So, back to my actual job tomorrow, which means that updates will probably return to once weekly. There are only 3/4 chapters left of The Bridge though and then I'll be taking a break to figure out what comes in the next part of the series.
Duvetsnuggler: all of the above, just not at the same time!
Chapter Eighteen
At least an hour passed before Helena regained consciousness and slid dazedly from the bed. She glanced back to see Myka sleeping peacefully, her colour renewed and the fever a mere memory. The inventor smiled gently to herself, her mind foggy but aware enough to feel relief. Something had woken her from her sated slumber but the reason wasn't immediately obvious until she stretched and felt her clothes slide against her middle, closer than they should.
Her heart knew more than her brain was willing to accept as her eyes travelled nervously down to her stomach. Not having changed from her shirt and trousers, she felt around her waist-band, felt the tightness and swallowed thickly. Muscles in spasm pulled her attention to the uncomfortable but unmistakable growth. Within a few short minutes, between gasps of pain where she clutched at her stomach and crouched next to the bed, bunching the covers for an entirely different reason, she felt her body stretch, making way for a new arrival. She barely had time to loosen the ties on her trousers before they became unbearably tight.
Too many pieces of this enigma abruptly crashed together in the inventor's mind. The future; Myka's insistence that she could be pregnant; Christina; the mystery illness; artefacts; the night's events and Myka's miraculous recovery...
Helena rose clumsily to her feet and wandered mindlessly towards the door, her youth flashing before her eyes as a sudden clarity flooded her thoughts; she was going to be a mother. Her life would change drastically. Her own mother was going to ship her off to some forgotten corner of the globe to live out her confinement, excusing her absence by telling others that she was attending finishing school or some other such nonsense. She knew that there was no way she would be allowed to keep her daughter but she also knew that she would die before letting anyone take her baby away.
An odd conflict of thought whirred through her brain, simultaneously damning and thanking fate. On the one hand, she felt completely unprepared and unwilling to accept the responsibility of raising a child, yet on the other, knowing the destination that this beginning would culminate in, and the wonder that was Christina, everything she thought she wanted for her life was turned on its head.
Her feet reflected her meandering thoughts and she soon found herself in a seldom used room which led into a secret hidey-hole of sorts. Having first discovered it as a young child, during the summer she had stayed with her paternal grandparents for a month and had made every attempt to avoid going home when her parents and brother returned; it was hardly surprising that her subconscious brought her there now. If there was ever a time in her life when she needed to hide for a few hours, it was the morning she discovered that she had been magically impregnated. With her future bride's child no-less.
Consciousness swimming up through a thick fog, any hint of dream hidden within it, Myka began to wake. The slow creak of door hinges brought her fully out of sleep and she smiled contentedly as she stretched and rolled over to find dark eyes observing her closely. Blinking a few times, she noticed the absence of her headache and a renewed sensation of life in her limbs so rose up onto her elbows.
"Mama?" Christina looked curiously from the side of the bed. She had woken up alone and felt entirely disorientated for a minute or two before remembering that her Mummy was supposed to be there with her. She didn't remember ever having heard the adult come to bed and for a brief moment, she had felt an uncomfortable rumble of some mostly foreign feeling fill her stomach. How dare they leave her alone!
Seeing Myka now though, any unfavourable thoughts were pushed firmly into a box deep inside her subconscious.
"I'm ok," the adult answered the silent question, the surprise evident in her voice. Grinning now, she gestured for the girl to join her and drew the petite figure in closely. Muffled words prompted her to let go slightly. "What was that, Sweetheart?"
"I said 'Mama, you need a bath'." Her expression captivated her distaste perfectly and she shook her head with theatrical disapproval.
An accusation of this magnitude would, in most cases, have turned the agent into a puddle of embarrassment, but she felt so relieved to be well again that her inner-Pete decided to show up. Leaping from the bed, she wrapped both arms around the retreating youngster and pulled her in for a full body hug. Her grip was tight but flexible so that when Christina's giggle and struggles became forceful, the American's arms parted easily.
Taking an experimental sniff of her under-arm, Myka made a show of fainting against the bed. Regaining her mature, non-Pete side, she continued to smile and said, "Remind me when you're a teenager to tell you that you stink."
