"We got a ping!" Artie called out gruffly.
"Aw, man," Pete groaned, throwing himself back in his seat at the breakfast table and dropping his fork dramatically.
"Artie, it's Sunday," Myka reproved.
Helena stood behind her and placed a hand on Myka's shoulder, gripping it comfortingly, and Myka raised her fingers to embrace hers as she sighed.
"I know what day of the week it is," Artie scowled at her, and then looked back down at his laptop briefly, before his eyes shot upward again. "What's this?" He asked, gesturing wildly with his free hand at Myka and Helena's intimate stance.
"They're a thing," Pete informed, grinning. "They had an official date and stuff! And from what we've heard, it went really well," he added on an exaggerated whisper.
Myka, from her seat beside him, punched him in the arm.
"Ouch! Didn't anyone ever teach you that violence is not the answer? 'Cause if they did, I think you misheard them," he whined.
"Quiet! Be quiet," Artie demanded, weary of their exchange. "I was going to send the two of you," Artie said cantankerously, indicating Pete and Claudia, "but now I'm sending Pete and Myka, instead."
"What?" Helena shifted forward defiantly, noting without much care that Steve began collecting the dishes and moved toward the kitchen to wash them.
Myka reached for her hand, and soothed her thumb over Helena's knuckles quietly.
"Do you have a problem with that, Agent Wells?" Artie challenged.
"Yes, in fact!" Helena proclaimed, having very little concern for the warning in Artie's tone.
"No, Artie, it's fine," Myka said compliantly, though Helena was sure that she heard something else hidden in her words.
"Myka – " Helena tried.
But Myka shook her head, and looked up at her. "It's fine," she reiterated, though her eyes, as they connected with Helena's, said something entirely different. "I'll go with Pete."
"Good," Artie nodded, eyeing her with suspicious approval, before abruptly looking down again. "Because Chicago's in a lot of trouble. You two," he said, hastily setting his computer down, and reaching into his back pocket before thrusting two scraps of paper at Pete, "are on the next flight out."
"I think you skipped some stuff, Artie," Pete reminded, as Artie sat down at the table. "Like what we're looking for and, oh, maybe what kinda artifact-y voodoo we can expect when we get there?"
"The antennas – " Artie began, but stopped to glower over his shoulder, as Claudia had moved to hover over him so that she could view the computer screen.
"I'm just looking, Artie! Jeez," she huffed, but didn't shift away.
"The antennas," he started again, his voice slow and dangerous, as a warning to Claudia, before his speech picked up pace again, "of the Willis Tower – formerly the Sears Tower – are acting up again."
"The antennas?" Pete said disbelievingly. "At the top of Sears Tower? Artie, how are we supposed to get up there?"
"Find a way," Artie demanded. "It was done in 2008, and it will be done again."
"Hold up there, guru. I don't understand," Claudia frowned.
Artie puffed up, aggravated, and then rushed to explain, "Trump Tower was topped out in 2008, and completed in 2009. Willis Tower evidently felt threatened by it, because the antennas at the top started emitting some strange frequency that only select people were able to hear. There were sixty-five more homicides in 2008 than the year before, and there were fifty-four fewer deaths the year after – because we gooed them in December of 2008 and put a stop to the murderous impulses that the antennas were diffusing."
"Wait, wait," Claudia said. "I thought there had to be some kind of human interaction or something to create an artifact?"
"Have you ever been to Chicago?" Artie lowered his glasses to peek at her overtop of them. "They talk about that tower like it's a person."
"Yeah!" Pete said emphatically, snapping his fingers as he recalled something. "I took a tour there once. My guide kept calling the tower a he, and I thought it was weird. He kept going on about how it was bold and demanding, with broad shoulders and a lot of pride. If it is a he," Pete said, then blew out a hard sigh, "he's got some serious overcompensation issues."
Claudia snorted. "So, what? It just created its own artifact in the antennas?"
