Chapter Text
Helena drew closer to Myka, a twinkle in her eyes and a knowing smirk gracing her lips.
She stepped forward, invading the taller woman's territory.
"If you didn’t believe me," she said, "just a little," she smiled before taking a step closer, "you'd have shot me by now."
Helena's face was mere inches from her own, and it was like everything around her had fallen away. All that Myka could see in that moment was Helena G. Wells. She moved to touch her, but the ever elusive inventor danced back out of her reach and walked towards the door. She placed a hand on the door frame, stopping as she reached the entrance.
Helena glanced back over her shoulder, her face turning from playful to serious.
"Myka, I-" she began.
A shot rang out, silencing her midsentence.
Helena looked surprised as she stumbled back into the room, turning to face Myka fully.
Another round discharged from somewhere.
Myka opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried to move towards Helena, but her body refused to cooperate. Instead she simply watched as blood soaked through the pale blue cotton of her shirt. It bloomed out from her chest, spreading rapidly like a flower before disintegrating into a wet, dripping, deadly mess.
She watched as Helena swayed before toppling back, her body hitting the ground with a resounding thud.
It felt like time had stopped as she watched Helena bleed out before her, the light in her eyes beginning to dim.
There was pain.
The realization came crashing into Myka as she found the target of the second bullet. She clasped her hands over her abdomen and looked down, only to find blood seeping rapidly through her fingers. She watched with morbid fascination as the life poured out of her. She unfroze and stumbled towards Helena, collapsing just short of her.
The two women stared at each other across the divide. There were so many things to be said.
"You would have made an excellent mother Myka Bering," Helena whispered, as Myka watched the light go out in those brilliant dark eyes.
**
Featherstone Surgical Hospital
Featherstone, South Dakota
April 14, 2014
11:15am
Myka gasped as her eyes sprang open, her senses suddenly overwhelmed with fluorescent light and the overwhelming smell of hospital grade disinfectant. She felt herself bolt upright, only to have a cry slip unbidden from her lips as a burning pain seared through her abdomen and forced her back down.
As she breathed deeply, biting her lip against the pain, her mind began to catch up. Her heart rate slowed as relief flooded through her. H. G. Wells (now Emily Lake), was safe and sound in Boone, Wisconsin. She hadn't been shot, her consciousness hadn't been destroyed and she certainly hadn't died in an explosion that existed only in Myka's overactive imagination. It was just another dream; another variation of the multiple scenarios which seemed to plague her sleep from time to time.
Ever since becoming aware of the alternate timeline which had been erased by the Astrolabe, Myka's mind had come up with some exceptionally creative ways in which to kill the Victorian inventor. They ranged from self sacrifices through to death in the line of duty.
The curly headed brunette blinked through her post surgical haze, forcing her emotions to the rear of her mind. Her subconscious was an asshole whom liked to demand her attention when it came to the 19th century author. It liked to remind her of the existence of H. G. Wells, when all Myka wanted to do was forget that she even existed. They hadn't spoken in close to a year, and although Myka felt the absence of the other woman's presence quite keenly in the beginning, it seemed to get easier as the months passed.
As always, the sharp twang of overwhelming grief and loss faded as quickly as it had arisen. Normally it would pass into the nether as she went about her morning routine. However, today, her relief was to be short-lived.
Myka Bering had awoken from one nightmare, only to find herself plunged into another. As she finally oriented herself to her surroundings, the reality of her current situation came crashing down around her.
Hospital.
Cancer.
Surgery.
As she took in her stark surroundings, she registered the itch of the tape across her IV line, the regular beeps of the monitors around her, and the small waves of pain emanating from her abdomen. Her breath hitched as she felt the panic rise in her chest, clawing its way to the surface and trying to smother the last of her strength and resolve. The agent clasped a hand across her mouth with more force than necessary as she attempted to muffle a sudden sob.
She had no idea what was coming next.