"I won't stink!" The eight-year-old exclaimed, running into her mother and scrabbling with her again, their frantic horseplay a sign of the manic relief they were both experiencing.
Being drawn by the commotion, Polly poked her head around the door and struggled against the urge to laugh. The agent's gaze fell on her and she blushed at being caught but shook off her surprise and embarrassment to offer up a relieved smile. "You look very well this morning, Mrs Bering. I'm so glad! Would you like me to share the good news with Mrs Wells?"
"I think first I would appreciate a bath," Myka replied as she shared an amused glance with her daughter. She saw understanding in the young maid's eyes as she nodded and turned to see to the task. The girl was almost out of sight before Myka called her back. "Polly, have you seen Miss Wells this morning?"
"No ma'am. I haven't seen her since helping to dry Miss Bering's hair after her bath last night," the red head informed the guest regretfully.
Myka frowned internally as she thanked Polly and let her go. Where could she be? "Sweetheart," she began, turning to her daughter. "Have you seen Helena?"
Christina shook her head, thinking back to her earlier conclusion that her fellow Victorian had not slept in her room last night. "No, Mama. She didn't come to bed."
Forgetting for a moment her concern regarding her partner's whereabouts, Myka focussed on the eight year old's disappointment and began to appreciate how hard the last few days must have been for her. She really didn't need to worry about Helena too.
Kissing the girl's forehead, the adult tried to bury her own worries and moved to comfort her daughter instead. "Ah. You know what she's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something. She probably spent all night trying to create a cure for me and fell asleep in the middle of the chaos."
Christina nodded but didn't appear very convinced. "Does this mean we'll be able to go home now?"
Not having had enough time to consider the repercussions of her recovery yet, Myka hesitated.
During the lucid moments of her illness, she had almost lost her composure when she began to believe that she might not make it home after all. Asking Helena to take care of her little girl if the worst should happen was a real low point for her as she inwardly said goodbye to her family and mourned the loss of her life. Having almost lost faith in the idea that she might get better, she had not begun to consider the aftermath of such an occurrence. What did she expect would happen now?
"I'm not entirely sure, Sweetheart," Myka confessed. "I hope we can return soon."
Despite her earlier complaints, Christina leant into her mother and for a few moments became quiet and introspective. "When we return, I'm only ever going to see Mummy again, aren't I?"
It wasn't really a question and Myka wasn't sure she had it within her to give an answer. She hugged the girl closer and kissed the top of her head. There was nothing she could do or say that would make any separation easier but she knew she had to try. "Christina. When the people we love are no longer with us physically, we can remember the good times we had together to keep them alive in our hearts, and if remembering sometimes hurts too much, we can ask the people who are still with us to help."
"Like you and Mummy?" A small voice asked.
"Yes," the American agreed slowly. "But there's also Uncle Pete and Lila; Claudia, Leena and Steve. Even Artie, though he'll pretend to be grumpy about it." She shoulder bumped the youngster and the girl smiled spontaneously. "I hope we'll get to see more of my sister, Kevin and Daniel too." She stroked her fingers through wavy locks and paused for a minute to think. "I know they don't replace the people here. We will find a way to remember them."
They stayed cuddled together until Myka's bath was ready and Christina announced that she wanted to read by herself in the library. The agent hesitated again but as after the week Adelaide had stayed with them, she appreciated how a bit of alone time for the girl was not necessarily a bad thing. She nodded her consent and reminded her daughter to come find her if she needed anything.
The hot water felt good against her skin as she lowered herself into the roll top tub and sank beneath the surface.
As she lay there, letting the heat relax her muscles, her mind finally turned to last night. She wasn't sure when exactly she'd fallen asleep, only that Helena had been there, lying close by as her words and thoughts began to drift.
Disjointed, fever-induced images had plagued her dreams and most had been too bizarre to remember with clarity but at some point during the night, they had taken a turn. Head resting back against the bath, she frowned at the effort it took to sift through the murky images in her head. Dreams had always been nearly as readily accessible to her as any other memory when she focussed enough, but what she could make out from last night's dream came through like a badly tuned television...