"We're not clear on that," Artie admitted reluctantly. "We think it might have something to do with one of the engineers, but the antennas weren't added to the building until 1982, and there's been some serious debate over whether they count toward the height of the building, because, technically, they weren't part of the original building plans, and they also serve another function, which is to transmit signals for local radio and television broadcasts."
"So the building's feeling threatened again?" Pete asked. "Why?"
"Freedom Tower," Myka enlightened.
"Correct," Artie pointed at her, and then began again, enthusiastically. "In November, the CTBUH – Council on Tall Buildings and Urban Habitat – is going to meet and discuss the spires at the top of One World Trade Center, otherwise known as Freedom Tower. Several people have voiced issues about Freedom Tower suffering the same antenna issue as the Willis Tower, since they, too, have transmitters imbued within them. However – !" Artie bellowed, interjecting his own ramblings vigorously, and pushing his glasses up his nose. "It is almost unanimously agreed that the Freedom Tower will be declared the tallest building in the United States once that meeting takes place, if for no other reason than for its symbolism to our country."
"So, basically, Big Willis is pissed off that someone else is gonna take his gold medal at the Olympics this year?" Claudia asked.
Artie nodded. "In metaphorical terms, yes. That's the idea."
"The antennas," Pete cited his task with doubt. "You want us to go to the top of Sears Tower, and goo the antennas."
"That is correct," Artie nodded again. "No snagging, no bagging, no tagging. Just goo it."
"How did they do it last time?" Myka inquired.
"They were airlifted in by the Warehouse's emergency plane," Artie informed.
"We have a plane?" Claudia demanded to know.
"Seriously!" Pete exclaimed, irritation apparent in his voice. "Why have we been flying coach for four years?"
"Did you not hear?" Artie replied with matching irritation. "Emergency. As in, only to be used in case of."
"And a pair of temperamental antennae that inspire murder and rest at the rooftop of the highest building in America doesn't qualify as an emergency?" Helena asked, raising her brow insolently.
She was displeased with Artie, and making no effort to mask it. Being partners with Myka had been the only consistent thing about her life since she'd arrived back at the Warehouse, and she was not eager to sacrifice that simply because Artie was grumpy about their relationship. Additionally, she was a bit hurt – not that she'd admit it aloud – that Myka had failed to express unhappiness about their impending separation.
"It would," Artie said, scowling, "except that our emergency plane is apparently out of commission, for the time being. So find another way, before more people get killed."
"Yeah, piece of cake," Pete scoffed.
"Your flight leaves in two hours!" Artie said, closing his laptop with unnecessary force and making his way back through the door, presumably heading back to the Warehouse.
Helena watched as Myka stood wordlessly, gripping Helena's fingers in a tight squeeze before she made her way up the stairs. She shifted forward to follow behind her, but Pete put his arm on her shoulder and shook his head.
"I got this one," he told her. "Trust me. C'mon, Claude," he said, and the diminutive girl nodded and followed him up the stairs.
Feeling helpless and emotionally winded, Helena made for the kitchen to help Steve with the dishes, as it was the only task that she could presently think to perform.
Steve looked up at her and smiled, and she attempted to return it, but it wasn't genuine.
"Are you okay?" Steve asked quietly. "I mean, not that you have to talk to me or anything, but…" He trailed off, shrugging.
"I find that my thoughts are disorganized, at the moment," Helena admitted.
Steve nodded. "I get that," he said, and then looked over at her again. "She was really upset you know," he offered. "Myka," he clarified. "After they got back from Wisconsin."
"I'm aware," Helena returned, clearly displeased with the topic of his chosen conversation.
"I didn't say it to make you feel bad," Steve quickly asserted, raising one hand from the soapy dishwater and holding it up innocently. "It's just – " he sighed, and then began again. "I think Claudia and Pete know Myka really well, and they know that she wouldn't want you to see her as weak, so I'm guessing they haven't told you very much about what happened."
"Pardon?" Helena queried, puzzled. She wasn't aware than anything particular had happened; she'd merely been made aware of the fact that Myka had been very upset in her absence.
