I had intended to re-watch a few episodes of WH13 before editing this chapter but alas, real life is hitting me hard at the moment. I'm so very glad I have a couple of chapters in reserve so I can keep updating. Feeding you lovely people with my words is one of the highlights of my week.
Well, I'm off for another cold shower since my boiler is still broken. Some warm reviews would be very welcome right now ;-)
Chapter Five
Myka felt her stomach twist uncomfortably and waved with a fake energy to the bright-eyed girl at the window as the driver bade the horse to start walking. Her only comfort in leaving her daughter was the reassuring nod Eleanor tipped her from behind the wavy-haired head.
There hadn't been much they could do to investigate their displaced situation from the house. Though the Wells' library was impressive, there was a distinct lack of time travel books for Dummies. As her conversations with Mrs. Wells began to meander round in circles, Myka finally but politely insisted on being shown to the Warehouse.
Normally, Rupert and Eleanor avoided direct contact with the place, which didn't surprised the agent; Pete's mother rarely set foot in Warehouse 13 so why would regents from the past be any different? What did surprise Myka was Eleanor's confession of regret for keeping her involvement from Helena.
"...She is such an exemplary agent, my Little One... Of course I fear for her safety whenever she's off on another of her missions. You understand how dangerous it is. Imagine how you would feel, seeing your Christina preparing to take on the world armed with little more than her wits... I just wish we could have a chance to work together. I would like for once not to have to lie to her."
As the older woman had already guessed that Myka knew Helena was an agent, she hadn't concerned herself overmuch when talking about her granddaughter. With every utterance, the American heard pride in her host's voice and smiled to herself, silently agreeing with each sentiment.
The carriage trundled along the cobbled streets of London and Myka leant her head back to close her eyes. Under different circumstances, she might have her head pressed close to the open window, all the better to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of the historical setting. Or perhaps not so much the smells, she thought after a particularly malodorous scent reached her nose and caused her to gag. The experience was once in a lifetime and she wished she could feel up to making the most of it but it just wasn't the same without Helena.
She let her imagination wrap around her memories, picturing her lover by her side; the excitement in that voice, those dark eyes; the squeezing of a hand in hers; whispers at her ear. I do miss the horse and buggy days. There's nothing quite so electrifying as the feel of a lover's hand fetching you amidst a crowd of oblivious passers-by.
Myka remembered the suggestive look in her fiancée's eyes when she'd muttered that remark. Though her immediate reaction of jealousy had drawn a chuckle from HG, their late night discussion had been worth the temporary discomfort. The mental images Helena had given her would be forever etched into her mind.
Even through the crowded streets, the ride barely lasted twenty minutes. When the carriage came to a halt, Myka accepted Mr. Wells' hand and stepped down onto the cobbled pavement below.
Like the Badlands of South Dakota, the area in which they'd arrived was nothing much to look at from the outside. Two imposing factories, each belching clouds of smoke into the pea-soup atmosphere, stood adjacent; the hulking forms allowing only a narrow path between them. It was this dank, musty smelling alley that her guide led her into. At the apex, a solid oak door loomed and, as expected, Myka was asked to stand aside while the regent gained access.
He walked them along a narrow corridor where the American noted a series of small holes at varying heights and was immediately reminded of Warehouse 2 and its den of traps. There was no retinal scanner beside the inner door but apparently some sort of detection device was in operation as Rupert leant over a section of brick wall, fiddled around for a moment and then straightened up as a heavy metal door swung open.
As they entered, Myka let out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. She wasn't sure if it was the smell of dust and the soft creak of the walls or something that swelled from inside; a feeling of comfort, but a good chunk of building anxiety fell from her shoulders the moment the door closed behind them.
"Welcome to Warehouse 12, Mrs. Bering," Mr. Wells smiled at her as he gestured to another door, indicating that she should go ahead of him.
Feeling oddly speechless, Myka took the lead and set off into the bowels of the mystical building.
