Author's Note: Cue Savannah's almost-entrance. Let me know what you think!
The following two days advanced without much incident, aside from – much to Helena's great displeasure – a very messy event in the gooery on Thursday evening that had not put her in the loveliest of moods.
The neutralizer had plunked enough goo over her head to have it trickling down into her shoes when she stood.
Poor Steve's eyes had widened at the obscenities that had flamed from her lips, and he had wisely endeavored to keep out of her path as she heatedly stalked toward the Umbilicus, and the bath the awaited her at the inn. Myka, however, had chosen to escort Helena home, holding a sopping, purple hand and softly cooing at her, continuing to do so even when Helena's replies consisted of nothing but uncouth vulgarities.
Upon their return, Myka had very slowly stripped Helena of her ruined clothing, and guided her into the shower, where she lovingly washed away every bead of slimy goo from Helena's figure, lowering considerate kisses to each region of pale flesh as it revealed itself to her gaze.
When Myka had finished, Helena had found her spirits to be much improved by Myka's sensitive touch. With great gratitude, she had swiftly turned Myka and showered her with kisses, making love to her against the tile of the shower. The memory of Myka arching away from the wall and into Helena's frame as she cried her approval of Helena's skill had almost made the entire debacle worth the trouble.
Some minutes later, after they extracted themselves from the shower and fell to the bed, Myka folded Helena in her arms, and Helena appreciatively cozied against Myka's side, resting her head against her lover's shoulder. She found herself thoroughly undisturbed by the fact that it could only have been seven o'clock; if the rest of her evening consisted of nothing but lying in the secure hold of Myka's embrace, Helena would be more than content.
She sighed softly, humming as Myka's fingers began to dance delicately over her side. "Thank you, love," she proffered genuinely. "I'm afraid I was rather ill-mannered with you earlier."
Myka smiled, however, and tendered a kiss to the crown of her head. "I cried the first time it hurled on me," she confessed with an unconcerned laugh. "I'm convinced the Warehouse does it on purpose, for its own entertainment."
"I was not entertained," Helena deadpanned.
"No," Myka chuckled in agreement, squeezing her side affectionately. "But you were adorable."
Helena growled faintly at the report. "Bloody furious is what I was, darling," she corrected.
"Bloody furious and dripping in purple," Myka grinned, lifting her hand to filter her fingers through Helena's hair, scented with Myka's shampoo. "And still completely gorgeous," Myka added, infatuated.
Helena scoffed. "Unlikely," she denied. "I've been thoroughly cleansed, and still feel slick with goo."
"It goes away," Myka offered comfortingly.
"Days later, perhaps," Helena grumbled, but gasped just slightly when Myka tugged at her hair, clearly displeased with the negative remark.
"Don't be grumpy," Myka chided warmly. "It's over now."
"I find it's much easier to level my poor disposition when ensconced in your affections, my love," Helena disclosed earnestly.
"Then I'll just keep ensconcing," Myka replied playfully.
But Myka's plan (along with Helena's hope for a simple evening in Myka's company) dissolved with the subsequent knock at Myka's door. Helena sighed her discontent, but Myka hugged her snugly and called out, "Come in!" without shifting away.
Helena was certain that Myka had expected Pete or Claudia to traipse through the door; she had certainly expected one or both of them to be the culprit of the intrusion. Instead, however, she was peculiarly startled.
"Mrs. Frederic?" Myka asked, clearly bemused by the Caretaker's presence.
"Hello, Myka," the darker, older woman replied congenially as she widened the door to admit herself into the room. "Agent Wells," she greeted, nodding in Helena's direction, evidently unsurprised to find her in Myka's bed.
Myka blinked her confusion silently.
"May I have a moment of your time, Myka?" Mrs. Frederic requested shortly thereafter, seemingly understanding that Myka's shock had rendered her incapable of speech, and that Helena simply had nothing to say – aside from a few rather unpleasant words regarding the interruption of her time with Myka, which Helena was certain should remain firmly lodged in her throat.
"Can Helena not stay?" Myka asked unsurely, tipping her head to the side.
A private discussion with Mrs. Frederic was a fairly unusual occurrence, and often did not bode well. The idea that Myka felt more comfortable with Helena by her side warmed her straight through to her bones.
"If you wish," Mrs. Frederic agreed, seating herself in the armchair near Myka's bed and folding her hands primly over her lap. She waited a moment, presumably gathering her thoughts, before she spoke again. "I'm afraid that a relative of yours has come into possession of an extremely temperamental artifact."
Immediately, Myka sighed with exasperation. "Savannah."
It wasn't a question, Helena noted.
"Yes," Mrs. Frederic confirmed, nodding slightly. "This particular artifact also happens to be quite dangerous, in the wrong hands."
"What is it?" Myka asked, the muscles in her face hardening with determination.
"A bow," Mrs. Frederic answered shortly.
"A bow? Like a bow and arrow kind of bow?" Myka asked, brow lifted upward to express her skepticism.
Obviously Savannah has no use for one of those, Helena thought dryly.
"A violin bow," Mrs. Frederic clarified. "The bow thought to have belonged to Nero in first century Rome."
"Okay… So how did Savannah get it? And why does she have it?" Myka asked, frowning. "She doesn't even play the violin."
"I am uncertain," Mrs. Frederic informed, though Helena doubted the legitimacy of her statement for reasons that she couldn't name. "However, the bow has been in the Warehouse's possession before."
With immense frustration at the thousands of obvious and unanswered questions that Mrs. Frederic was forcing her to give voice to, Myka huffed, "If it was in the Warehouse's possession before, then how did it end up with my cousin?"
