So, ok so far? Questions? Comments? This one's very short, sorry.

Chapter Two

Myka took the laptop from HG Wells, flipped it over and turned it on.

She had to focus! Had to ignore the fact that this brilliant woman; the 'father' of science fiction; one of her childhood idols and possibly the most attractive person she'd ever met, was standing close enough that Myka could hear her heart beat.

She swallowed a gasp as HG leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look at the computer screen and continued to breathe through her mouth to avoid becoming distracted by the intoxicating scent of Wells' perfume.

She was doing fine until she felt the hand in the middle of her back. Even as she continued to respond to their conversation, Myka was hyper-aware of every movement of that hand...

When she finally became aware of her surroundings again, she found herself looking up at the sky and her partner's worried expression. "Uh, Pete? What happened?" She used his shoulders to pull herself up and leant against him as he waited until she felt ok to stand.

"Thank God, Myka," he breathed in relief. "I promise I won't spin you around anymore, ok? Just don't do that again." He stared intently at her to make sure she wasn't going to black-out again. "What happened Mykes?"

Myka tried not to blush as she recalled the intimate feeling of Helena's hand almost caressing her back. "It was a memory."

"Must have been some memory," he commented, the teasing tone creeping back into his voice now he could see that his partner was recovering.

"It was nothing," Myka insisted. "Just an old case."

"We should mention it to Artie," Pete suggested, already reaching for his Farnsworth. "It might be artefact related."

Myka began to panic and reached for Pete's arm to stop him. Artie would want details and she wasn't prepared to discuss her past involvement with his least favourite warehouse agent.

She managed to distract Pete with either food or women for the remaining two days it took them to track down and neutralise the Fire Flint. She was aware that he likely knew what she was up to but he gamely played along, taking advantage of her desperate need not to revisit the topic by dragging her to every boulangerie and patisserie they passed.

She knew that it wouldn't last; he would eventually begin interrogating her again – probably on the plane ride home where she wouldn't be able to escape – but until he had a bad vibe about it, he would give her time.

Thankfully, the few 'episodes' the warehouse agent experienced after that occurred either while she was in her hotel room, or as Pete was driving them through Paris, where he was concentrating so hard on not hitting suicidal cyclists or scooters that he failed to notice his partner's temporary absences.

Myka knew that she should be more worried about these lapses in concentration. What if it happened while she was driving or chasing down a dangerous target? How was she going to discover the cause or how long it was going to last? For the first time in her life, Myka was not interested in the causes and effects; all she could focus on was the memory of HG Wells' welcome haunting presence.

Not that all of her revisited memories carried the same teasing theme. After the first few lapses that had had Myka taking cold showers to wash off their effects, there had been calmer, sadder, friendlier ones that made her long for her friend for other reasons. The last one had taken her back to Egypt, to that moment in Warehouse Two before HG had shown her true intentions, when Myka had pulled the woman from her artefact-induced hallucination and HG had cried bitter, desperate tears for her lost child.

Whatever was causing her condition, she felt like she needed to see it through to its conclusion. That was what her thoughts chanted when she found herself walking through the streets of Paris alone on their last afternoon before journeying home.

Something was calling to her. There were no voices in her head or images of things past this time. She'd simply been packing her suitcase and reading treasured extracts from her personally signed copy of 'The Time Machine', when none of it seemed to matter anymore. Her only priority became leaving the hotel and walking. Just walking.

It was this single-mindedness that pulled her off the main thoroughfare and down a narrow side street. She was two thirds of the way in when she felt the need to stop and listen.

There was nothing. And yet, she waited.