"Yeah," Steve said quietly, nodding. "I just – I kinda think you should know. Because I like you," he said, smiling, "and I like Myka, and I think that you guys could really have something great together."
Helena smiled softly, though it was small and hesitant.
"What is it that you feel I should know?" Helena asked.
"Myka kind of had a breakdown after they left you in Wisconsin," he said gently. "Pete said she cried the whole way back, and then she didn't leave her room for the whole next day. She wouldn't talk to anyone. We all tried," he sighed heavily, and then shrugged. "But she just didn't want to talk. Artie tried to send her and Pete out to L.A. for an artifact when she finally left the room, but Myka just stared at him, and then she walked out. She took off," Steve said. "I'm still not really sure where she went; I guess I assumed she went home. She turned her phone off and left her Farnsworth on Artie's desk, with a note that said she'd be back soon, but she was gone for another day before she showed up again. She and Pete had a big heart to heart when she got back, I guess, but that was only the day before you got here."
Helena's eyes were glassed over, and she didn't know Steve Jinks well enough to be comfortable with him bearing witness to that if she could help it, so she turned away, and covered her mouth with trembling fingers.
She'd known that Myka had been very hurt, but she hadn't realized the extent. It was no wonder that Claudia had been furious with her return. She'd thought that she'd ruined Myka before, but now she was certain that she had done far worse.
"Listen," Jinks asserted, interrupting her thoughts, "Myka really, really cares about you, and everyone around here knows it. And we know that you care about her just as much, so if Myka's forgiven you, obviously we have, too. I just thought it might help you figure things out if you knew why Artie is sending Myka out there with Pete instead of you. I think he's just wary of Myka spending too much time with you, in case…"
"In case I leave?" Helena inquired softly.
Steve shrugged guiltily. "Yeah, I guess. It was just… It was hard to watch her go through that," he settled, finally. "And I think Artie just wants to make sure that she won't break down again when she has to be away from you for a while. I'm pretty sure that's why Myka said she'd go."
Helena laughed, and despite that she'd faced away from him, she was sure that Steve could hear the tears in her voice. So she turned around, and said, "It's unsettling what that darling woman will go through solely to make a point."
"Yeah, pretty much," Steve grinned at her, nodding.
Sincerely, Helena reached out to touch his shoulder. "Thank you," she said earnestly.
"Sure," he said. "Just… let her know that you'll still be here when she gets back. And keep your phone on you, in case she tries to call."
"Yeah, because she might panic a little if you don't pick up," Helena heard, and turned to find her lover leaning against the doorframe.
"Myka," she breathed.
"Hey," Myka smiled softly.
"I'm just gonna let you two finish up in here," Steve said, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and excusing himself with more tact than Pete and Claudia combined, and Helena found she very much appreciated that.
"Myka, darling, why didn't you say something?" Helena whispered tearfully.
"What would you have expected me to say, Helena?" Myka asked gently, moving forward to stroke her face with care.
But Helena pulled her in swiftly and wrapped her in a tight embrace. "Anything, Myka," she replied into her ear. "You could have said anything."
"I know," Myka sighed back. "But I didn't want to," she said, pulling back and drifting her fingers down Helena's arms until she held a hand in each of hers. "Helena, you left to do something good for yourself. And I know that you feel badly about not considering my feelings, but it took me a long time to consider yours, too. You were unhappy. And what you needed then… It wasn't here," Myka shook her head.
"But the pain that you suffered at my absence, Myka – "
"Helena, don't," Myka instructed softly, hugging her hands tightly. "I was sad, and alone, and the only thing that I could think of to make it better was to be with you. So I leaped at the opportunity to see you when you called, and I was disappointed when I got there. But that doesn't mean that you did anything wrong. I just…" Myka looked down, and then back up with shining green eyes. "I just hate to be without you, and when we saw you in Wisconsin, you seemed so much farther from my reach than you'd ever been before. And you had a family there, Helena," she breathed. "You can float around to whatever city you choose when you're alone, but when you have a family… That glues you somewhere. It gives you a home," she said softly. "It gives you somewhere that you have to go back to."