Strolling along the aisles of the Warehouse, perusing the infinite shelves and their wares, she became aware of a voice calling her name. Green eyes darted around, searching for a source. A solid object weighed down one arm and she adjusted her glasses to look down up on a clipboard.
"I have responsibilities," she muttered to herself. "I have to do this inventory. Shaking off the magnetic pull of that voice caressing her name, she began reading the items on her list.
Godfrid's spoon, Torquemada's chain, drift wood from the Titanic, Lizzie Borden's compact, a Minoan Trident... She frowned, pausing to look up at the items on the shelf.
"How...? You shouldn't be here." She scratched her head, frowning. "I should really tell Artie," she mumbled but didn't immediately move.
If she told Artie, he would insist on putting them back where they belonged. There was a sense of danger here to be sure. Though she didn't know why, she needed them to stay. She would most certainly end up broken and Artie would be disappointed in her for hiding the truth, for flirting with the dark, but the compulsion she felt to keep this magic to herself was too strong to resist.
"Hey, Mykes." Pete's voice came from over the brunette's right shoulder, making her jump. "Whatcha got there?"
She glanced at the clipboard and sucked in a sharp breath. An image of her and Helena on the couch in the library at the B&B stared back at her. They were rocking against one another, her own overwhelmed gaze consuming the sight of unhindered passion above. Lust and mortification hit her in quick succession as she snapped the clipboard against her chest to hide it from prying eyes.
Turning to face her best friend, she found him embracing an imaginary lover, winking at her, teasing. She raised a fist to punch him and hit nothing but thin air.
"Myka..." That silky voice again.
Distracted now, she wandered along to the end of the aisle, hands still clasping the memory of that first time with her fiancée. She emerged from the towering shelves just in time to catch sight of a figure disappearing round a corner to her left. Intrigued, she followed, unaware of the sudden emptiness of her hands.
Ducking passed the wing of a stuffed albatross, she looked up to find herself face to face with her bed. 'The Time Machine' was open and upside down on the bedside table, next to her alarm clock and a picture of her and Helena sitting with Christina on the Black Hills steam train. By the opposite side of the bed, an elegant band of gold lay on a simple chain, a hypnotic, tuneful vibration drifting through the air.
She twitched, ready to move, to reach, to touch. Fingers on her hips, followed by hands, broke her focus and she glanced down to watch a pair of arms encircle her waist, wrapping around her protruding stomach.
"Looking for me, darling?" Helena's voice husked in her ear.
She felt the inventor's body stand flush with her own and closed her eyes, leaning her head against her companion's as she brought her hands up to rest over the ones on her stomach.
A desperate whisper passed over the shell of her ear, "Lend me your burden. Let me bear your pain."
Lips traversed her skin, beginning behind her jaw. Heat built within her like an exponential chain reaction. The world swam around her, a vague impression of a statue with glowing eyes filling her vision before she lay with Helena above her, around her, inside her, making her tremble.
One arm circling the crown of her head, she grasped the hand that held hers, gripping for dear life when it threatened to leave. The other explored and touched at will, eventually arriving at a wanting entrance and falling within its depths.
She swallowed HG's short gasps as their lips met wantonly, mouths devouring, teeth occasionally rough before tongues soothed the offence. Legs wrapped around a waist, shackling Helena's body to her own, riding their combined passion until it peaked and they came undone.
Eyes firmly shut, lungs pulling in much needed air for several seconds, she barely had time to register the loss of weight above before her eyes opened on an entirely different scene.
She was still lying in bed but the pleasant familiarity of her belongings were gone, replaced by clinical whites and greys. She was exhausted and sore, drowsy with some unknown exertion of effort until a gurgling sound drew her attention to the right and she smiled contentedly at the sight that greeted her.
Helena still held her hand even as the inventor sat by the hospital bed; HG's free arm wrapped around Christina, helping as the girl cradled a newborn sibling.
She felt a blissful tear slip unbidden down her cheek as her fiancée's eyes met her own.
Helena's gaze reflected every heart-swelling beat of this moment; her words emerged choked with emotion. "You did so well, darling. He's beautiful."
She nodded, not trusting her voice. She wanted to ask after the other one but didn't have chance as dark eyes guided her to the opposite side of the room.
