Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Pete wakes up in a different world. And it’s not the clichéd, oh-God-I-see-everything-in-a-new-light kind of different.

This world is chaotic. The lands are not how he remembers them to be. Even the skies have changed.

The world has never been so bleak.

*

This world is… different.

But even here, he still isn’t very eloquent.

If Myka were here, with him, he’s sure she would’ve supplied a more apt word.

Myka. His partner.

Yes. He needs to find her and wake her up.

He needs to find all of them. Artie. Claudia. Steve.

He needs to find his family.

Please, Lady Cuckoo. I hope your plan worked. Gimme a sign or something, will yah? Just, something for me to know that it’s gonna be alright. For Myka.

Earlier today, Pete was found by Joshua Nolan. He’s a former Marine, like himself, and he’s Defiance’s—Defiance, that’s what this town is called—Chief Lawkeeper. Pete calls him Sheriff (“Chief Lawkeeper” is a mouthful to say). Defiance, he was told, stands on the ruins of St. Louis, Missouri.

He was also informed that it’s inhabited by humans and aliens alike.

Pete stared at Nolan for many seconds when he told him that, and Nolan met his gaze squarely. He didn’t need to be Steve to see that Nolan was serious.

Aliens. Wow. He knew they were real. Ha. Guess Artie’s right. Everything’s possible.

The sheriff and his human deputy (apparently, there’s an alien deputy), Tommy LaSalle, were investigating the wreckage of an Ark (something like an alien space fleet, best Pete could surmise) somewhere near the outskirts of town, when they came upon his body. They suspect he’s somewhat a victim of an alien experimentation.

Now, being a fan of Star Trek and Star Wars, he’s cool with the whole extraterrestrial, outer space stuff going on—he always expected some sort of oddity from them (they’re aliens, for crying out loud). But watching the movies and living this life are two entirely different things. And being experimented on isn’t how he imagined spending time with non-Earthlings (Ha! Always wanted to use that term!) would be like.

So to say that he’s experiencing shock is the understatement of the century. (It certainly could compete with knowing a female H.G. Wells, who, coincidentally, became his best friend’s lover.) Sure, he’d encountered lots of strange things in the past. He’d been attached to a spine that burns people up and summons great anger. He’d switched (and shared) bodies with his partner Myka. He’d flown using Icarus’ wings.

He’d  even been frakkin’ dead in another timeline.

Yup. He’s been through a lot. So “strange” is pretty much what “the usual” means to him.

But aliens are a different ball game altogether.

*

When Nolan and LaSalle found him, they insisted on bringing him immediately to the doctor. But since Pete was just newly awoken, he was a bit disconcerted, and he demanded some explanation.

Since he was resolute on getting his way, they relented, albeit reluctantly. He got a crash course on all things alien, or Votan, as what they are officially called. He was told all about the Perseus Arm, the Votanis star system, the stellar collision. He was told how the Votans were able to band together for an escape plan before their world literally blew up.

Pete silently listened as Nolan and LaSalle explained everything to him, occasionally nodding to show he’s paying attention. His mind was trained to keep details straight in the face of staggering information, but even he had to admit that it’s a lot to take in.

“It’s 2050 and Earth has aliens,” he said flatly.

“Yeah, if you wanna keep things simple.”

“Oh believe me, ‘simple’ was a rarity even in my old life.”

Soon he began feeling cold because when he was found he was (surprise, surprise) stripped down to his undies, with only a scrap of cloth thrown over him as the two recounted to him the details of this new world.

LaSalle noticed his chilly state. “We gotta find you some clothes.”

Pete laughed at that. “No kidding.”

They rummaged through the ruins of the Ark for nearly half an hour, and luckily (and amazingly), they found a hefty bag with Pete’s initials on it (got the bag from Steve and the letters were from Claude). There were a couple of clothes inside (which he promptly put on), and stashed in a concealed pocket that Claudia insisted on fixing in the bag were… his Farnsworth and Tesla.

Sweet. They survived. Thank you, Claudia! He figured he owed the kid a huge one.

He whooped happily when he found them and his two companions looked at him as if he was crazy. He didn’t care, however; now he’s got something familiar with him, and he felt as if he was standing on solid ground again.

They regarded his gadgets curiously, as civilians of old tended to do.

“What are those? Alien gadgets?” Nolan asked suspiciously as Pete put them in his pockets.

“Nope. They’re as human as gadgets could go.”

“I haven’t seen those before.”

“Well, I haven’t seen aliens either, so that makes us even.”

Nolan smirked at that. “Suppose so.”

“Sooo,” Pete drawled, “where’s this Defiance, and how do the aliens look?”

Nolan gestured down a path and started toward it, indicating Pete to follow. “Well, let’s get out of here and get you to town, then you’ll see. And you still need a doctor to examine you.”

As they made their way out of the wreckage, with LaSalle bringing up the rear of their little troupe, Pete muttered, “Let’s go take a look at your aliens.”

*

They rode a vehicle called a roller to town (Claudia and H.G. would have a blast taking this thing apart). When they arrived, he was immediately brought to the doctor. He was expecting someone like Dr. Calder, but of course their doctor’s an alien, of a race called Indogene. They call her Doc Yewll, and Pete’s got to say that she’s the coldest conversationalist he’s ever encountered. Man, she could outdo Mrs. Frederic any day.

When she asked him to hand over his Farnsworth and Tesla, he backed away.

Nolan noticed that he’s uncomfortable with being parted from his things. But this was necessary. “Lattimer, why don’t I hold on to those while Doc patches you up? I’ll keep ’em safe.”

Pete heaved a sigh. No choice. He took his bag and wrapped the Farnsworth and Tesla securely in his wrestling varsity shirt. Then he handed the bag to Nolan. “No rooting around,” he said.

Nolan nodded.

*

They called the town mayor to have a look at him, since a stranger cropping up in town is a serious matter indeed. The mayor turned out to be some hot chick called Amanda. (Really? She had to bear the name of his ex-wife. And she had to be really pretty too.) She and Nolan decided that the best place to take him would be somewhere home-y and relaxed.

That’s how he finds himself here now.

The house he’s in belongs to a guy named Rafe McCawley. He is one of the town’s powerful guys. He owns the largest mine in the territory, and he’s buddies with Amanda and Nolan. That’s good enough for Pete. Then he finds out that he is also rough and gruff but fatherly too, kind of like Artie. That seals the deal, and he officially likes the guy.

He’s also got really good cookies in here.

Rafe’s house is comfortable and the vibe reminds him of the B&B. Same soft light and the cozy warmth…

“How do you feel now?” Amanda asks.

Pete nibbles on his cookie before answering. “I feel better. I mean, compared to how I felt when I woke up, right now’s definitely better.”

He looks at Rafe. “And your cookies don’t hurt either.”

The old man smiles at that. (Pete doesn’t call him ‘old man’ out loud. He’s nice, but he doesn’t want to take risks.) “That’s nothing, boy. I see you’re in your fourth already.”

“Yeah! I love cookies!”

They all laugh at that. “We can see that, Mr. Lattimer,” Amanda says in between giggles.

“Please, call me Pete. Should be past the formality after saving my butt, Madam Mayor.”

“Okay. Then you could call me Amanda.”

“I’d rather call you Mayor. Amanda was my ex-wife’s name too and… uh. That’s a long story.”

Amanda cocks her head at that. “Oh. I-I’m sorry.” She flushes a light shade of pink.

“Oh, no, don’t be.”  Pete notices her discomfort. “I apologize if I made you uneasy. It’s just that…” Pete trails off.

A tense silence descends then, and after a few moments, Nolan takes the initiative to break it. “Sorry ‘bout your woman,” he says, carefully.

Pete looks at him. “Nah, she’s not my woman anymore. We were divorced long before all the cray-cray stuff went down.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. And she remarried. I was even in their wedding, so it’s not like we were in bad terms.”

They are all gaping at him. “What?” he asks.

Amanda looks incredulous. “You were in your ex-wife’s wedding?”

“That… I don’t know what to say to that,” Rafe says.

“Were you a masochist?” Nolan adds.

“Oh come on! It wasn’t that strange!”

“If you point a gun to my head right now and ask which was stranger, that or aliens, I’d pick that,” Nolan retorts.