As someone who prided herself on meticulous planning and absolute control, she despised being at the mercy of something she herself could not fix.
Was it gone? Did they get it all? Or was Dream Helena right? Was she going to lose everything she never knew she wanted, and maybe even her life?
As she looked around the room, she realized she was alone. She had done everything in her power to ensure they would all stay away and let her get through this with as much dignity as she could muster. It was what she had wanted. Or at least she thought she did. Yet, right now she was absolutely fucking terrified and there was no one there to cling to. No Pete, no Artie, no Claudia. There was nothing she could do to assuage the ice cold fear in her veins.
With that thought in mind - Myka Bering, agent of Warehouse 13, curled onto her side and cried.
**
A couple of hours later, her Oncologist visited her in her room.
Benign.
She cried again.
Just like that, it was all over.
It seemed almost a little anti-climactic.
**
Warehouse 13
Univille, South Dakota
April 14, 2014
8:30pm
It had been a long day.
In less than 24 hours, Myka Bering had managed surgery, time travel, and the defeat of a psychotic immortal hell-bent on torturing humans in the name of scientific advancement. As she shook her hand out after giving Pete a well-deserved thump, she knew, despite what she said about the Warehouse always coming first, that there would always be exceptions to the rule. Four of them stood by her side every single day, and the other – well, the other was currently playing house in Boone, Wisconsin.
With Paracelsus and Paracelsus v2.0 both secured, the team finally managed to leave the Warehouse, albeit exhausted. As Myka walked out of the umbilicus into the fresh air, she touched a hand lightly to her stomach.
Pete looked over at her, concern in his eyes.
“I’m fine,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“Be that as it may, you’re on leave. As of now,” Artie ordered.
“Bu – “ she began, before he raised his finger.
“No buts! That’s an order,” he said gruffly.
Myka sighed, rolling her eyes, a slight smirk dancing at the edges of her mouth. Artie looked at her pointedly, and she raised her hands in the air. “Alright, alright! But I’m not staying in bed, just so you know.”
Artie rolled his eyes before climbing into Pete and Myka’s SUV. Claudia sidled up beside her and gently looped her arm through Myka’s. “I’m glad you’re okay. Really glad.”
The tall brunette looked down at the shorter girl and smiled. “Me too Claude,” she said before pulling the girl a little closer, taking comfort in her presence.
As they drove away from the Warehouse, Pete looked back at her and nodded. They were okay. They’d all live to fight another day.
“Eyes on the road Pete,” Myka barked.
She found herself smiling as relieved chuckles finally broke through the tension of the day.
**
The sun was beginning to go down as they pulled up to the B&B. Artie was grumbling about new vehicles and explanations to rental companies as he pushed open the door. As Myka began to climb out, the loud bang of a door slamming back on its hinges caused her to look up.
A lithe brunette came flying out of the doorway, stopping short a few yards from the SUV.
“Are you all alright!?” she demanded, her accent giving her away before Myka’s eyes could even register the sight before her. She watched, dumbstruck, as the Englishwoman took stock of their numbers. Myka couldn’t help but smirk as she watched a flash of embarrassment cross the face of the ‘Father of Science Fiction’.
“Oh...“ H. G. muttered, before she gathered herself and nodded, apparently satisfied they were all still breathing.
“Well, alright then,” she nodded again, hands on her hips, before catching Artie’s glare. “I’ll just be inside,” she began, turning away. “When you’re ready,” she called out over her shoulder as she walked back into the B&B.
Pete turned to look at her, confusion on his face, “Ready for what?” he asked.
Myka rolled her eyes and glanced to her left as she watched Artie storm towards the front door. Pete followed her gaze and winced before remembering exactly who would be on the receiving end of the Director's wrath.
“I would not want to be H. G. right now,” he chanted, grinning sadistically.
Despite having buried the majority of their hatchets, Pete still loved seeing the pompous author put in her place.