She couldn't help but marvel at the differences and similarities. It was nothing like Warehouse 2 had been, with its sinister feeling of danger and death around every corner. This was more familiar in a way; items she passed reminded her of hours spent with Pete doing inventory or places on shelves that she'd filled herself at some point in the future... her past. Her gaze lighted on a shelf that would one day be home to a dodge ball and a spontaneous chuckle rose from her throat.
The regent's curious eyes honed in on her and she smiled, pointing to the shelf. "During our first year in the Warehouse, my partner and I were chased by a ball that will be here. It's a little odd to know that it hasn't happened yet."
Rupert considered the area in question, paused to look over the shelves and then gave a very small shrug. "I have to confess, I've never given much thought to the number of lives that have been affected by the artefacts we keep in our care." He moved ahead of the contemplative agent toward a side door. "Chaturanga is in here. I believe he has your artefact with him."
Myka stepped into the room and found that it was exactly as she'd imagined it from her fiancée's descriptions. A red-leather, high-backed chair stood at an angle to the desk, it's inhabitant waiting casually, smiling with an air of genuine pleasure as he rose to greet her. "Agent Bering." He grasped Myka's hand between two of his. "Such a delight to be making your acquaintance. Please, sit." He gestured towards a similarly comfy looking chair but remained standing as she lowered herself into the softened leather. "Tea?"
Myka breathed a small sound of amusement as she responded. "Yes, please."
"I will return with the carriage around noon," Mr. Wells informed the room before he tipped his hat and ducked out, leaving the time traveller and his colleague alone.
"He's not staying?" Myka asked, confused.
Chaturanga's pleasant expression didn't change. "I thought it best to discuss your situation in private, delicate as the subject is." He pottered around with his tea set leaving the agent to her thoughts until he placed a steaming cup in front of her. "I understand that you might be acquainted with our Agent Wells?"
Green eyes froze on the cup. What should she tell him? How much of her history, her entanglement with Helena could she safely share? How much had Mrs. Wells already shared with him? A minute of silence passed as she sipped and thought, the director all the while waiting patiently for a response.
A clock ticked somewhere close by, the rhythmic sound, time; a reminder of what they were in conflict with.
Myka slowly placed her cup back on the desk before folding her hands in her lap and meeting Chaturanga's kind gaze. "She always speaks very highly of you," the agent began, confirming his inquiry in a roundabout way. "I assume you must feel the same about her if you've chosen to be her mentor?"
"She is an extraordinary woman; very driven and delightfully fresh. I have great hope that she might one day surpass my teaching," he shared without reserve. "Might I assume that you also think highly of her?"
Myka met his gaze again, trying to communicate with her eyes what she was reluctant to put into words. Rather than answer the question, she swallowed hard, deciding to test the waters of a more difficult subject. "If you knew, that at some point in the not too distant future, she would lose herself to grief, would you… Could you… Allow events to play out as they were supposed to?" Her throat constricted at the mere thought of standing by, knowing what would happen to the two most precious people in her life. "Could you stand by and let something terrible happen, knowing that it would very nearly destroy her?"
Finally, the director sat back in his chair, observing her over his once again steepled fingers, which opened and closed sporadically as he spoke. "Who are we to decide which tragedies are worth preventing? Today's tragedy might lead to tomorrow's revolution or Renaissance. I see your dilemma though. It is not easy to watch someone you care for hurt when you think you might have been able to prevent it." He watched her nod thoughtfully, his demeanour becoming ever so slightly solemn. "If you are asking whether I will use what you know to change the future, as much as it might pain me, I will not. It is not my place to interfere with another person's destiny." He smiled then. "Like your being here."
Myka frowned. She decided that she trusted his integrity enough to believe that he wouldn't try to change anything, but that last comment intrigued her, echoing her own thoughts. What did he know? "You think that I was supposed to end up here? Like part of a causal loop?"
His smile grew as he watched her thinking it through. Eleanor had been right when she marked the mysterious stranger as Helena's equal. Her behaviour and temperament might be very different, but her grasp of logic and puzzles was comparable.