Pete grins at him, and seems to think for a moment, remembering the events of that day. “Well, I was almost murdered there, and so was the new husband so…” He openly laughs at the memory. And continues to do so as the three gawk at him like he’s mad.

“What kind of life were you living?” Amanda asks.

Pete doesn’t expect that question. He instantly sobers up.

His mind went back to his very first day at the Warehouse, after Mrs. Frederic dropped by his apartment and recruited him in no uncertain terms. He remembers Artie’s short explanations on everything Warehouse-y. He remembers his bickering with Myka, who was then so uptight and analytical and serious. He remembers when Claudia first came to the Warehouse as an apprentice agent and the way the girl just seriously continuously blew their minds with her genius. He remembers Steve’s amazing lie-detecting abilities and unflappable nature.

He also remembers H.G.’s first appearance, all the trouble she’s caused, and all the ways through which she’d redeemed herself.

Pete isn’t aware that he’s drifted so far in those memories. And that he’s been silent for long moments already.

“Oh god, I’m really sorry. I seem to have an aptitude for dredging up unpleasant stuff.” Amanda is stricken, thinking his silence was caused by sorrowful recollections.

Pete’s eyes soften. “They’re… far from unpleasant,” he begins. He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, he looks at each person in the room, regarding them closely.

He takes a deep breath. “My life before,” he says softly. “It was full of endless wonder.”

Chapter Text

“Endless wonder?” Amanda repeats.

“Yeah,” Pete answers simply.

The three townsfolk just look at him askance. Pete can detect doubt in their eyes… and maybe a bit of pity.

Pete hates being pitied.

“You must think I’m crazy.”

Nolan shakes his head a little bit too fast. “No, just—” He breaks off as Pete holds out his palms.

“Dude, I’m not blind. I can see you don’t get me.”

“Would you care to enlighten us then?”

Pete sighs deeply. (He’s been doing that a lot lately, hasn’t he?) “Before I tell you, promise me something.”

Amanda worriedly nods. “As long as it’s within our power.”

“Promise me you won’t laugh at this or regard this as a hallucination of someone from 37 years ago who suddenly finds himself in a different world. Because I assure you, everything I say is the truth.”

Amanda exchanges glances with Nolan and Rafe. Some kind of decision is made by their eyes alone.

“Alright then. Try us.”

Pete sets down his now-empty plate of cookies. He drinks some milk, and straightens on the couch.

“It all started the year 2009,” he starts. “I was a Secret Service agent, having just finished serving in the Marines. I was on a mission, in a museum, when things got a bit… complicated.

“You see, things aren’t always how they appear to be. Everything is part of a much larger picture. This particular mission showed me that.”

Pete tells them all about the Aztec bloodstone, Artie’s appearance, and Mrs. Frederic’s visit later that fateful evening. He tells them all about the Warehouse, hidden in South Dakota Badlands, about its never-ending aisles and its arsenal of dangerous and wonderful artifacts.

Their expressions grow more and more anxious and disbelieving by the second.

Before any of them could speak of this anxiety, another voice says, “You’re not lying.”

Pete’s head turns to the source. Standing there is a girl about Claudia’s age, also with red hair. Her skin is much closer to human than Doc Yewll’s, but Pete can tell she’s also a Votan: the arch and bridge of her nose arcs pronouncedly towards her bright, cat-like eyes, and he can see patterns of white marks on her face. Given that description, Pete knows that she’s an Irath.

“How can you tell?” he asks the girl. Do some Votans have Steve’s abilities, too?

“I can see visions,” is the straight-forward reply.

“Irisa, we talked about that,” Nolan sounds exasperated.

“Yes, and we found Rynn because of them too,” Irisa answers tersely.

Nolan drags his hands down his face and throws them in the air. “You know what? Fine, you win!”

Irisa ignores Nolan’s obvious distress. She instead sits down next to Pete and says, “Continue.”

Pete coolly gazes at the girl, and she doesn’t back away from it. He smiles. “You and Claudia would have gotten along so well,” he murmurs a bit wistfully.

“Was she your daughter?”

He chuckles at that. “Nah. She’s more like a baby sister, though she hates being babied. She’s stubborn and wild without being reckless. She’s a genius.”

Irisa seems to consider that. “Tell us more.”

So Pete does. He tells story after story. He narrates every adventure he’d ever had with Artie, Steve, Claudia, and Myka.

After a while, Nolan interrupts him. “This Myka— Was she—?”

Pete smirks. “My girlfriend?”

Nolan nods.

“Nah. She’s my partner and best friend and I love her like hell, but that kind of relationship? Not for us.”

Amanda, who has been quiet for some time now, asks, “Why not?”

Pete clasps his hands together as he leans back on his seat. “Myka’s destined for someone else, someone who would give up the universe for her, who’ll stop at nothing to save her. I mean, sure, I’d do those for her too. But it’ll be different. I will do those for her but it’s just neither my right nor my job to do so.”

“Then whose is it?”

Pete smiles widely, but there is sorrow there, they can tell. “H.G. Wells’.”

They all look at him blankly.

Rafe’s brows furrow. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Myka’s destined for H.G. Wells,” Pete clarifies.

“H.G. Wells? As in author of those Victorian era science fiction novels?”

Nolan recalls the book he saw down the old St. Louis when they were pursuing Ben. “War of the Worlds, The Time Machine—the guy who wrote those?”

Amanda carefully observes him. “Are—Are you— I mean, he’s like… dead.”

Nolan shakes his head. “Doc Yewll assured us you’re functioning properly. Seems that doesn’t extend to mental capacity.”

Pete frowns. “You promised me you won’t factor in hallucination.”

Rafe exhales loudly. “Well, boy, we didn’t think it would be like this.”

Pete disregards the comment and turns to the red-head by his side. “I suppose you think that as well.”

To his eternal surprise and gratitude, Irisa says, “I believe you.”

Pete grins broadly. “Thanks.”

“Irisa!” Nolan admonishes.

“Nolan, he’s telling the truth.”

“That’s not possible! H.G. Wells is dead!”

Pete purses his lips. “Really? Aliens are okay with you—no offense, Irisa—but an author who’s supposed to be dead for, like, a hundred years ago is too much to handle?”

He stands up; hands still clasped together, he implores them, “Look. I’m not crazy, okay? No matter the evidence to the contrary, I am completely sane.” He pauses. “Even before the Votans settled in, a world of wonder already existed on Earth. It’s simply hidden in plain sight and revealed to a select few. And I was just lucky enough to be one of those few.”

Nolan still looks unconvinced, but before Pete could persuade him more, a familiar blare sounds in the air.

At least it’s familiar to Pete. It’s always been irritating before, but now he’s never been more thankful to hear the noise.

He asked Lady Cuckoo for a sign. Now he’s getting a really strong vibe that it has arrived.

Out of habit or out of excitement (he can’t tell which, and doesn’t really care), he searches for the noise’s origin right away and his hands eagerly grab his bag. He all but tears the shirt away from the device.

“What is that?” Amanda asks, eyeing the canister-like gadget.

“It’s a Farnsworth,” Pete absently whispers. He stares at it in disbelief. “It— It’s not supposed to function anymore—”

“But it clearly does,” Irisa finishes his thought.

They all huddle around Pete as he carefully opens the lid and, bracing himself, pushes the button right below the blinking red light.

The monitor blazes to life.

And the image projected is that of . . . H.G. Lady Cuckoo.

They all release shocked gasps.

“H.G. Wells,” he whispers, the same time they say, “Stahma Tarr?”

He again frowns at them, questioningly this time, but before he could ask, H.G.’s voice rings out.

“Peter, if you’re seeing this, it means I failed to return a second time. It also means that you’ve gone through our plan.”

Pete nods though he knows that this is a pre-recorded message.

“I assume extraterrestrial beings have already settled down with humans in our dear planet. I also assume you’ve only just woken up.”

“What is this about?” asks Amanda beside him.

Pete shushes her.

Helena took a deep breath. “Don’t ‘freak out’ too much.” He smiles faintly when she hooked her fingers in the air, creating quotation marks around the term. “You’ll find people who’ll help you. Maybe you already did. Maybe there’s even a settlement there where the races coexist in relative peace.

“Well, whatever the situation might be, heed my words.”

Pete mutters, “I always do.”

“By the time this reaches you, I would be gone.” Pete’s heart beats with dread. As if she could sense what he feels, Helena’s image smiled to comfort him. “But you could bring me back. I couldn’t explain it all, for as usual time’s running out, but believe me when I say that you could. Not alone, though.