Myka smacked him again before grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the B&B.
As they entered the front door, they could see Artie advancing on Helena. The inventor was standing in the middle of the living room, pacing back and forth whilst fiddling nervously with her locket. Despite his exhaustion the older man leapt immediately on the offensive, demanding answers from the 147 year old Victorian whom, after proclaiming she wanted nothing to do with the Warehouse (and by extension, anyone in it, Myka thought to herself, with only a hint of bitterness) was suddenly standing in the middle of the B&B.
“What did you do?” Artie growled.
H. G. took a step back, raising her hands in surrender.
“I didn’t do anything," she began, "I thought it had been quite some time since I had seen my friends, so I thought I would pop by for a visit. Last time I checked that was legal in this century, or was I misinformed?” she said sarcastically, as Steve and Claudia entered the room to join them.
Myka shook her head as she watched Helena struggle under the scrutiny of the five agents. For someone who had proven herself ever so good at lying in the past, she was currently doing a terrible job at it.
The inventor looked over at Myka hoping for some back-up, only to be met with something akin to a brick wall. The taller agent's arms were crossed and she was looking directly at Helena with suspicion.
“I did promise Myka a cup of coffee not so long ago,” she said, smiling hopefully, and a little boldly in the brunette’s direction.
Myka couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her lips. She rolled her eyes. It had been months since she had heard from, or laid eyes on Helena. Their so called 'friendship' had faded into nothingness. The former Warehouse agent was apparently quite content with her lot, off playing house with Captain America in Boone-bloody-Wisconsin.
Helena’s smile faltered as she watched Myka. She didn't have much of a chance to dissect the expressions on the taller woman's face however, as Artie was quick to jump back on the offensive.
“Coffee!?” Artie barked. “We have an emergency in the Warehouse, involving your Time Machine no less, and suddenly you miraculously appear to have a friendly chit-chat over coffee with one of my agents!?" he said, waving his arms around to accentuate his sarcasm. "It's the middle of the week and a ten hour drive from Wisconsin, Agent Wells!”
“Well,” Helena held up a finger, “it’s a one hour flight actually, but that’s beside th – “
“Enough!” Artie growled, before pointing at a chair. “Sit!” he ordered.
Helena did as she was told (for once) and sat down as directed.
“You four. Kitchen. Now!” he ordered as he rounded on the four agents standing closely behind him.
The older man stormed off, and Myka found herself glancing at Helena, before turning away following the rest of her team.
“You’re all smart individuals,” Artie began as he closed the doors, “and I shouldn’t need to point this out to any of you,” he looked directly at Myka as he spoke, “but there seems to be a history of erratic behaviour amongst my Agents whenever H.G. Wells shows up.”
Artie looked at each of them in turn before continuing.
“There will be no discussion of today’s events in the presence of that woman. I will explain what happened when I see fit. And,” he paused, raising a finger, “you will all nod in agreement. There will be no embellishments,” he looked pointedly at Pete, before turning to Claudia, “no technical chit-chats,” and then focussing on Myka, he spoke the next words slowly, and clearly, as if to ensure not a single word would be missed, “and most importantly not one single word uttered about successful time travel in the presence of H. G. bloody-Wells. Do I make myself clear?”
They all nodded, even Steve, although he felt he was being unfairly included in this conversation. He knew the story. He wasn't an idiot.
As they filed back into the living room, Helena was sitting there, tinkering idly with her locket, her thoughts far away. She pulled herself back from ever she was and looked around at them.
“Do you all have clearance to speak to me now?” she said petulantly, her arms crossing defensively across her chest as she got to her feet.
“Wisconsin has really done wonders for that personality,” Pete muttered sarcastically, just loud enough to ensure the inventor heard.
Helena glared at him across the room.
“You,” Artie pointed at Helena, “enough with the attitude. I want the truth Agent Wells. Now! Before I call in the Regents and have you teaching High School English again, and this time, it’ll be in New Zealand!” he barked.