"I think it entirely likely that your being here will create events that culminate in your being here." He chuckled lightly at the spark of understanding that lit up her features. "I find it too much of a coincidence that you are surrounded by Agent Wells' life from a world where I imagine she is surrounded by yours. If this is the case, then it follows that her emersion in the future will create events that culminate in your being here and therefore, ensure that she will end up there; in the future."
Myka sank into her seat as the director's hypothesis sank into her brain. Could that be it? Were their lives so intertwined that they created each other's destiny? "Like the chicken and the egg scenario," she thought aloud. "Which begs the question, what sets all of this in motion?"
Chaturanga nodded along with her train of thought. "I think that is where our investigation must begin. I have studied your curiosity," he reached for a decorative wooden box on his desk and opened it to reveal the broken lever. He turned the box to face the agent but left it in situ. "Despite appearances, it is in fact still active, Agent Bering," he informed her to her surprise.
"How can it be if it didn't react to the neutralising bag? Even weak artefacts produce some kind of reaction," she reasoned, searching his face for understanding. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. It's in the rhythm of the Warehouse. Not only is it active, it is continuously communicating, as if it is searching for a response." He smiled kindly at her ever increasing incredulity. "This is a powerful artefact my dear. It is my belief, from having observed its behaviour, that under the right circumstances it will create a conduit through time. Like the one that brought you here."
"This is all speculation?" Myka queried, not entirely convinced but coming round to the idea.
"Some of it is speculation; theories based on careful observation, but the fact remains that it is powerful and unlike any curiosity I have seen before." He took no offense at the disbelief facing him, his expression of kind, almost amused patience remaining. "I encourage you to keep an open mind and reach your own conclusions; you may have knowledge that defenestrates my hypothesis. With nothing else to go on however, I suggest we see what we can make of the facts."
With a long, drawn-out breath, Myka's gaze scanned their surroundings, her brain taking great pains to assemble the theory.
What were the odds that she would meet one of her childhood heroes; a person who should have died long before she was born? That against her better judgement, she would fall into Helena's arms and later, in love?
How likely was it that Christina would be precisely where she needed to be for Myka to find her? Or that Helena's heirlooms would end up in her possession? How had she and Christina managed to arrive just where Helena's grandfather could easily locate them?
Too many coincidences? Unknowingly, she echoed her fiancée's gut feeling. Perhaps the director was right.
"Do you have any idea when this conduit will reopen?" she eventually asked, coming to the important point.
This time Chaturanga's expression did fall slightly. "I'm afraid not, though if you were to push me to guess, I imagine it will become usable again when your work here is done."
"When I've set events in motion?" He nodded, his smile returning though a little sheepishly. "Events that I have no clue about," she reminded him tersely.
A pocket of fear bubbled up inside her once more. What if they were only partially right? What if, like the director had suggested, their returning home relied on her doing something in this time but would trap them there if she didn't see to it before the 'event window' had passed? Or, what if this pre-determined event wasn't scheduled to happen for months? Years even? What then?
Seeing the growing distress on the agent's face, Chaturanga stood from his seat and rounded the desk to perch lightly against its other side, his hand coming to rest on Myka's shoulder. "Do not distress yourself, my dear. We play by the rules and keep about ourselves a stout heart. I do not believe that the Warehouse would have seen fit to bring you to this place, to this moment in time, only to strand you here. You may have found that you are at the mercy of its whimsy, but it does not follow that you should surrender to the game." He watched her composure slowly return and a spark of knowledge pass over those green eyes.
"Change the rules," she whispered.
Pride swelling his entire demeanour, the director clapped his hands together and walked with animated gait back to his chair. "Precisely!"
The morning spent with Chaturanga had given Myka much to consider. They had briefly discussed Helena and agreed by mutual consent that she would be better off not knowing too much about the American or their possible future together. Myka opened up enough that the enigmatic gent knew when she'd come from and that she was close to HG, but nothing about how Agent Wells had found herself so far removed from her own time.