“You do understand, don’t you, Peter? You need them.” Pete stills as suddenly an explosion sounded at H.G.’s end.

“Bollocks,” she muttered. Then a little urgently, “That’s a sign that time’ll be up soon. Just do it, all right? You know how. And when you reunite, you’ll all know what to do.”

H.G. swallowed thickly. “I don’t care how long it takes, but you will bring me back.” Even as an echo from the past, she seemed to look right through his soul.“Back to her, yes?”

Pete can’t help uttering yes.

There was a loud crash. H.G. lost her balance for a bit. When she regained footing, she said, “I have to go now. For the final preparations. And Pete, when Claudia awakes, tell her it’s possibly 598 M gigahertz.”

H.G. then gazed at him like she’s really on the other line that very instance and he is reminded all too well of those times they stared each other down. Instead of their usual haughtiness, however, her eyes were displaying raw desperation.

“And tell Myka… tell her we’ll meet again soon.”

Another crash.

“Please.”

And another.

“Remind her too, that the panels open.”

Then a particularly loud BAM.

“We’ll see each other again, Peter.”

The last thing Pete hears before the Farnsworth’s screen turns completely black is a whispered, “I promise you you’ll see another sign.”

*

Pete closes the Farnsworth’s lid and re-stashes it carefully in his bag. Then he turns to the others.

“That’s H.G. Wells.”

Amanda shakes her head. “No.”

“She is! The H.G. Wells the world knew was actually her brother Charles, and—”

Rafe cuts him off. “That can’t be H.G. Wells.”

“Lemme explain first!”

“No, no,” Amanda says. “That can’t be.”

“Won’t you please just listen to me? Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean that—”

“It’s not because of her being a woman,” Nolan says. “Though you’re gonna have to elaborate on that later.”

“Then what the hell is this about?”

It is Irisa who tells him, “That can’t be your H.G. Wells because that woman… She’s Stahma Tarr.”

*

“So you’re saying that H.G. looks exactly like this Castithan lady named Stahma Tarr,” Pete says, and this time, he’s the one who’s dubious of the others.

“Yes,” Rafe answers.

“Except for the whole albinism thing that Castis have, they look exactly the same?”

Irisa impatiently says, “We’ve gone through this for half an hour already!”

“I’m sorry but it’s a bit too much!” Pete’s impatient as well.

“Look”—Amanda gets between them—“we don’t know what this means or what just happened. But, Pete, we believe you now, okay? Just, cool down and we’ll talk some more in the morning. You too, Irisa, everyone. It’s been a long day. Let’s rest, okay?”

Nolan backs her up. “She’s right. Let’s call it a night, then we’ll see what to do when tomorrow comes.”

Pete starts to argue, but Rafe not-so-gently clamps down a hand over his mouth and pushes him towards the recliner. He has no choice but to comply and settle down.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “Tomorrow it is.” Before he drifts off, he snatches his bag from the floor and hugs it tightly. It’s the only thing that even remotely makes sense in this world and Pete’s gonna make sure that it stays with him.

*

On the other side of town, in a building of pure white, a sleeping woman turns in her sleep, muttering a name that she won’t remember in the morning, dreaming of a kiss that would leave its taste on her lips for days to come and would rouse an insatiable longing in her heart.

Chapter Text

Stahma Tarr is sitting quietly in one corner of the NeedWant. She and Kenya have just finished one of their now-regularly-occurring trysts, and the girl (yes, to her Kenya is still a girl, no matter how talented in bed she may be) is now entertaining other customers by the bar.

She swirls her tea in its cup, watching as light passes through the amber liquid. Taking a sip, she idly wonders why this Earth drink is the one that she has grown a fondness for; she likes it to the point that she sometimes thinks she’s been drinking it all her life. Her eyes drift shut as she lets the taste wash over her.

Immediately, images she can’t make sense of assault her.

A golden coin.

A trident.

A gun that isn’t really a gun. (Was that a hook at its barrel?)

The most disconcerting image is also the most calming. Disconcerting, because Stahma knows she has seen it before, but she cannot say when, or where, or how. And calming, because… it just is, as if the mere sight of it entails comfort by design.

It may sound paradoxical, but she can find no other way to describe it.

It is an image of a pair of eyes. Clear, brilliant, beautiful green eyes.

Stahma wants to look at the image forever.

But even as she thinks that thought, the image begins to blur, until all that’s left is darkness.

She opens her own silver-blue eyes and sighs (not caring—for once—if it’s unseemly for a proper Castithan wife to do so).

Tease, her mind provides the word. All these glimpses (gone before she can interpret them—if they are even interpretable at all) are cruelly teasing her mind.

She recalls how she woke up last night, breathing hard. She knows she had spoken a word then, but though she tries so hard, she cannot remember what it was. All she’s sure of is that since that moment she has been getting these mental pictures.

Mental pictures that won’t even stay long enough.

She also recalls how her waking up brought with it a sense of intense wanting. Wanting for what exactly, she couldn’t tell. It seemed to be sexual wanting at first. So soon she found herself in Kenya’s arms, keening under the human’s ministrations.

However, whereas in the past she felt fulfilled whenever she left Kenya’s bed, this time she felt… nothing.

Kenya performed splendidly as usual, but it just wasn’t enough anymore.

They had a conversation, as they tended to do after every such encounter, and this particular instance Stahma tried very hard to hide her discontent.

“Are you okay?” Kenya had asked her, while their naked bodies cooled down under the NeedWant’s soft blankets.

“Yes, I am. Thank you,” Stahma replied, arm covering her face, desperately trying to get a hold of the green eyes in the darkness. Their image appears more frequently than the others, though like them, it doesn’t stay long enough.

(Why do you vanish so quickly?)

“Satisfied?”

Stahma considered how to answer that. She had always been truthful, to an extent. And she was tempted to tell Kenya what she feels and ask her for help in solving her internal dilemma. But Stahma knew that this was a matter she couldn’t possibly share with the girl without some kind of complication.

Kenya is already volatile as she is and Stahma doesn’t need to give her reason to suddenly combust. She is someone who should be dealt with carefully.

So Stahma chose the safest track. She took her arm from her face and turned to the girl.

“Of course I am. You are very good. As always.”

Fortunately, she believed her.

They both dressed then, Kenya looking pleased and Stahma pretending to be pleased.

Stahma finds it foolish.

Because she is far from satisfied. She’s not even close to satisfied. If anything, she even feels needier now than she did when she arrived earlier.

It doesn’t make sense.

Why does she suddenly feel this way?

Why does she feel so empty, as if everything inside her has just vanished without a trace? Why does she feel so unfulfilled that not even Kenya’s attentions (which she had thoroughly enjoyed in the past) were enough to satiate her?

It is becoming more and more bothersome.

Stahma is lost ruminating these, so much so that she doesn’t notice the group of people who noisily enters the tavern, one of them a town newcomer who, upon seeing her, stops dead in his tracks and mutters a shocked, “What the frakk.”

*

Pete lies quietly on his spot. He has been awake for a quarter of an hour already, listening to the steady breathing of his companions. They refused to leave him alone for even a minute last night, so they are now all cramped in Rafe’s living room. Nolan and Amanda are dozing together on a couch, turned away from each other while Rafe himself occupies the couch opposite them. Irisa, meanwhile, is on the floor, a blanket wrapped tightly around her small body.

The scene reminds him of the Warehouse, of the times when he and the others stayed up all night and shared jokes and irritated Artie to no end and just basically fooled around.

His heart twists in nostalgia.

As if sensing his anguish, Irisa suddenly shifts and sits up.

“Awake?” he asks rhetorically, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“No,” is the dry answer.

He snorts at the sarcasm. “Me neither.”

“I see.” Irisa sneaks a peek outside. “It’s still dark out.”

“It’s around six o’clock, give or take.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re not generally a morning person?”

“You’re right,” he replies. He looks at the girl. “I’m more of a get-up-when-it’s-lunchtime kind of guy.”

She nods, suspicion confirmed. “And Myka?” she asks curiously.

He’s pleased with her curiosity. “She’s usually up by 7, but…” Pete trails off. He grimaces. “Never mind. You’re too young for that info.”

“What information?” Irisa narrows her eyes.

