locket. The final memory of Christina.

She entered her room and quietly shut the door behind her. Christina. Helena knew where she was buried – not too far from here, in fact. It would be ever so easy to pop over there, to see…

But, no. Not knowing whether or not Macpherson was having her followed, it was a risk she couldn't take. If there was one thing she would never allow someone to do, it was to use Christina – in any shape, any form – against her, ever again.

She peeled off the peacoat first, hanging it neatly in the closet. She considered hanging the vest there as well, and then decided against it. Helena didn't know if the maids of this day and age were more prone to filching than they were in hers, and couldn't risk it. If she lost the vest, Macpherson would be completely livid. As a compromise, she overhauled the luggage Macpherson had given her and settled the vest in the bottom. Once the rest of the clothing was placed on top, she zipped it up and slid it under the bed.

The shadows on the wall of her hotel changed as the hours passed. Helena brooded. What else am I to do? She folded her arms quietly, looking out at 21st century London and lamenting for what seemed to be hours. Helena knew no one but Macpherson, and he was questionable. She knew the agents – or rather, she knew about them. But there was no one she could talk to. Briefly she considered returning and asking to be bronzed again, and stopped.

When had her mind become so brumal? She stood from the bed immediately. Now was not the time to be depressive, not when she was free. Not when, for the first time in a century, she was free to do things. To see. To live.

She picked up the phone. She knew what she would do.

It took calling seven times before the director of the house tours answered very grumpily. Helena gushed at the woman, informing her that she remembered something important to the American agents and, did they leave their number or where they were staying? Yes; The agents did.

And she was off.

They were staying at an upscale hotel in a different area of London, but Helena gladly paid the fare to get there. Cautious as ever, she had the cabbie drop her a few blocks from the hotel in case she was followed. While bringing the imperceptor vest would have been tactically advantageous, Agent Bering could consider it a weapon. If there was anything that would ruin an appeal to mercy, it was a threat, so Helena left it under her bed.

After ensuring that Mr. Macpherson or a lackey of his was not following, she travelled the last few blocks to the hotel.

When Myka opened the door, it was with a gun pointed at her. Helena lifted her hands, and took a deep breath, sterning herself. Well, she had gotten herself this far.

"Inside, Miss Wells," Agent Bering's voice was firm, professional, "Nice and easy."

How had she expected this conversation to go? Oh, yes, Agent Wells, I'm here to have a nice chat. I was lonely, you see, and since you're one of three people I'm familiar in this age, I figured we could share a bit of conversation over tea. You say I'm a wanted woman? How nice of you to put that aside for the time being…

Helena merely nodded and stepped inside, hands still raised. Myka pushed the door closed with her foot, the click resounding in Helena's stomach. Foolish, foolish, foolish, she chastised herself now. Put all your eggs in one basket, why don't you? "Agent Bering."

The younger woman effectively ignored her and reached for a rectangular box Helena could only interpret as a communication device. "Wait," she implored urgently, "Wait."

Helena gazed down the barrel of a gun as Agent Bering looked up, hand frozen in place. "And what reason could possibly be good enough to prevent me from calling my partner?"

The older woman swallowed, but kept her countenance. "I'm just here to talk. To relay information about Macpherson –"

Myka opened her mouth to speak, but Helena barreled on, raising her voice lightly, " - Information that won't compromise me, and allow me to help you. Now please, Agent Bering, if you will… put the gun down. I just want to explain." The adversaries lowered their arms together, with Myka finally putting her gun back into its holster. Unclipped.

"I'm going to need to search you," Myka says, shrugging off her jacket and moving into the room. She never takes her eyes from Helena.

The older woman simply nods, following slowly so as not to cause alarm. "I came unarmed." Myka shoots her a raised eyebrow. "…but by all means, darling, search me anyway" Helena lifts her arms.

Myka wipes her hands and moves forward. "Remove your jacket, please." Helena does, and Myka sets it on the bed after searching the pockets.

"Turn around and place your hands on the desk." The Englishwoman raises her eyebrows and does as she's told.

As she deliberately places each finger on the table, she can't help but let nervousness get the best of her. "My, my, Miss Bering. It's been a while since anyone's demanded that position from me. Though," she adds purring, Myka's hands frisking her legs, "it was under certain… intimate… circumstances."

The younger woman stiffens suddenly and stands, pressing up against Helena and hissing, "Do you think this is a game, Miss Wells?" Something in her tone sets the time-traveler off balance. "Because it's not. I will take you back to the Warehouse, kicking and screaming, and rebronze you myself, is that understood?"