After returning with the carriage, she had spent the remaining daylight hours with her daughter, playing, exploring and reading. The girl had risen to their challenging circumstances admirably and Myka knew that she deserved a few uninterrupted hours with the one other person who understood her woes. That it also served to bring them ever closer was a pleasant bonus.
Finally exhausted, the pair bid the rest of the household goodnight and saw themselves to bed. Now, a few hours later, the agent was up again.
Passing vague shadows and oddly shaped obstacles, Myka crept through the Wells' sleepy house to the 'water closet'. More frequently now, she found that she was woken in the night by her bladder. The first night in their new temporary residence, she had tried desperately to ignore the sensation, reluctant to move from her warm spot or disturb the girl who slept beside her. It had been no use though, the urge had been too great to resist.
That night, while creeping through the dark with only a candle to light the way, she had cursed the propensity for Victorian décor to include so many breakable antiques displayed on pedestals. By the time she had managed to find her way through the house, she was fit to bursting. Since then, though the layout had stuck fast in her mind, she had risen the moment she woke.
Almost four days after appearing in London, unbeknownst to her, it was more than the call of nature that woke her. After checking that Christina was still fast asleep, Myka had pulled on a pair of socks and a dressing-gown before slipping from the room and treading her route through the yawning spaces of the house. The lower floor was frigid underfoot where rugs ended and the season's chill clung to the wooden oak boards beneath. Hairs on the back of her neck tingled at some unknown source but it wasn't until her return journey that her ears caught the slow, rhythmic click of shoes coming from beyond the dining room.
On wool-softened soles, she painstakingly heel-toed closer to the door. Waiting, ears pricked, she held her breath. There was a pause, distant mumbling and then nothing. Was it one of the servants? Myka couldn't think of a reason for any of them to be wandering around; the rest of the household was perfectly easy using the chamber pots beneath their beds, and even Christina rarely hesitated when it was the middle of the night. Mr. Wells occasionally returned late, but she had seen him head off to bed at the same time as Eleanor and besides, these footsteps were considerably lighter.
Chancing the pitch of night, hoping that the light of the mostly full moon would offer some guidance, she snuffed her candle and placed it to one side. Reaching for a handle, the door opened soundlessly, the hinges having been well cared for. Ducking swiftly inside, she edged around the table and advanced towards the kitchen door. Just as she reached for the handle, the light tap-tap of feet returned, the now rapid sound approaching too quickly for Myka to flee. On instinct, the agent stepped behind the door, vanishing from slight before the intruder entered.
It was too dark to make out a face but, in the dim illumination, Myka noticed the casual confidence in the figure's stance. She could just make out pants and the plane of what she assumed was a flat cap before the stranger stiffened and suddenly turned on her.
With very little time to react, Myka avoided the hands that intended to grab her and blocked the sweep of a foot. A secondary thought passed through her mind as she swiftly changed from defensive to offensive, what is it with people attacking me without provocation? Feet dancing to the rhythm of numerous fencing lessons, she pushed her assailant back, taking no notice of the amount of noise they might be making.
She felt the pressure of an open palm land on her shoulder and was forced back a step, her hip bumping into the table and knocking a silver candlestick from its surface, which tumbled to the floor with a jarring scroop.
The reverberating sound gave the two pause and each stood, panting, staring hard into the dark, waiting for their opponent to make another move. Just as Myka began to wish that she hadn't extinguished her best source of light, more footsteps echoed from the base of the stairs and a flicker of a candlelight appeared from the partially open doorway.
Half expecting the intruder to make a run for it at the realisation that the household was beginning to wake, the American was surprised when the figure appeared to relax. As a golden light fell through the door however, the intruder's features were lit up in relief, drawing a surprised gasp from the time-traveller.
From the hallway, the lady of the house appeared, her own housecoat billowing behind her, casting frolicking figures on the walls, her entrance drawing attention away from Myka's back-pedalling for a moment.