“Well… uhm, usually it involves a man and a woman, but in her case it’s two women and—”

Irisa’s mind quickly processes what he means. She holds up her hand, stopping him. “Alright, I get it.”

“Good. No need to explain to you then. It’s awkward enough that one time when Claudia and I caught them—”

“I said I get it, Pete.”

“Oh yeah. Sorry.”

They start talking about inconsequential things. Irisa is a bright child, and it is easy to build a healthy dynamic with her. With each second that they spend together, Pete’s belief that she would have hit it off with Claudia wonderfully is reinforced.

By the end of an hour (an hour and a half?) the two of them are bantering as if they’d done that for years.

Their continuous exchange soon wakes up another occupant of the room. “Seems you two have bonded well already,” says a sleep-ridden voice.

“Good morning, Mayor,” greets Pete, shifting to a sitting position.

“Good morning, Pete. Slept well?” Amanda stands up and stretches a bit.

“I did. Thanks.”

Amanda nods approvingly.

Pete watches as she proceeds to wake Nolan, shaking him by the shoulder.

“What?” he grouches.

“Time to wake up. Let’s wake Rafe too.”

“No need. I’m up,” grumbles McCawley. “Been drifting in and out since those two”—he points at Pete and Irisa—“started chatting it up.”

“Yeah, they woke me up too.”

Pete smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. ’bout time, anyway.” The Mayor yawns and looks around. “Breakfast?”

Pete’s stomach rumbles at the word. He looks down at it, and turns to meet their amused gazes. “Good idea.”

But then he realizes that his bag is still wrapped in his arms and he remembers that they all need to discuss important matters. He makes to open his mouth to ask a question (or a million); however, Irisa (apparently she could read him now) is already pulling him up by the arm and almost-orders him, “Food is a good idea right now. So shut up first and we’ll all talk later. I promise.”

Nolan, who is trying to work out the crick in his neck, looks amused by the way Irisa handles the man. “Nice kid,” he says.

Amanda, however, glances at Pete with worry. She can see how anxious he is and how much he wants to carry on last night’s conversation. Honestly, she is too, but that will certainly have to wait. She’s hungry, and by the looks of their faces, her friends are, too. And she’s wise enough to know that productivity never thrives in empty stomachs.

“She’s right, Pete,” she says. “We did tell you we’ll talk about everything. Just, please, not immediately after waking up, with our minds sluggish with sleep and our stomachs rumbling like thunder.”

As if proving Amanda’s words, Pete’s stomach makes another sound. He sighs dejectedly. “Breakfast, then.” He looks at them and asks, “Who’s cooking?”

Rafe answers, “Usually our Liberata maid cooks the meals, but what say you to eating at Defiance’s brothel? You could certainly use some tour of town too.”

Pete nearly chokes at that. “Brothel?! I—wh-wha— We have a kid here!” he shouts, indicating Irisa as the ‘kid.’

“Oh do calm down,” says the girl. “You told me I’m about the same age as Claudia and she had been exposed to something like this too, right?”

His jaws drop at that, remembering his earlier allusion to ‘something like this.’ “Yeah, but a brothel is different!”

“I’ve been there before! A lot of times, actually, and”—Irisa adds, seeing Pete’s stunned face—“never as a customer.” She pauses. “Also, I have to say that I’d choose going there than catching my colleagues making love.”

Pete groans. “Ugh. Knew I never should have mentioned that.”

Nolan seems confused by that bit. “Do I want to know what the two of you have been talking about?” he asks.

“No, you certainly don’t” is the simultaneous reply.

Amanda knows that she matches the look of astonishment on Rafe and Nolan’s faces. However, she also knows that they’ve got a whole day’s (or maybe a thousand years’) worth of explanations ahead of them. Sure, she finds it intriguing that Pete and Irisa are already on the thinking-the-same-things-and-saying-them-at-the-same-time-too stage at such a short period, given the former’s sketchy past and the latter’s trust issues. But she decides that the matter could be revisited at a later date, when they have cleared things up. Crucial, more important things.

So she takes Pete by his other arm, the one not held by Irisa. “Hey, just come on. It’s okay. It’s not like we’re going there to be serviced, you know. The NeedWant is a brothel, yes, but it also serves some pretty amazing dishes.”

“She’s right, of course, but if you want to be serviced, I could lend yah some cash,” Nolan adds, earning a thump from Amanda.

“Ouch!” he says, indignant.

“You’re not helping at all.” She glares at him, but softens when she looks at Pete. “I assure you, it’s safe to eat there. My sister kind of owns the place.”

At that Pete’s eyes widen like saucers. “The mayor’s sister owns the town’s brothel,” he states.

She just shrugs, offering a small smile.

“Will anything ever make sense in this world?” he mock-whispers after a few seconds.

“We’ll see about that later. For now, let’s eat. I’m starving,” Rafe calls to them from the front door. “Come on before I collapse here!”

“I seriously doubt you’d ever collapse of hunger, McCawley,” Nolan teases as he makes his way to the door as well. “You’ve survived so much worse than that, old bastard.”

Pete shakes his head as Irisa and Amanda drag him after the two men.

* 

Pete’s got to say, the NeedWant doesn’t look too bad from outside. It actually reminds him of those youngster bars Claudia played in, and the time when she jammed with her idol, the one Artie invited over for her not-so-surprise birthday party. (Well, maybe it was a surprise birthday party, even if the only surprise-y part was the special guest. Pete can’t be too sure.)

And if it reminds him of Claudia then he supposes it cannot be that bad.

Their group enters the place somewhat noisily, with Nolan and Rafe arguing about something that involves mining, Amanda interjecting at certain points to prove (or disprove) both men’s cases (like Myka did with him and Artie), and Irisa and himself are also engaging in a verbal wrestling.

Pete scans the interior of the NeedWant clinically, as he was trained to do when he was with the Secret Service (though he seldom did it then – Myka’s the one who perfected the whole clinical observation thing).

“What is that?” Pete asks no one in particular.

Irisa follows his line of vision. “That’s a digba, a Votanis tree.”

“The NeedWant’s built around it, kind of like a tree house,” Amanda adds.

Pete nods, processing that. Curious.

He continues his perusal of the surroundings as they walk to a vacant table.

When his gaze lands on a particular corner, he is struck dumb and his steps falter.

“What the frakk.” 

His companions all turn to look at whatever it is that has gotten his attention.

“Oh. She’s here,” McCawley grunts, irritation in his voice.

“Is that—” Pete begins, but suddenly his voice left him.

“Stahma Tarr,” Nolan confirms.

“We told you,” Amanda says, not unkindly.

Pete’s having trouble dealing with what he is seeing. Now he understands what Percy Jackson (yup, he read those books) felt when he saw Olympus for the first time, the feeling that his eyes are looking and they know they’re looking but his brain just won’t accept what it is that they’re seeing.

It’s surreal.

Because holy everything Stahma Tarr looks exactly like H.G. Wells.

Chapter Text

Okay. Maybe not exactly exactly.

Stahma Tarr has H.G.’s face. She has the shape of H.G.’s eyes and the curve of her cheeks and the arc of her nose.  She even has her body built and everything. And she’s certainly got the I’m-British-therefore-I’m-regal air that just followed H.G. wherever she went.

Pete can almost believe that she is H.G.

Almost.

For despite all their similarities, there is one difference.

This one difference is something Pete cannot overlook.

One tinny tiny difference.

“Oh god,” he exhales. He looks at his companions. “She is so frakking white.”

Irisa stares at him with the best Are-You-Stupid look he’s ever seen since Claudia. “She’s a Castithan. And Castithans are supposed to be white.”

“I know, but—” Pete trails off. He furrows his brows and returns his attention to Stahma. The woman— Oh god.

He’d seen pearly white skin before. Skin that could blend in the snow. Skin that could hide sugar granules in its whiteness.

But this… this skin. It is unearthly.

He saw some Castithans yesterday as he was driven to town, and he noted their unusual pallor, but only now does he realize how unusual it is.

Seeing that pallor on someone with H.G.’s body (whom he had known as a human with normal human paleness) is driving the point home.

He’d called H.G. a wraith during one of their arguments before (something about her irregularly popping in Myka’s life like a wraith mushroom), but he never really put too much thought about what that could mean. (He does remember her laughing at him and mocking him: A wraith? I’m surprised you know the word, Peter! Really, the woman could annoy him like no other.)