"Quite clearly," the other responds, trying hard to concentrate on her words rather than the body behind her. She absurdly realizes herself somewhat aroused. Granted, it was the first human touch she had experienced outside of escaping the warehouse. First or not, Helena found the other woman quite moving. A little stiff, perhaps, but who wasn't, out of bed?

Agent Bering finally lets up, and the rest of the search is completed in silence. "All right, Wells." She moves to the small table with two chairs near the window, and pulls one out. Helena sits where she is directed. "Say what you came to say."

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Herbert George Wells, or rather Helena Grace Wells; author, artificer, and one of the Warehouse's most wanted."

"And have you read any of my work?"

Helena watched a flicker dash behind the standing woman's eyes. "Not important."

H.G. felt a small quirk tugging at her lips as she looked down. "Quite right. What I meant by my first statement was, I'm not who you are perceiving me to be. I'm not villainous, I don't want to be helping James Macpherson, and I wasn't bronzed for the reasons you think I was."

"Elaborate." Agent Bering crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the wall with cool authority.

"I didn't want to be unbronzed, Miss – "

"Agent."

"—Bering. I planned on being encased for the rest of my life. Mr. Macpherson debronzed me because I have information regarding a very dangerous artifact that –"

"Which artifact?"

"—I spent some personal time with before being bronzed."

"Which artifact?" Bering repeated.

"Would you kindly cease your interruptions!" Helena snapped, dark pools glaring full force into forest green, "It's hard enough being in an age where the only people who know you think you are some sort of deranged killer!" She paused. Myka waited. Leaning back in the chair, Helena continued . "I can't give you the name of the artifact now because your milling around will alert Macpherson to a turncoat." Myka raised an eyebrow. "Me." Helena clarified, taking a deep breath. "He knows things about my past I was not aware were made public. I'm not entirely certain how. What I do know is that I must play along with him to retrieve my belongings, and then I will be rid of him."

"You're using him to get your things from the Escher vault."

Helena nodded, looking up at Myka from downcast eyes. "Yes, and that alone. I was coerced into this plot of his. I certainly didn't volunteer," She scoffed, "to be with that horrid man."

"So you plan to leave after you've gotten your things." It wasn't a question. A slight nod from Helena confirmed. "What will you do when you're free?" Myka, cautious but convinced of Helena's relative harmlessness, pulled out the chair opposite to her and sat. "I mean, the regents aren't just going to let you roam the world unmonitored."

"Obviously." Helena paused, finger tapping the table, head lolling from the left to the right. "I am aware some investments I made under an alias have matured quite nicely. I'll likely draw upon then, and create a new life for myself. As for the regents… they are not so hard to circumvent, if you are familiar with the right methods."

"But…" Surprised, Helena looked up at the soft tone of voice, "What will you do with your life? Will you write?" Myka fidgeted in her chair.

"I don't know what I'll do yet. But yes, I imagine I'll write." She paused, the two of them pinning the other with their eyes. It was playful, passive, a look of equals; a test of strength. Helena broke the moment by continuing. "Darling, you realize the works you are so familiar with were never penned by my hand. As I said before, I merely provided the ideas."

Myka wore a soft smile when she replied. "Yes, and your brother 'provided the mustache.'"

They chuckled softly together, and after a period of silence, Helena stood. Myka followed suit, though a bit faster and with less ease. Helena's eyebrow arched. "No need for concern, Agent Bering. It's merely time for me to leave. I've made my plea and have said what I needed to say."

Myka nodded, hands tucked in her back pockets. "You know, though… this doesn't change anything."

Pulling her coat on, Helena grimaced. "Of course."

"But I'll be sure to take into account everything you've said."

"And it will be kept in confidence?"

Myka hesitated, biting her cheek. "I can't promise anything… but I'll do my best."

Helena fixed the other woman with a level gaze, muscle twitching in her jaw. "Keep in mind, the success of Macpherson may rely entirely on your discretion."

Myka, refusing to back down the convict, met her eyes entirely. "If it comes down to it, I will sacrifice your 'discretion' for the good of the warehouse."

Helena prickled, face contorting in the tiniest bits of anger before smoothing itself again. "Of course. I haven't earned anything from you."

The agent walked past the time traveler to open the door of the hotel room. "You've made a good start, Wells."

Helena left the room, turning around in the doorway only to be startled by the exquisiteness of two verdant eyes. "And if everything you've said is true," their owner continued, "you're well on your way to earning a small amount of trust, at least."

"Indeed," Helena replied, somewhat breathless. "Goodnight, Agent Bering."

Leaning against the door, the agent inclined her head in response. "You too, Wells."

I really appreciate critique. Any little bit is helpful! Don't be afraid to be harsh; I want to improve.
While I plan on writing this story for my own pleasure, support will likely result in quicker updates.