"What the devil is going on down here?" Her harsh whisper cut through the tension. She took stock of her guest and then turned to face her unexpected visitor. "Who…?" She stopped and her whole demeanour became exasperated. "I might have known," she muttered in resignation.
Myka's stomach flip-flopped. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off the raven-haired intruder and when that dark gaze met her own and that mouth turned up into a perfect picture of mischief, she felt a jolt low down, a phantom of the sensation she'd felt in those early days at Leena's.
"Helena Wells, what on Earth possessed you to break into my home in the middle of the night!?" Eleanor had pulled the door to and stood over HG with her free hand on her hip.
The inventor slid her hands into her trouser pockets, hanging her head slightly in an attempt to appear contrite, while looking every bit like the child who had been caught doing something they knew they shouldn't and knowing that the punishment wasn't going to be enough to dissuade them from a repeat of the offence.
Several long seconds ticked passed, and then, seeing that her act was having no effect on her grandmother, Helena flicked her head and leant on her back foot, defiance clear in her altered stance. "Mother asked me to attend you at my earliest convenience."
"Naturally, that was at three am," Mrs. Wells countered with a sarcastic response. "And I'm certain had nothing to do with the rumours that your grandfather graciously offered alms to two engaging strangers."
"There are rumours?" HG asked, her feigned ignorance unconvincing. Her gaze wandered nonchalantly as she reached up to remove her cap. Silken locks cascaded from a released clip and another flick of her head tossed them over her shoulder, drawing the attention of thirsty green eyes. "You know I avoid such idle prattle. As we are all awake and congregated though, introductions may be made as well as not."
Myka suddenly became very aware of Helena's eyes on her and realised that, not only was her mouth hanging slightly open but that her loosely tied robe had come completely undone during the scuffle, providing the unapologetic inventor an uninhibited view of her in her nightgown. Unbidden, memories of her fiancée's very skilled hands came to mind. A blush rose to her cheeks and even through the inadequate candlelight, she saw the familiar knowing smirk directed her way.
The Wells matriarch was disinclined to let her granddaughter's whim pass unchallenged. Internally, she rolled her eyes. As much as she admired and nurtured Helena's outgoing nature, she was also aware that there were certain aspects of her behaviour that, for her own sake, benefitted from taming. "Introductions will be made at the proper hour, after you have announced yourself at the door."
Myka allowed Eleanor to usher her from the room. She sighed with relief when she drew a deep breath and the fog in her brain dissipated. Both hands slid roughly through her hair. "Oh my God," she whispered to the empty hall, licking her suddenly dry lips and swallowing passed the tight tingling in her throat. Though she had been working tirelessly for the past three days, or as much as her host had allowed her to, she abruptly felt a more immediate need to get home.
As she padded towards the stairs, a soft shuffling noise came from above and she looked up to meet eyes identical to those she had just left. Quickening her pace, Myka ascended to the landing and closed an arm around Christina's shoulders. From below, they both recognised Helena's carrying tone and, catching her gaze, the American saw conflict mirrored back at her.
"Come on," she said softly. "Let's go to our room. It'll be safe enough to talk in there."
Christina took her Mama's hand and shuffled along with her. She allowed Myka to pull her back into bed and wrapped both arms around the adult's torso.
"Mama, my tummy feels peculiar," the girl bemoaned, her voice cracking with emotion.
Myka took a moment to fight back her own brimming tears. "We're in a difficult situation," she began, trying to simplify but not belittle. "We both miss your mother, so having her suddenly here, we naturally want to be near her. That uncomfortable feeling is your body's way of telling you that you're worried."
"Will we ever see Mummy again?" The eight-year-old voiced her fear with the feeling of releasing a dark shadow from her mind.
Despite the assurance that her curly-haired mother was working hard to find them a way home, after two days of enjoying the sense of adventure a large house and gardens offered, Christina found a foreboding concern begin to weigh on her shoulders.