Now, faced with this Stahma Tarr, he’s being provided with a pretty spot-on illustration.

A spot-on and unwanted illustration.

Really, Lady Cuckoo. Who is this alien who looks like you? Care to explain what the hell’s happening?

Is she you?

“I think I just didn’t realize how… white they really are until I had something to compare it to,” Pete finishes lamely.

Nolan senses Pete’s sadness. He exchanges a look with his friends, and tells the guy, “What? Your own skin’s not enough of a basis?” He decides to go for humor.

Pete just shrugs. “Seeing the difference on someone I knew just made it all the more real, I guess.”

He continues to stare at Stahma, noting how she really does have H.G.’s features. They are insanely identical, and if Pete didn’t know about the Votans, he could actually believe that she is H.G. and is just whammied by an artifact that causes severe melanin deprivation. Is there an artifact for that white hair too? Like maybe some super modified version of Marilyn Monroe’s hairbrush?

“What are you thinking?” Irisa asks him.

He lets his gaze linger for a few more beats, and then turns to the girl. He smiles, and though it is small, Irisa can see that it is genuine. “I’m just wondering how H.G. would react should she see her—and I quote—glorious dark tresses turned into that whitey stuff. She’s always been obsessed with her hair; I think Myka got jealous of it at some point.”

“Yeah well, maybe you can do your wondering while we eat,” Rafe grumbles. “I’ll go order now. I don’t want to waste any more time looking at that woman, I’ve already seen enough of her face to last a lifetime.” He briskly walks to the empty table near the bar.

“What’s with him?” Pete asks. He is certain he heard more than plain annoyance in Rafe’s voice.

Nolan chuckles. “Just a case of daddy blues.” Pete looks at him with a brow raised. He explains, “His youngest child, a daughter, is marrying Stahma’s son. Guess he’s still hoping tha—” He is cut off by Pete’s exclamation.

“SHE HAS A CHILD??!!!” Pete’s eyes are almost bulging out of their sockets. Oh, man.

Every pair of eyes present turns to their little group, but Pete doesn’t notice.

His mind is in overdrive. God. She has a child. A child. Oh man oh man oh man.

Nolan slaps down a hand over his mouth when he opened it to exclaim some more, and it is still moving, releasing muffled sounds as Nolan addresses the other customers. “Sorry ’bout that. Carry on your businesses,” the Lawkeeper says while steering Pete to where Rafe is sitting, Irisa and Amanda at their heels.

“You gotta learn how to control yourself, you know,” Nolan mutters as he forces Pete to sit down next to Rafe. The old man puts a hand on Pete’s shoulder, as if to keep him from running off.

Pete glares at Nolan. “That is what I have been doing since waking up yesterday in this goddamn post-apocalyptic world,” he growls. All four (okay, three—Irisa’s a tough nut to crack) stare at him in shock, for they haven’t heard him speak so aggressively before.

Well, they only ever knew me for less than 24 hours anyways.

“So forgive me if control’s running a bit low,” he continues, crossing his arms, dislodging Rafe’s hand on his shoulder in the process. “All this information in the new world… It’s all a lot to process.”

“You didn’t seem particularly out of sorts yesterday,” Irisa says. “You seem to have taken it all in stride, in fact.”

“I did,” Pete concurs, eyes softening as he looks at the kid, “but there’s only so much I can handle.”

Then he glares at Nolan again. “I can handle aliens and space wars. I can handle seeing an alien that looks so greatly like my human friend to the point of creepiness. Barely handle, yes, but that’s fine.” He huffs an irritated breath. “But then you decide to drop that bomb on me! What was I supposed to do? Keep calm? ’Cause I tell you, that’s not possible. God, the woman who just might really be my friend has a frakking child! You’d think that sort of information warrants some careful handling!”

Irisa stops him in his rambles. “We do not know yet if she is your H.G. The resemblance is uncanny, but it might also be just a huge coincidence.”

“I don’t really believe in coincidences. And given that you get your visions, I don’t think you believe in them either.” He raises an eyebrow, daring Irisa to deny it.

The young Irath appraises him, gaze steady and clear. “You’re right,” she admits unapologetically after a minute. “I don’t. I’m just trying to help Nolan calm you down.”

And suddenly, just like that, Pete’s agitation eases. His lips tug at the corners, and though he struggles to keep his frown in place, it isn’t long before he gives a full-blown smile. He shakes his head in amazement. “You,” he says, “are a very scary manipulator of moods.”

Irisa smirks. “Like Claudia?”

“Like Claudia,” Pete agrees.

Amanda, Rafe, and Nolan all exchange confused looks at this abrupt change in the air. Pete was confused, then angry, and now he’s smiling.

Not that they mind having him calm, though.

It is Amanda who says, on behalf of the other two, “So, has the storm passed?”

Pete scoffs, and though he’s still throwing evil glares at Nolan (he’ll probably continue to do so in the next couple of days), he answers, “You can say that. But we’ll talk about it—at length—later.”

“’Later’ is good,” Rafe mumbles. “We can eat now.”

As if on cue, a Sensoth waiter ambles to their table and serves the dishes Rafe ordered earlier.

“That race must have evolved from wookies,” Pete declares, once the Sensoth is out of earshot. Then he stares down at his food. He picks up his fork and cuts a portion. He’s hungry but . . .

“What is this?” Pete says, the same time Nolan asks “What now?”

“Grilled ferrets,” Irisa answers him, chewing loudly.

Pete’s fork clatters down his plate. “A ferret?” he squeaked. Then he pushes his plate away, feeling nauseous. Look at me, Pete Lattimer, pushing food away.

“Don’t like?” Rafe asks.

Pete remembers Myka’s ferret. He still doesn’t know the creature’s name, but he’s in no doubt that he can never eat an animal that cute.

“I— Myka had a pet ferret. I don’t think I could… you know… eat a pet.” He looks at Irisa, who has somehow eaten three-quarters of her meal already. “Have at it,” he says.

Irisa takes his plate without missing a beat.

“Maybe we can order something else.” Amanda thinks of the other dishes served here.

“Order anything then just don’t tell him what it is,” Irisa suggests.

“Hey!”

Amanda considers that. “Yeah, that’s a plan.”

“You’re encouraging her?” Pete mock-accuses.

The mayor ignores him and calls back the Sensoth. She gestures for him to lean in close and when he is at her level, she whispers something.

Pete squints at the transaction suspiciously.

“Anyway”—Nolan swallows a mouthful, getting Pete’s attention—“what are wookies?”

At that, Pete forgets being angry with him for the moment.

He stares at him like he’s an idiot. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Nolan stares back at him innocently. “I’m not.”

Pete looks at Amanda. “Please tell me he’s not serious.”

She shakes her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.” She makes a face, seemingly embarrassed. “I don’t know what wookies are either.”

Pete’s jaw drops. He covers his face with his hands. “Of course you don’t.” He groans. “ God. I’m in an alien-ridden world and humans don’t know wookies.”

“Hey, don’t generalize so quickly,” Rafe protests. “I know wookies.”

Pete peeks at him between his fingers. “Yeah?”

“Wookies, as in from Star Wars, right? Like, Chewbacca, Han Solo’s buddy?”

 “Yes, thank you!” He claps his hands once.

“Star Wars?” Irisa asks, wiping her mouth. Her plate is clean.

“Oh man. I’ve got my work cut out.”

Before he can launch an on-the-spot lecture about Star Wars, the Sensoth returns with a plate filled with an assortment of ground meat and green strips Pete assumes are supposed to be vegetables. The waiter sets it in front of him, and the scent wafts up to his nose.

It doesn’t smell bad. And before he can ask what it is, his hands act on instinct and he is shoveling the food down his throat.

Man, is he starving.

“Wow,” he beams after several minutes of quietly devouring the meal, “that’s surprisingly good.”

“Great,” Amanda says, “you have a taste for otters, then.”

He balks. “What the—”

“It’s a joke, boy!” Rafe’s laughter booms. Nolan and Amanda join in.

Irisa, however, breaks the party with, “Now that you’ve eaten, we owe you a discussion.”

They quickly sober up. Curious, the youngest one’s the most mature.

“First of all,” she begins, “you reacted violently to knowing she has a child. Why?”

Pete looks down his empty plate. Here goes. “If she really is H.G., the presence of a child would complicate matters.”