Head twisting slowly, she glanced to the doorway and looked upon yet another room. This one was dated, Victorian, and by her bed sat another Helena; younger and beaming with her arms wrapped around a bundle that also gurgled.
"Helena?" She heard her voice mumble in confusion.
The young, as yet un-traumatised inventor smiled, her eyes full of nothing but love. "She's perfect, Myka. Until we can be together again, darling, I will love her for the both of us."
Understanding hit her like missing a step and righting yourself just before you fall. She leant forward automatically where the inventor met her half way. Christina blinked up at her from the nest of blankets, her slightly aqua gaze not yet darkened to the deep brown her curly-haired mother was so used to.
"I know you will," she finally whispered to her mate. Touching a wisp of curls on the newborn's head, she lowered her voice further, the words she uttered for one person only. "My baby girl."
She knew now. She had to be where Helena could take their daughter. Christina would bring her Victorian mother to the future, thus ensuring her creation.
A sensation of peace fell over her as she gazed into her baby's eyes, saying with that look everything she couldn't put into words. Saying goodbye for now.
Eyes closed on a babe's face and... opened to that of a world wearied child's.
Myka lay rigid in her bath, hands gripping the sides as she stared across the room, realisation and understanding rising from the memory of her dream. A trembling hand covered her mouth as a sob escaped her throat, tears springing to her eyes unbidden.
How had the dream slipped from her mind the second she woke? Christina had been staring right at her. How had she missed the connection until now?
Her daughter. Her baby.
It changed nothing yet it changed everything. From the moment she'd met the girl, it hadn't mattered to her where she came from, Myka loved the eight-year-old like she was her own. In hindsight perhaps some unknown maternal instinct had kicked in. Had she recognised her own child even before she'd carried her? Regardless, loving Christina had been as easy as breathing and her feelings in that respect had not changed.
What did feel different was the satisfaction that swelled up at the thought that Helena was always destined to be hers. She'd never considered herself to be the possessive type but when HG Wells had fallen into her world, she's struggled not to feel jealous and desperate to be the centre of the Brit's attention. Not that she'd allowed herself to be obvious about it but when watching Helena interact with others, there was always that uncomfortable churning right before she suppressed it as unprofessional and adolescent.
After their reunion, her passiveness in their relationship had gradually dwindled. The few months since Christina's revival had given them a sharp learning curve and Myka had felt more confident than ever in the surety of their future together, but that emotion was nothing compared to how she felt now. HG Wells was her mate.
So many answers to so many questions were revealed. However, hot on the heels of these revelations came new queries and concerns.
Feeling the water grow tepid, she turned her attention to her task.
Baths weren't exactly the relaxing affair Myka experienced at home but she was glad to feel clean again after being bed ridden. For someone who was used to showering daily, her skin felt grimy and her head itchy, so that when she stepped out and began to dry off, the relief was palpable.
Even as she stood naked, beginning to shiver, she had to pause to study the bump that had been slowly growing. Was it her imagination that it felt smaller? She didn't think so. Fingers and palms stroked around the protrusion, missing the extra weight but knowing now that her arrival in 1890 had been steadily leading up to this.
While ill, she had not only mourned the possible loss of her own life. Each moment that passed brought fresh fears of something terrible happening to her children. When Doctor Gravestock and his colleagues suggested several treatments to cure her fever, she adamantly refused to let them near her. After overhearing a suggestion that they should perhaps sedate her, she had been more than prepared to use every last ounce of strength to beak bones if necessary. Anything to protect the twins from the doctors' archaic understanding of medicine.
Now, only one remained. Christina's twin. A boy, if her dream was to be believed.
Finally dressing, Myka returned to the guest room to dry her hair by the fire and compose her wayward emotions before breakfast.
Helena's absence was telling of how eventful the night had been for more than herself. She worried for the inventor but was prepared to be patient for a little while, hoping that the Brit simply needed a couple of hours to come to terms with their situation.
She felt less than ready for company but noticing that time was ticking ever onward and realising that someone must have deliberately left her to her own devices to freshen up (likely Eleanor), Myka knew that she had to make an appearance soon.