The Brit threw up her hands dramatically.
“Oh alright then, I may have placed a small monitor on my Time Machine before I left," she said, her eyes flitting to Claudia's momentarily.
Artie glanced over at the younger agent suspiciously as she suddenly appeared very interested in a picture of Pete and Myka on a side table.
"Go on," he growled.
"I got wind of a little...curiosity in the shape of an abnormal power fluctuation today. When I couldn't get in touch with any of you, I grew concerned. As I no longer have any access to the Farnsworth frequencies,” she stared accusingly at Artie, “I thought I would come to ensure you were all alright,” she explained.
“Apparently I needn’t have bothered,” she added, the petulance returning to her voice.
“No, you needn’t have! First thing tomorrow you and Claudia will remove your little addition to the Warehouse inventory; and any others, I might add," he ordered.
“And?” Helena asked defiantly, hands on hips, with chin raised in defiance.
“And, nothing. Get it done. Then you can go back to Wisconsin. Pete and Myka seem to think you’re happy there. Go, be happy, and stay out of my Warehouse!” he barked, before the wind dropped out of his sails and his shoulders slumped exhaustedly.
Sighing, he looked around at the rag tag group before him.
“Now, if you all don’t mind, I’m tired.”
He accentuated his statement by pulling his glasses off and rubbing gently at the bridge of his nose.
“All of you get some rest,” he paused, “Particularly you,” he said to Myka directly before he could catch himself.
He shook his head and then looked apologetically at tall brunette. She brushed it off tiredly, and waved him on.
“Go get some sleep Artie,” she said, her voice slightly resigned.
He nodded before retiring upstairs.
“Right, well, that’s my cue,” Steve spoke as he clapped his hands together. “H. G, nice seeing you again,” he smiled. “Claude, you coming?”
Claudia looked at the inventor, “You’ll definitely be here tomorrow?” she asked.
Helena looked at her and nodded, “Of course dear, Arthur would have my head,” she smiled.
The young red-head grinned before launching forward and pulling the inventor into a quick hug. The older woman looked shocked, before clasping her arms around the young agent briefly and smiling. Claudia blushed slightly as she pulled away and whirled around to follow Steve upstairs, leaving Pete, Myka and Helena alone in the living room.
Myka straightened her back and resisted the urge to rest her hand protectively across her abdomen. Helena was eyeing her carefully, and Myka wanted to take a step back from the scrutiny. She felt like she was a specimen under one of the forensic scientist's microscopes. She knew it had been too much to hope that the Victorian had missed Artie's little slip.
Pete looked between them, and sighed, the all too familiar feeling of being a third wheel in one of their silent conversations was creeping over him. He had never understood these two, and Myka had refused to discuss it with him. After he drove her away from Boone all those months ago, he knew she was crushed. He wasn't sure he could explain why, because he was certain that nothing had ever happened between the two agents - but he would have had to have been an idiot not to see that there definitely something. The two of them together, with all the long stares and unspoken statements made him uncomfortable. He decided to extricate himself from the situation before the tension got any worse. Frankly, Myka looked pissed.
“Mykes, I’m beat. You be okay?” he asked, while exaggerating a yawn and a stretch.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, “I’m fine Pete, go get some sleep. I’ll make pancakes in the morning.”
He gave her a big goofy grin before crossing the room and clutching her to his chest.
“Try not to...” he began, directing his words to Helena over Myka's shoulder, before shaking his head.
"Just don't keep her up too late," he said pointedly before releasing Myka and clomping his way to his room.
Myka stood there, staring at Helena before folding her arms protectively across her chest. She listened for the familiar sound of Pete's door closing above them, then she simply shook her head and turned towards the kitchen.
Helena followed silently behind her and watched as the taller brunette entered the room and began pulling a teapot out of the cupboard, busying herself with making tea. The silence was palpable. As it dragged on, the inventor finally couldn't take it anymore.