“Why is that?” Amanda asks.

“She kind of almost ended the world when her daughter died. She’s got the whole mommy instinct in super ultra mega dose, you know? If something were to happen right now, with the presence of all alien tech, she could find a million ways to wreak havoc on earth.” And Myka is not here to stop her.

Nolan is looking at him uncomprehendingly. “Uh… You kinda lost me at ‘almost ended the world.’ What does that even mean?”

“Artifact-related mass destruction. Don’t ask.”

“And she had a daughter.”

“Yes. Christina.”

“Who died?”

Pete meets his skeptical gaze. “Was murdered.”

That stops whatever remark Nolan has on his lips. The mood in the table darkens.

“So in order to avenge her daughter, she planned to purge the world of all evils. And all life. Almost succeeded, actually.”

“But someone stopped her,” Irisa says. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here.”

Pete nods, unsurprised at Irisa’s level-headed declaration. “Myka did.” He sighs. “She’s the only one who could ever change H.G.’s mind.”

Rafe connects the pieces. “And now, since this Myka’s not here, you’re afraid that she would eventually do the world-ending thing should something happen to her son.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Pete confirms.

Amanda thoughtfully says, “But what if it really is just a coincidence? What if it just so happened that they look so much like each other because of, say, some unexplained intergalactic event?”

Pete starts. Intergalactic event. That rings a bell.

He remembers the Farnsworth message. The explosions on H.G.’s end. Her explicit mention of extraterrestrial life. The mention of races... and the ‘I promise you you’ll see another sign.’

Another sign. Which means she somehow knew about his request for the first.

“She knew,” Pete breathes, realization dawning. “I didn’t notice it before because my mind’s still playing catch-up, but… she knew.”

“Knew what?”

“In her message. She knew everything. Even about the Votans.” He smiles. “That crazy lady.”

He turns to the now-definitely-confused four. “Before I… fell asleep, H.G. presented me a plan; you must have heard her say something to that effect in her message. However, she only told me about what to do should a crisis arise. She never specified what kind of crisis that may be—only that I’d know it when it comes.

“And she was right. I knew.”

“What?” Nolan’s getting edgy.

“A day came, when I saw the sun eclipsed by a gigantic shape that is so not the moon.”

It takes a second or two, but then Rafe says, awe in his voice, “You must have seen the Ark. The first time it appeared.”

Pete nods. “It makes sense now. I was confused then, and I just got a vibe that—”

“A vibe?” Nolan butts in.

“Yes, it’s sort of a feeling I get whenever something major happens.”

Nolan opens his mouth but no word comes.

“It’s like Irisa’s visions,” Pete tries to explain. “Just without the—” He hesitates. “Well… without the visual effects.”

“That clears it up. Thank you,” Nolan says acerbically.

“Oh forget it.” Pete glares at him (again) and turns to the others. “Where was I?”

“You got a vibe,” Irisa prompts.

“Oh yeah. I got this really strong vibe that something real huge is going to happen. So I went out and I looked up the sky to see the sun—well, I didn’t really see the sun because it was eclipsed. And that didn’t make sense because there wasn’t supposed to be an eclipse that day. So, with all those combined, I knew then that the time for the execution of H.G.’s plan had arrived.”

“And the plan was?” Rafe asks.

But before Pete can answer him, he notices a lithe figure slink behind Rafe. He looks up and meets silver-blue Castithan eyes.

The moment their gazes connect, Pete feels a wrench in his gut. He doubles over, gripping the sides of the table for support. It isn’t a bad feeling, unlike when Leena died, but it’s been so long since his body had it last, so Pete guesses it’s taking some time to keep up.

Irisa immediately puts a hand on his back, soothing him, while the others almost jump out their seats, clearly alarmed by his state.

“W-What’s happening?” Amanda stutters.

“He’s getting a vibe,” Irisa replies, eyes coldly deadlocked on Stahma Tarr.

Chapter Text

“SHE HAS A CHILD??!!!” The male voice drifts to Stahma’s ears, quite forcefully ripping her out of her ongoing inner turmoil. She has been, again, trying to see the image of those beautiful green eyes for the last few minutes. And so far her attempts have been disappointingly unsuccessful.

She looks up to see who it was who shouted. She scans the room, and her gaze lands on a man she doesn’t recognize, standing with the Mayor, her Lawkeeper, and his adoptive daughter. He appears to be in severe shock, but Stahma can see that some kind of furious spirit simmers beneath the surface.

She watches as Lawkeeper Nolan clamps a hand on the man’s mouth, silencing him as he opens it to presumably shout again. She barely makes out Nolan’s murmured apologies as he steers the man towards a table by the bar, where Rafe McCawley is already sitting.

Interesting.

She continues to observe them as they all settle down. They seem to hold a very intense conversation the succeeding moments, with the man throwing dagger looks at Nolan, but suddenly he smiles at Irisa, probably because of something the Irath said.

Curious. What could an Irath ever say to pull a smile from anyone?

Her view is blocked for a while when a Sensoth carried the orders to their table.

When once again she can see what’s going on, she notices the man’s confused expression. Then he pushes his plate away.

Stahma patiently watches everything that goes on with that little group. She notes how the man’s expression changes from shocked disbelief to irritation to wonderment. She also notes when the air in the table darkens considerably. She assumes it is because of whatever the man says in answer to Nolan’s words.

Then after a while, a look of comprehension enters the man’s face.

There’s something almost… painfully familiar with that expression… but before she can further examine why that is, the green eyes appear in Stahma’s vision.

She closes her eyes then, desperate to savor every second possible looking at the image. She commits every detail she can see to memory, afraid of when it inevitably fades away.

And fade away it does.

Stahma almost whimpers at the loss.

(You never really stay long, do you?)

Sighing, she looks at the table again, and sees that its occupants are once more intently conversing, the man apparently playing the main part.

Who is this man?

Stahma’s brain tries to grab at some kind of connection: there is a niggling tug in her nerves that tells her that everything is linked somehow. She is not one to habitually act on instinct (proper Castithan wives leave that to their husbands), but this time is different. This time, she knows she must do something. She feels it. And so she decides to… what is the term humans use? Go with her gut? Yes. She goes with her gut and lets her mind grapple with whatever links it can find…

First she wakes up in the middle of the night feeling restless and discontented. Then she gets these incomprehensible flashes. And she suddenly finds herself frustratingly unable to find pleasure even in the hands of a human girl she favors (for that matter, she now knows she will not find pleasure from anyone else).

Now a strange man shows up with the most powerful people in town.

Then there’s the little detail that said man seems to have the ability to draw out her favorite incomprehensible flash.

Yes, she concludes. There has to be a connection.

Stahma is going to find out what it is.

She gets up from her couch (she doesn’t know how long she has stayed seated there, but when she stands her legs are almost stiff) and saunters – gracefully, of course – to the table.

She reaches the spot behind Rafe McCawley, directly facing the unnamed man, who is just then opening his mouth to speak. But as their gazes meet, his voice seems lost, and suddenly he is hunched over as he grips the table’s edges.

At the same time, a barrage of images assaults Stahma’s vision.

She hears the mayor stuttering something, possibly asking what’s going on.

She feels the cold stare the Irath child directs at her, and hears as she answers “He’s getting a vibe,” whatever that means.

But Stahma does not focus on what is happening around her. Her mind is catching up with all the flashes that appear in her vision, and it is having a hard time doing the job.

A land full of sand. A sun-dappled forest canopy. A gun that shoots… electricity?

Each image rapidly carries on to the next, again not giving Stahma enough time to understand them.

She is almost overcome with vertigo when the last of them flashes, before fading into darkness.

Her favorite. The green eyes.

But unlike before, and unlike all the others, it is accompanied by a rich voice that sends shivers down Stahma’s spine, the way neither touch nor kiss ever can.

“Come back to me.”

And then that too fades away in an unreachable void.

She blinks once, twice, thrice, struggling to shake away the perplexity those words bring forth.

She can’t, and that bothers her impossibly.

Also, she finds it equally perplexing that the moment she heard those words, her mind immediately formulated an answer, without her conscious thought.

I will.

What is happening to her? (It is another one of those questions piling up in her mind… will they ever be answered?)