Checking the library on the way she was surprised to find Christina still there, her nose buried deeply in a book. Myka felt her heart clench at the beautiful sight even as she mourned the missing years from her daughter's early childhood. She would never see her little girl's first steps, the first time she smiled; never hear her first word, her first giggle; never catch her first tear or chase away her first bad dream. Helena would have those moments to cherish and it took everything Myka had not to envy her partner because she knew what the price was. Knew now the path that was written for them, from this time to her own 'present'. Knew too that her love's journey was full of pitfalls; of despair, of madness, of guilt and regret.
Helena had asked to endure her pain, her burden; and endure them she would.
Deciding that she had spent more than enough time mulling over their entwined destinies in sombre solitude, Myka pushed away from the door and curled up close to the eight year old, apologising for the interruption but not waiting for permission to wrap her arms around the petite figure and pull her into her lap.
"Have you not been down to breakfast yet?" She asked into dark hair, her tone only lightly scolding.
"I'm not hungry," Christina answered quietly. Her head dropped softly onto Myka's chest and she inhaled slowly. "I'm sorry I said you smelled bad."
Myka chuckled. "It's nice to always want to tell the truth, but sometime you are allowed to keep thoughts to yourself. My mom used to say, 'If you can't say anything nice, you'd better not say anything at all'," she advised the girl while stroking hair behind her ear. "I didn't mind too much though. I'd rather know if I smell so I can do something about it."
"You smell nice now," the girl added consolingly, her tone brightening the longer her Mama held her. There was silence for a while as they both continued to take comfort in the familial embrace, until Christina decided that she needed to share the thoughts she had warred with since waking and finding Myka well again. "I miss Mummy, Mama, and I want to go home but I don't want to leave everyone here. Are we not allowed to take anyone with us?"
The agent sighed with regret. How should she explain the potential consequences when nothing was at all certain? "What do you remember about your Uncle Charles, Christina?"
A curious head bobbed up from her shoulder and canted to one side as she searched her memory. "He dressed up as Santa Clause every Christmas and he always pretended not to hear me laughing when his beard got caught in something. He used to read to me sometimes when Mummy had to go away and made me smile when I was sad. He didn't let Grandma Wells tell me off if I hadn't really done anything naughty..."
The list went on and Myka eventually had to hold up her hand to get the girl to stop. "If we take your Uncle with us now, before you're born, none of those things will ever happen and all of your memories of him might just disappear." She paused to let this sink in and though it pained her to kill these particular hopes, she knew it was necessary. "All the people here will have an impact on the future whether that's in a small way, like making a little girl giggle, or in a big way, like being an advocate for women's rights and the face of one of the world's most respected writers. It would be selfish and irresponsible of us to change those things."
"I don't like it," Christina grumbled as she returned her head to its place on the adult's chest. Understanding the reasons didn't endear her to them.
"I know. Neither do I much but unless we want to unleash chaos on the world, we must make do with what we have." Myka offered what comfort she could, with words and tighter hugs.
Eventually both of their tummies began to rumble, signalling the lengthy time since they last ate and at the agent's urging, they both wandered down to the dining room, appearing sheepish as they arrived to find the staff clearing away the leftovers.
"I'm so sorry," Myka apologised profusely as one of the girls was ordered to fetch plates for the tardy pair.
"Not to worry, dear. You've been through quite the ordeal and are entitled to a bit of time to gather yourself," Mrs Wells said as she waved off the contrition. "I must say though, I've been most eager to hear your account of things. You know now why you recovered I assume?" she asked expectantly.
"I think so," Myka responded. She wanted to ask after Helena again but thought better of it after having finally worked a genuine smile from her daughter; she didn't want to set her worrying again.
Eleanor seemed to read her thoughts though as she gazed towards the ceiling and almost rolled her eyes. "With Helena ensconced in her secret den, I cannot expect to tweeze any answers from her. Your account will make a reasonable beginning."
"A secret den?" Myka couldn't help repeating as plates were placed in front of them and food quickly began to arrive. She glanced at Christina whose mouth was already full of toast. They shared an amused look.