The novelty of teaching her Mama how to use the innovations of the late nineteenth century was beginning to wear off and distractions were becoming fewer and fewer. What if they were stuck here forever? What if the artefact no longer worked and there were no alternatives? All of these questions made her wonder how she and her mother had made it to the future in the first place. Was there hope of another way home? How did time travel work anyway?
"Yes we will, I'm certain," the adult answered without hesitation. "The more I learn about our situation; the more I think about how everything connects, the more convinced I am that there is a way for us to get back to the twenty-first century." She hugged Christina closer to her, trying to provide the same comfort that she had begun to find with her research. "There are too many coincidences for all of this to be a… well, a coincidence. It should have been impossible for you and me to meet, and yet here we are. We have to believe that there's a reason we were sent back in time."
Dark eyes stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. "So, do you think we have to help someone?"
Myka hesitated, giving the idea some thought. "It's possible I suppose. Until it becomes clear though, I'll continue to work with your great grandmother on theories."
"What about Mu… Helena?" Christina felt the strangeness of the name on her tongue. It wasn't going to be at all easy to remember to call her mother by her first name.
Smiling sadly, the agent repositioned herself so she was looking into her daughter's eyes. "Do you still want to go along with our 'play'? I understand if it's getting too hard."
"It's ok. I like pretending." The girl yawned but instead of settling down, she leant up on her elbow. "Mama, I've just thought of something." Her brows pulled together as she puzzled through her sudden spark of inspiration. "Wouldn't Mummy remember us in the future if all of this has already happened?"
"Very astute," Myka commented, impressed. "The same thought occurred to me. Either, nothing that we do here will affect anyone, which seems unlikely since there would be no point to our presence, or else your mother somehow lost her memories of this time."
The now intrigued young girl queried uncertainly, "Will she get them back?"
"Perhaps." Myka tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'd like to think so. That might mean she's at home and is already laughing at seeing me in this nightdress." She smiled as she rolled her eyes, her complaints about the period clothing a regular joke between them.
"So she could remember meeting me when we get home?"
Excitement was beginning to return to the girl's voice, which allowed the agent to breathe a sigh of relief. "I don't see why not. At the very least, it will give us something to laugh about when we have to interact with her."
"Ooh, I like the sound of that," Christina's eyes lit up with mischief. "Yes, I could ask her questions that only Mummy would understand, then I can ask for the answers when we get home."
"As long as those questions don't reveal anything concrete about the future to this time's Helena," Myka warned. Already she was calculating how much chaos her daughter could cause, but to see her face without a frown was a reward more than worth any apology she might have to make later. "Now, it's very late and your great grandfather said he would take you on a personal tour of the gardens after breakfast. You need to sleep." Her tone brooked no argument and almost instantly, Christina's head was on the pillow, her body curling into her mother's for extra warmth.
"Night, Mama," she whispered into the dark.
"Goodnight, Sweetheart."
As the child's breathing began to even out and morph into the quiet snuffles of slumber, Myka remained awake. It had been one thing to know that Helena was around somewhere; an abstract idea of this younger, more carefree HG off doing all manner of things, but to see her in the flesh was another thing entirely.
Even anticipating, from her lover's tales, that the young inventor would surreptitiously flirt with her, the American had been overwhelmed by the intensity of her body's reaction and began to agonise over the kind of first impression she must have made. How would it look to a rebellious but well brought up Victorian when a young woman in a nightgown threw herself at intruders and then blushed under their gaze? She doubted it would take much to encourage Helena to make more of their tentative association, especially as she was apparently already a source of curiosity.
Through her confusion and concern, Myka was aware of a slight feeling of nervous anticipation. Was it wrong to feel attracted toward the younger version of your life partner? What would her Helena think? Would she be jealous? Upset? Amused? Indifferent? If what she had just discussed with Christina was true, that Helena might regain her memories in the future, how would she view Myka's behaviour in retrospect? Speculation wouldn't get her anywhere, she thought as she forced her eyes to close and willed sleep to come.
About time Helena showed up, eh?