"Darling," Helena assured gently, "I never felt that there. I never felt home, there," she imparted honestly. "You have always been the place that I have to go back to, Myka. You."
"But I didn't know that, Helena," Myka reminded profoundly. "I guess I'd always thought of it that way, though, because never once, when you left the Warehouse, did I ever think to myself, 'She's not coming back.' There were times when I didn't know where you were, and there were times when I didn't know what had become of you, but I never thought that you'd just be gone. And when I saw you there with Nate and Adelaide… Helena, I thought it, then. I thought you'd found the normal life that you wanted," she said, a tear finally breaking from the pool in her eyes. "And I thought that you wouldn't be back."
"Myka – " Helena began, but couldn't quite find her words. She feverishly leaned forward to kiss her cheek once, and then twice, and a third time, before she squeezed Myka's hands hard within hers and swore, "Myka, I will always come back to you."
Myka laughed, though another tear trekked down her face. "Yeah?"
"Oh, darling, yes," she promised. "Emphatically, truthfully, lovingly, yes."
"Good," Myka sniffed, and reached a hand up to draw a finger under her eye and divest of her tears. "That's good," she said, smiling, and propelling a puff of emotional air past her lips.
Helena embraced her in another hug, and stroked Myka's hair when her head fell against Helena's shoulder. When they separated, Helena cradled Myka's face in her hands and instructed, "You just be sure that you come back to me from Chicago, darling. Quickly. I've barely begun to explore this exquisite body of yours, and I would very much like to do so," she teased, sure that she did not want Myka to leave on such a sorrowful note.
Myka groaned. "I don't want to go," she mumbled.
"You do know that you're only being obstinate by allowing Artie to send you, yes?" Helena ribbed lightly.
"I know," Myka sighed, frustrated with herself. "But I think I do need to go with Pete," she said softly. "I need to adjust to not necessarily having the chance to see you every minute of the day."
"I understand, darling," Helena shushed. "Just don't do anything irresponsible. And for God's sake, Myka, do be careful. I won't have the woman I love in the morgue because she fell off of Willis Tower. That's just absurd."
Myka paled.
Helena raised a brow. "Myka, darling, I'm teasing," she informed.
"I know, I just… I have a thing about heights, okay?" Myka confessed.
"Oh, darling," Helena soothed, leaning forward to press a long, slow kiss against Myka's lips, and when she'd thoroughly invaded every cavern of Myka's mouth, she pulled away and rested her forehead against that of her would-be partner's. "You're being silly," she said gently.
"I know it's silly, Helena," Myka huffed. "I can't help it, alright? It's a phobia!"
"What I meant," Helena said, chuckling, "was that it's silly of you to set off to Chicago, when you neither want nor need to do so. Artie clearly thought Claudia capable of the task, if you'll recall."
"I said I'd go, and I will," Myka said inflexibly. "I don't have to be happy about it," she grumped.
"I find your intractability to be remarkably charming," Helena informed, smiling.
"Stop using fancy words and a pretty British accent to call me stubborn," Myka scowled playfully.
"I did say it was charming," Helena offered as comfort, grinning at the compliment.
"Just keep your phone nearby, okay?" Myka asked, sighing.
"I will, darling. I promise," Helena smiled. "Although, I'll be quite cross with you if you don't actually call me."
"I will," Myka said, chuckling. "I don't think I could go that long without talking to you, right now."
"Nor could I, my love," Helena shared. "And I have no desire to."
Author's Note: A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, and a nice little tribute to my vacation in Chicago. I couldn't help myself. I exaggerated a little, and got a little wordy with the description, but they really do talk about Willis Tower like it's a person. Anyway, please review!
P.S. If any of you wondered, the CTBUH is a real thing (I thought it sounded made up), and they are actually meeting in November to talk about the spire/antenna debate!
P.P.S. All the statistics came from Wikipedia, so I'm not totally sure about their accuracy, but I have found Wikipedia to be more reliable than some people think.