"Oh yes," Eleanor nodded, her eyes laughing. "The hours spent looking for that child when she did not wish to be found... Charles was always woefully bad at hide and seek, poor dear. Genevieve too had difficulties. I think two years passed before any of us managed to discover her most used hideaways."
"Where's her secret den?" Christina asked now that her mouth was empty. She forgot all about her concerns for the future as she pictured her Mummy crawling through some sort of tunnel or trap door.
HG sat hunched in her make-shift armchair, her gaze focussed unseeingly through a tiny window at the rooftops in the distance. Seeking out her favourite refuge had allowed her mind to calm from the catatonic panic it had fallen into after leaving the guest room.
Never having experienced this level of trepidation before, she didn't know quite what to do with herself. It had stopped growing and her hand lay lightly on top of it; a reminder that this was real and the whole night wasn't a result of a bad batch of opium.
Her days of risqué associations and gatherings would have to be put to rest in light of this new development but instead of feeling resentment and disappointment, what followed this revelation was a comforting relief.
At first, the thrill of developing a wild reputation had excited her but as time went by, it became something that was just expected of her, almost like an obligation in its own way. This expectation began to make her feel just as much an object of ownership as that of her position within her family.
One of the reasons she loved the Warehouse so much was the sense of responsibility she got with the adventure. Her calculated recklessness helped her to save lives, capture villains and generally make the world a better place. How many of her acquaintances could say that? She was unique in more ways than one, and if anything in her life pushed her to achieve, it was her belief that she wasn't just another face in the crowd.
Didn't this pregnancy prove that she was part of something bigger? She had a destiny that spanned more than a hundred years. She had been chosen to carry this child; this miracle, and with no need for some chauvinistic ideal of physical purity. She was no Virgin Mary after all. As a matter of some pride and not a little smugness, she realised that she had Myka had not needed a man at all.
Christina, she stroked her swollen middle, feeling the tenderness of her skin where it had stretched too fast. Did I choose the name? she wondered, chuckling to herself as she considered the irony and skewed heresy.
The sun was well established by the time she uncurled from her cramped position and left her hiding place. She wandered through the quiet house until she came upon the dining room and caught the conversation in flow.
A smile tugged at her features as she listened particularly to Myka and their daughter, most of her fears for the immediate future buried beneath bravado and a well-developed contempt for the self-appointed authorities of the socialite circle. She thought back to last night and the moment she had connected with the future agent; her knees trembled just thinking about the way her body had responded to the brunette's touch. Who knew how long they had before the artefact that brought the time travellers here would be ready to take them back? Helena knew that she needed to spend as much time with the pair before the inevitable occurred.
"It's a secret," she answered the young girl, waltzing into the room and behaving as if nothing completely crazy had happened to her in the night. "If I told all and sundry, it would not make a particularly effective hiding place now would it?"
"Helena!" Christina jumped up from her seat and threw her arms around the inventor. Her bright demeanour lasted but a few seconds before she turned angry eyes upward and placed both hands on her hips. "You left me alone all night."
HG's eyebrows rose and she shared a nervous glance with Myka. "Well I... It was not my intention darling, believe me." Leaning down slightly, she palmed the girl's cheeks and kissed her forehead. "I am terribly sorry, love. Can you forgive me?"
A playful scepticism appeared in young eyes and Helena noticed for the first time the tiniest hint of green specs near their pupils. "Will you show me your secret den?"
"I must bribe you for your benevolence?" She asked with fake shock. "You drive a hard bargain. However, I believe I can accommodate you, if you can promise to take the secret to the grave?"
Myka cringed as her daughter nodded enthusiastically. By the time Helena's eyes met hers again though, she had managed to pull back a convincing smile. "After breakfast," she insisted and gestured for the inventor to join them.
HG nodded and ushered the child back to the table before making herself comfortable in the empty space beside the American. Under the polished wooden surface, she found Myka's hand and slipped it into her own. With a small squeeze, she encouraged green eyes to meet her own and tried to offer what small comfort she could. They would have to find time to talk before the day was over, but until then, they could simply enjoy their time together.
Most of you called it on Myka being Christina's biological mother but does the 'how' surprise anyone at all? Not sure I'd make a very good mystery writer, but it's fun hearing people guess what's going to happen next.