“Are you cross with me, darling?” she asked.
Myka sighed, pouring water into the teapot, watching it steep for a moment before gently replacing the lid. She could think of a number of reasons why she was irritated with the inventor, but none of them were rational or up for discussion. She hadn't exactly made much effort to contact the older woman either. After one or two missed calls, and a courteous voicemail here and there, it appeared both of them had simply given up, choosing to take the easy route and just leave well enough alone. Whenever they found themselves in the same vicinity, things just seemed to get more complicated.
Myka ignored the question and looked around for teacups. Spotting a couple on the second shelf, she began to reach up as Helena started to speak again.
"Look, now I know I haven't been the best - " the inventor began, stopping suddenly as Myka hissed out in pain, pulling her arm back down suddenly.
The Brit was at her side in an instant, concern written all over her face.
"Myka, are you alright?" she asked, worry lacing her tone.
The younger agent took a step back, waving the author away.
“Yes, I’m fine, just overdid it today," she said.
She looked up at the tea cups, before uttering a short "Would you mind?"
Helena nodded and moved to pull two tea cups down from the shelf, the shorter woman having to stretch considerably.
Myka turned away as the inventors shirt rode up, revealing a toned back.
As she came back down, resting the cups on the counter, Myka thanked her quietly before grasping the pot before her.
"Tea?" she asked.
Helena nodded.
“Shall we sit outside? It’s a pleasant enough evening, and it’s quite nice not be stuck inside, hunched over a microscope at this hour if I’m honest.”
Myka nodded and reached for a tray, eyeing the cookie jar. She plucked the whole thing up, figuring she would have more than enough time to attempt to bake some more over the next few days. If she followed Artie's orders, that was.
Helena moved to take the tray and Myka glared.
"Can you get the door?" she asked pointedly.
Suitably chastised, Helena backed away from the tray and walked ahead of the agent.
They moved their way to the porch which over looked the back garden, and Helena busied herself with dusting off the chairs.
They both sat down quietly, and Helena poured out a cup for each of them as Myka went for the cookie jar. She plucked a couple out and placed them on the edge of her saucer, suddenly aware that she hadn’t eaten since the hospital and it had just gone 9pm.
They both stared out into the garden, before Helena paused, her tea half-way to her lips. “Are you going to tell me, or will I be forced to pry?”
Myka finished her cookie and brushed her hands, before reaching for her tea cup. “It was nothing, an ovarian cyst.”
Helena clutched her tea cup tighter, “Cancer?” she asked, as nonchalantly as she could manage.
“Benign,” Myka responded casually.
Helena turned then, placing her cup down on the table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Myka turned to face the older brunette. “Like I said, it was nothing,” she stated as she took a sip from her cup.
“Even so, I would hope that you would call me if –“
“If what Helena? I’m not dying, and you have a family now, a child to care for. I’m not going to call you every time I stub my toe,” Myka replied, a little more harshly than she intended.
She sighed, placing her tea cup down.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It’s just that everyone’s been fussing, and I’m fine,” she looked across and caught the Victorian’s eyes.
“Honestly Helena, I’m fine. It was a low invasive surgery, barely even a scar.”
The inventor let out a breath and smiled, “Good. That’s good.”
“It is good,” Myka replied, before picking her tea back up.
Helena made the decision not to pry into Myka's earlier mood, choosing instead to steer the conversation towards safer topics. Before long, everything was as it was before between them and the next couple of hours slipped by as the two women sat outside, discussing old discoveries and new.
Around 11pm, the late evening chill began to set in and Myka felt the warmth and comfort of her current company be replaced with a growing sense of dread. As always, tomorrow, Helena would be gone again. Things would return to normal, Bering and Lattimer, solving puzzles and saving the day. In the evenings, she would drift off, alone; hoping for night filled with endless wonder, rather than endless terror.
She pushed the thoughts away, determined not to dwell on what could never be.