"When the bow is dissatisfied with its location or its keeper, it burns a nearby city to ashes, and proceeds to melt away," Mrs. Frederic answered.
"How appropriate," Helena couldn't help but to mutter. "I presume the bow is only one artifact of a corresponding pair?"
"Yes," Mrs. Frederic verified. "The bow accompanies Nero's fiddle. The artifacts are individually lethal; together, the results are simply catastrophic."
"So you want me to go and get it from her?" Myka asked. "Artie could have told us that… It doesn't really seem worthy of your time to take it to me, personally," she finished suspiciously.
"I'm not here to send you to your cousin's side, Agent Bering," Mrs. Frederic said quietly. "I'm here to inform you that The Regents and I have elected to send Ms. Morgan to yours."
Myka blinked once, and then, in a flurry of rapid motion, she'd stood. "No," she rejected brusquely.
Helena reached for her hand, but aside from the reflexive grip that Myka's fingers took over her palm, the motion hardly seemed to faze her lover.
"Our options are limited, Myka," Mrs. Frederic told her, a rare sympathy lingering at the edges of her words.
"No," Myka said again, firmly. "I won't bring Savannah here. I will not put her in that kind of danger."
"Myka, darling," Helena said softly, caring little for the fact that she had just interrupted the intimidating black woman who had found herself in her partner's room, "the Warehouse will be the safest place for her."
"Nothing about this place is safe," Myka denied emphatically. "No," she shook her head. "The answer is no."
"It wasn't a question, Agent Bering," Mrs. Frederic said, rising from her position to face Myka. Then, she said more softly, "I recall that you made one request, upon determining to remain a recruit within the Warehouse, and that request detailed that your cousin stay clear of it. However, this bow that she has come into contact with is very particular about its carrier. It seems, for the moment, to be satisfied in Ms. Morgan's care, and until we can have it secured in the Warehouse, with the fiddle, the bow will remain in your cousin's possession."
Helena regarded her paramour with deep concern. Myka was very strongly bonded to Savannah. And her lover wasn't wrong; the Warehouse had not proved to be the safest of places for them. The artifacts that it housed were precarious in nature, and the few who knew of the Warehouse were either bound to it for life, or – more than likely – the sort who despised its existence and plotted for its downfall. If this bow was in Savannah's possession, it could put her at great risk – particularly if the fiddle had found its way to a new owner, as well.
"Myka," Helena murmured, tugging softly at her hand until she turned to face her, "if the bow must remain under Savannah's supervision, then would it not be best if Savannah remained under yours?"
"She shouldn't have it at all!" Myka exclaimed, though Helena could see the fear that darkened in her eyes, and she tightened her hold on Myka's hand.
"No," Helena agreed gently. "But that doesn't change the fact that she does, my love. And, as that is the case, perhaps it will even be beneficial for the both of you to spend some time in each other's company while you keep her out of harm's way."
"Do I have a choice?" Myka snapped rhetorically, pulling her hand from Helena's and scraping it through her dampened curls.
Helena watched as she took a breath, and began to pace. When she stopped, she faced a very still Mrs. Frederic. "If anything happens to her," Myka said darkly, "I will hold you and The Regents accountable."
Mrs. Frederic inclined her head. "Understood, Agent Bering," she acknowledged, and excused herself from the room shortly after.
Helena was pleased that Mrs. Frederic had taken Myka's less-than-veiled threat for what it had been presented as, because she, at least, had no doubt that Myka Bering was a force to be reckoned with, given the right incentive. And Savannah was clearly incentive enough.
She tilted her head to have a long, decent look at her lover, and when Myka's frightened gaze locked onto hers, Helena motioned for her to climb into the bed. It took her a moment, but Myka adhered to the silent request and sat tensely at the edge of the mattress.
"I'm sorry, darling," Helena whispered, circling Myka's waist with her arms, and feeling slightly relieved when Myka buried her head against her neck, and sighed.
"She was never supposed to know about the Warehouse," Myka mumbled into her shoulder. "I didn't want her involved with any of this. Ever."
"I know, my love," Helena soothed.
And then Myka laughed, seemingly unable to help herself. "She's going to be so pissed."
"Mm," Helena hummed contemplatively. "I imagine the deserts of South Dakota don't harmonize well with the aspirations of a twenty-four year old woman."
Myka sighed again. "Savannah's never been picky about where she lives. A side effect of her childhood, I'm sure," Myka said sadly. "She's not going to be angry about being here; she's going to be angry that I lied to her. Although, she probably already knows."
"How is that, darling?" Helena inquired softly, easing Myka fully onto the bed and beneath the covers.
"She's very good at reading people," Myka said, suddenly annoyed. "Infuriatingly good. She hardly pays attention to the things around her, unless she's found something interesting enough to sketch, but she'll notice if a finger twitches out of place, and she's intuitive enough to interpret what it means, most of the time. Do you have any idea how hard it is to live with a kid that you can't get away with lying to?"
"I imagine it's quite difficult," Helena chuckled, hooking a curly lock behind Myka's ear, and brushing her thumb beneath it comfortingly.
"I do miss her," Myka confessed, glancing up at Helena with vulnerable eyes. "And it will be nice to see her. I just…"
"Wish to be reunited elsewhere?" Helena offered supportively.
Myka simply nodded.
"I can only advise you to make the best of a very poor situation, Myka," Helena murmured kindly.
"We seem to do that a lot around here," Myka replied wryly. "You know, I think they underestimate how hard it is to not be able to do anything while we watch the world fall apart."
"'Fiddle while Rome burns,' indeed, darling," Helena answered ironically. "Although, from the tales, it seems to be well-discerned that Nero found that task to be quite simple."
Myka's answering retort: "Nero was an ass."