The murmurs around her bring her back to the present, reminding her that she is in the NeedWant and is about to inquire about a town newcomer. Heaving an internal sigh, she files away the new developments in her condition (really, how else could she call it?), and calmly (as only Castithans can, even in the face of uncertainty) regards the group she approached earlier.

But before she can voice out her business, she realizes that the tip of Irisa’s dagger is pointed menacingly at her, with the Irath’s eyes boring directly on her own.

*

“Calm down, Irisa.”

Irisa glares at her adoptive father, after hitting three targets at once with her knives, sinking them to their hilts. She and Nolan were in Rafe’s house with Amanda; Pete is sleeping on one of the couches, and Rafe himself left for the mines after helping them put him there.

“How could I? We should have put her in a cell!”

Nolan sighs, exasperated, “And charge her with what? Vibing up Pete?” He scrunches his face. “Ugh, that sounded so wrong.” He aims an apprehensive glance at the man in question, and breathes his relief when he sees he isn’t awake yet to hear him.

“Irisa,” Amanda soothes her, whilst shooting a disapproving look at Nolan, “we couldn’t just do as you suggest. She did nothing wrong.”

“On the surface,” Irisa mutters.

“We do not know yet what happened, okay? We should at least wait for Pete to wake up, see if he can explain.” The mayor is also getting restless, but now isn’t really the time to lose control. What an eventful twenty four hours. She shakes her head, remembering what happened at the brothel.

*

That would be the first time Amanda’s ever seen Stahma Tarr look anything but put-together; she didn’t even seem aware of their presence while Pete was getting his vibe. In fact, Stahma appeared to be in some sort of trance. It almost amused Amanda to see her eyes glazed over, and the look on her face when she finally snapped out of it… Well, she was sure that it could only be described as bewildered. Confused. Baffled.

And then the Castithan lady realized that an Irath kid was threatening her. The look of bewilderment turned into that of indignation. And disbelief. And possibly irritation. (Amanda didn’t think it was possible for Castithan wives to look irritated. Apparently she’s wrong. Who would have known that they could display other emotions?)

Not wanting to get into any more trouble with the lady’s Mafioso husband (god, she’s at odds with him already), Amanda was ever so thankful when Nolan stepped into motion, acting, for the first time, like a Lawkeeper should.

He touched Irisa’s arm and murmured to the girl, loudly enough that Amanda could overhear, but quietly enough that Stahma couldn’t, “Hey hey, stop. Don’t provoke her. Datak won’t be too happy.”

Irisa growled, but put down her weapon. Still glowering at Stahma, her voice was low when she answered, “Since when do you care about him?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I give no damn about him, but the mayor here does. He is a council member, don’t forget. And getting on his bad side this time is not a good idea.”

Irisa was about to retort when they heard Pete speak. “Hey kid, it is okay.”

She turned to look him. He was sweating heavily, and his arms on the table were shaky. Still, he exerted effort to give her a smile. It was a weak one, but it seemed to have assured Irisa nonetheless.

“I feel generally fine, though we should probably head back to Rafe’s.” He faltered a bit. “I mean, if that’s okay with you?” he asked the man.

Rafe snorted and clapped him lightly on the back, “Of course. You’re welcome there anytime, boy.” He caught Amanda’s eyes, and she could hear his unspoken get out of here. Amanda nodded. Rafe inclined his head and said, “Well, I’ll be settling the bills first,” before strolling off.

When he was gone, Amanda directed her attention to the Castithan woman who was keenly observing them. “Lady Tarr, I’m so sorry for this. We don’t intend to hurt anyone. Do we, Irisa?”

The girl refused to look at either of them and muttered something that suspiciously sounded like I would if I can help it, before storming out.

“Hey! Wait for us by the roller!” Nolan called after her. She didn’t show any sign of acknowledgement.

He scratched his head and murmured “What an attitude.” Then he looked at Stahma. “Sorry ’bout that.”

She wasn’t paying him attention, however, for her gaze was directed at Pete, who was calmly meeting it.

*

Amanda’s attention is pulled back when Pete moves and sits up from the couch.

“Hey,” she greets him.

Pete rubs his eyes and pats his face before answering, “Hey.” He stretches his limbs, noticing how sore they feel. “How long was I out?”

“Three to four hours, more or less.”

He makes a clicking sound at that.

“That was fine. Fatigue, yes?”

“Most likely. And I still feel like a hundred of Fort Baylor’s red dodge balls hit me all at the same time.” He sees their little frowns. “Never mind.”

He notices three knives sticking off the wall paneling. Directly centered on three little circles.

“Are you hungry?” Irisa says, walking up to him, distracting him from the sight.

“Yeah.” His stomach growls in support. He makes a face. “Very.”

Irisa retrieves a packet from her shirt and hands it to Pete. “Here.”

He opens it and seeing its content, his eyes soften. “Thanks.”

“It might not be what you’re used to, but that’s all there is.”

“It’s fine, Irisa.” He munches on varied selections of bread, and again murmurs his thanks when Nolan passes him a cup of tea.

They let him eat quietly.

“So,” Irisa begins, when Pete finishes up his snack, “what happened back there?”

“He might need some more rest first,” Amanda chides her gently.

Pete smiles at her gratefully, but shrugs, “No, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

He clasps his hands (it’s becoming a habit), his mind going back to a few hours ago.

*

“You must be new here,” she told him.

That was the first time Pete heard her speak. And all he could think to say was “Woah, you’re not British?” He was shocked. The last time he heard her—or this body… whatever—so un-British was in 2011. When she was a school teacher. Who lived with a cat. A grey cat.

She tilted her head questioningly. “British?”

“Damn.” He dragged a hand down his face. Then, under his breath, “The last time you were so clueless was when you were whammied by the Janus coin.”

“I beg your pardon?” Stahma was starting to get annoyed, and it was showing in her eyes.

In every incarnation, I never fail to annoy you. Good.

He looked up at her, and boldly met her gaze. There was still a pull in his gut, but Pete was sure that it was not signaling anything bad. To verify his suspicion, he thought, H.G., are you there? If you are, could you like, huff a breath or something?

He was not surprised when Stahma did huff a breath. An irritated one at that, but what more could he expect?

Pete smirked. Better play it well. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet. I’m Agent Pete Lattimer.” He extended a hand.

“Stahma Tarr,” she said, hesitantly shaking the proffered hand.

Lady, hesitation never did suit you well.

He felt another pull in his gut at their touch. Stronger, this time.

“Pleasure to meet you, miss. And to answer your earlier question, yup, I’m new here.”

“What kind of agent are you, Mr. Lattimer?”

He almost lost it at her courteousness. It was either ‘boy’ or ‘idiot’ back then. ‘Peter,’ if you were feeling particularly generous. Which was rare. “A special kind. Let’s leave it at that.” He hid his smile in a cough.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Are you intending to stay long?”

“Who knows?” he replied, sassily. “Just getting the feel of the place first. It’s not every day I get to see peaceful coexistence between the races.”

Stahma nodded. “My husband”—she chanced a peek at the Amanda—“and the rest of the council are working very hard to keep the peace.”

Pete blanched at that. He glanced at Nolan, who was grimacing. He gulped. Frakk, H.G.! Of course you had to have a frakking husband to complicate frakking everything more. Can’t just make my life easier, can you? He sighed internally, reluctantly figuring that after a son, a husband shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But still. Damn. Myka will be so pissed.

Lady Cuckoo, when I bring you back, you better prepare yourself for a Myka-sized explosion. ’Cause I’m not staying around for that one. Nuh-uh. You gotta handle that yourself.

“Do you find something funny?” Stahma’s voice rang in Pete’s ears.

He shook his head, getting his bearings. “No, not at all. Why do you say that?”

“You were smiling.” There was a hint of accusation in her tone. (He then remembered Amanda mentioning something about Castithan sensibilities. Seeming is being. Or whatever.)

Great. Not even a minute in and he’d already managed to rile her up. That’s gotta be a new record.

“Sorry,” he said. He took a deep breath and gave her a genuine smile this time. “You just remind me of a good friend.”

Stahma seemed to process that for a moment, and asked, “Does she have green eyes?”

Green eyes? Where did that come from? Only one person he knows has green eyes—

Oh.

Pete’s jaw dropped a bit. “I— Uh—” He tried to form a sentence. “What makes you think—” He tried again. “How did you—” And again. “Do you know a green-eyed woman?” he finally managed to get out.