“Myka, what is it? You’ve gone awfully quiet all of a sudden," the inventor asked.
The Warehouse Agent pulled herself together and forced a smile. “Just tired, it’s been a long couple of days. I think it’s time I went to bed," she responded.
Helena nodded, a pensive look passing across her features. “I suppose you’re right, and I have kept you up long enough. I’ll clean up here if you like; I don’t find myself tired quite yet.”
Myka nodded and rose from her chair, Helena following suit. The agent paused and stared at the woman who was gently stacking their cups and saucers on the tray, her head currently down. There were so many things she wanted to say. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Perhaps, despite everything, some things were better off left unsaid.
She opted for a simple, quiet, “Goodnight, Helena,” before turning and walking away.
**
As Helena returned to her room, she began to mull over the events of the day. She hadn’t been lying to Arthur. Her trip from Wisconsin had come from a place of genuine concern for the Agents of Warehouse 13. She had tried to ignore the alerts on her phone which Claudia had helped her set up, but she simply couldn’t. When Myka, Claudia and even Mrs. Fredrick failed to pick up her calls she began working her way through the remaining agents to no avail. She had cursed Arthur for increasing the security on the Farnsworth frequencies, and she certainly wasn't about to involve the Regents.
However, concern faded quickly into burning curiosity once the Agents had tumbled out of the SUV intact. She had arrived at the B&B barely ten minutes before they had, and was about to drive over to the Warehouse herself.
Arthur may have thought her to be a complete idiot, but the readings she had received from her Time Machine were nothing short of abnormal. Something had happened today that the Agents did not want to discuss with her.
Frankly, she was offended. She had proven herself more than worthy in their last few interactions, assisting quite valiantly in preventing artifact fuelled disasters. Overall, communication between herself and the caretakers of the Warehouse had been left open, should she choose to pursue it.
However, there was a reason she hadn't. There was one, single, very important reason why she had chosen to pull further and further away from them all.
Myka.
Myka Bering made her question everything she thought she knew about herself. Myka Bering made her long for 'Endless Wonder,' and 'Endless Wonder' simply wasn't good for her, or anyone else who happened to cross paths with her. Myka Bering sent her heart to a place fraught with danger and it simply wouldn't do. She had a terrible habit of destroying the people she loved, and Myka was the last person she wanted to see hurt.
However, right now she was beginning to question a decision she had made almost a year ago. A decision to end her association with the Warehouse, and limit her exposure to one Miss Bering. She could still remember the burning pain in her stomach as she stood in the driveway and watched that SUV pull away. She had felt physically ill.
She paced the length of her old room at the B&B, her thoughts conflicted. This simply wouldn’t do.
On the one hand, she had a very deep seated suspicion that someone had managed to get her Time Machine to work, the way it was supposed to, and nobody was hurt. Tomorrow Arthur would let her into the Warehouse, and she would hopefully be able to see for herself. Claudia was an easy target, and she felt guilty for the answers she would manipulate from the younger girl in the morning. After she had them, she couldn’t predict what she would do with them.
On the other hand, Myka was so close. Right across the hall the other agent would still be awake, likely reading a book before bed as was always her habit. It would be so easy. She could suck up her pride, go to Myka, apologise for giving her the run around, and see if she was correct in her assumption that the other agent once harboured the same feelings she did – or does.
She paced towards the door, her hand reaching for the handle. She could forget it all, finally close the door on her past, and leap with her heart for the first time in over a century. She could risk everything, including the life she had built for the past year, for the opportunity to act on everything that remained unspoken between them. It could all be over.
As the cold steel touched her finger tips, she sighed.
She wasn’t that noble.
She let her fingers drift from the knob and placed her hand against the doorframe, resting her head against the wood panelling before her.
“I’m sorry Myka,” she whispered as she turned and walked towards her old desk.
Pulling a pen and notebook from her bag, she sat down and began to plan once again.