Stahma dropped her gaze. “No, I don’t.” She almost sounded embarrassed, and she turned her head down.

“Then what’s with the question?” Nolan cut off.

Pete glared at him (how many times had he done that in the past hour alone?). He whispered, “Nolan, back off. I’ll tell you ’bout the eyes later.”

Nolan whispered back, “So… there’s really someone with green eyes?” His brows were raised in question.

Pete just nodded.

“So, Lady Tarr”—he tipped his head—“we’ll be going now. Maybe I’ll tell you about my friend next time.”

Before Stahma could give him an answer, he ambled off, to the general direction Irisa took earlier. He heard Nolan and Amanda excusing themselves, their footsteps following him closely.

When he stepped outside, he immediately found the roller parked nearby, but he didn’t reach it in time.

Pete collapsed.

*

“We had Doc Yewll check you up,” Nolan informs him. “She says your body’s just keeping up with all the excitement going on, or something.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Her findings were just about what stopped Irisa from following up on Tarr. Barely.”

Pete looks at the Irath beside him, who shrugs. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, touched by her concern.

“You fainted. After seeing her. After getting a vibe from her,” she answers.

“Yeah, about that…” Pete shifts. “I’m certain that she’s H.G. now.”

“How?” Nolan asked.

“The vibe I got, after meeting her eyes… that’s how I felt after she saved our lives.”

“She saved your lives?”

“Long story. Anyway, I have strong evidence to support that. And also, the green eyes…”

“Yeah, who had green eyes?”

“Myka did.”

Nolan takes a moment for that to sink in. “Oh.”

Pete smirks at him. “Yeah, oh.” Then, more to himself, “Damn, they’re so meant-to-be it gives me toothache.”

“How did Stahma know about that?” Amanda wonders out loud.

Pete shrugs. “I think my waking up triggered it, or something. It has to be all connected.”

“But,” Irisa speaks up, “why were you so intense back there, while you were getting the vibe? If what you felt was not bad, why did you look like you were in pain?” She adds, “And you collapsed.”

Pete rubs his chin in contemplation. “I think maybe like what Doc Yewll said; it’s got something to do with being asleep for a long time. It’s been 37 years since my body last felt a vibe, and even if it’s something good, I still need to adjust.”

Amanda says, after moments of quietly sorting through all the information, “So now we know that somehow, Stahma Tarr is your friend H.G. Wells.”

“Yup.”

“What does H.G. stand for by the way?” Nolan asks.

Amanda turns to him, dumbfounded that he chooses to focus on such a thing. “Really? That’s what you’re asking?”

He just gives her a cheeky grin.

Pete smiles at that too. “H.G. Wells. Helena George Wells.”

“Lovely name. Never would have figured a lady with a name like that wrote science fiction.”

Pete narrows his eyes. Something about Nolan’s statement nags him a bit. “How do you know her books but not Star Wars? It’s like, a hundred years of difference.”

“I was on the run before coming here. Sometimes I find Old Earth books,” he explains simply. “They were really good books, too.”

Pete snorts. “Never let H.G. hear that. She’s so arrogant. ‘Boy, if not for me, science fiction wouldn’t exist, and there would have been no Star Wars,’” he mimics her, in the worst British accent he has ever heard.

But of course Nolan, Irisa, and Amanda don’t know that. They just stare at him, unable to understand.

It is in moments like this, when no one understands the simplest things he says, that Pete misses his family the most.

If Claudia were there, she would have said something like, ‘Yeah, and Star Trek wouldn’t either!’ while doing the hand sign.

If Steve were here, he would have elbowed Claudia, ‘Wanna marathon the movies?’

Artie would have just grumbled something along the lines of ‘Children, we have a ping,’ even if they don’t.

And Myka would have shaken her head at him fondly, and would go on to H.G., who would have been glaring at him indignantly for his terrible accent. The glare would have lasted for only a minute though, for H.G. would be distracted by Myka’s hand stroking her hair, and then they would be smiling at each other in that dopey way of theirs.

Then they’d most likely run off to the library to make out.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Amanda’s voice gently brings him back.

Pete looks at them each in turn. “I have to bring them back.”

“Them who?” Nolan asks.

Irisa is intently observing him. It doesn't surprise him when she answers Nolan’s query. “His family.”

“Yes,” Pete says, squaring his shoulders. His face is full of determination and conviction.

“I have to go back to the Warehouse.”

Chapter Text

An hour ago, Nolan wouldn’t have believed that such a place could be real. He wouldn’t have believed that what Pete told them were all true, despite his daughter’s claim that Pete hadn’t spoken a word of lie since they met.

He wouldn’t have believed that beneath the ruins caused by Votan technology, a miracle exists.

Yes. A miracle. This can only be described as a miracle.

“Hit me,” Nolan directs it to Irisa, though his eyes are fixed on the incredible sight.

“Why would I do that?” the girl asks.

“Just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

In his peripheral vision he sees Irisa shake her head. “You’re being ridiculous. This is real.” It doesn’t escape Nolan’s attention that although she sounds exasperated with him, Irisa’s tone held awe, too.

Really, awe doesn’t even begin to cover what he himself is feeling right now.

Because before them is a sight they could never have imagined.

“Welcome to Warehouse 13,” Pete says, sweeping out his arms in a grand gesture, joy and pride in his voice.

Nolan realizes that Pete really was telling the truth when he told them that his life was full of endless wonder. However, being faced with this marvel of a place right now, Nolan would say that Pete was understating things.

Endless wonder.

Not even those words are enough to convey reality, he muses.

“How do you suppose you could do that?” Nolan asked him, breaking the silence that followed when Pete stated his intent.

Pete was puzzled. “What do you mean? That’s like, twelve hours away. Faster if I could get a plane.”

Nolan snorted at that. “A plane? Hadn’t had those for decades.”

“What?”

“We told you about the terraformer technology, right?” He raised an eyebrow.

Pete scrunched his face. “Crap.”

He totally forgot about that. When he woke up, Nolan and LaSalle did mention a bit about some kind of Votan technology that mutated Earth species and even basic geography. The same technology also messed up the planet’s electromagnetic field, rendering air travel super dangerous, and hence, not viable. But…

Challenge Number 1: Go to the Warehouse.

Yep, he was not to be deterred.

“Then I’ll travel by land.”

“Are you insane??!” the mayor exclaimed, incredulous.

Pete was taken aback by her intensity. “What now?”

“Going by land… that is way too dangerous. There’s a reason the areas beyond Defiance are called ‘badlands,’ Pete,” Amanda shook her head. “The species that resulted from terraformers… they’re monsters. The mutations are sometimes too drastic that identifying what they were from in the first place is impossible. Travelling through the regions would lead you to these creatures, and the experience would not be pleasant.

“And then there’s the issue of whether or not your family’s in the Warehouse or if the Warehouse still exists at all.”

“I kinda have an idea of the dangers you’re telling me.” Pete crossed his arms. “And believe me when I say that I got through much worse stuff.” Like major explosions and delusional outbreaks. “As for the Warehouse”—he grinned fully—“it still exists.”

“How can you be so sure? After the Arkfall, almost everything was—”

He held out a hand to stop her protests. “I know. But I told you, the Warehouse is a place of endless wonder. It wouldn’t cease to exist just because some stupid messed-up alien technology fell from the sky. It’s better than that.”

“So,” Nolan deduced, “this Warehouse had a failsafe or something?”

“Yep.”

“That doesn’t explain if your friends are there too, though.”

Pete smirked. “It actually does.” At their questioning looks, he shrugged. “I told you before, didn’t I? H.G. had a plan.”

“Yeah, right. Stahma.”

He cringed. “Don’t call her that. It’s kinda weird. Ugh.”

“What was this plan we keep hearing about?” Amanda asked, throwing her hands in the air.

Pete regarded them, thinking seriously. After a beat, he decided to tell them at least a fraction of it. “H.G. found a way to put them to sleep.” He thought back to the devices H.G. brought to the Warehouse one day. They were weird-looking cocoons that emitted creepy lights. He remembered her instructions: Just make sure they’re unconscious when you put them there. That should make it easier for their bodies to adjust.

And the feral If you so much as put a scratch on Myka’s skin, however…

Man, that lady’s fierce.

As if he’d ever hurt Myka, anyways.

He continued, “I’m not really sure how those contraptions work, but I’m certain that they did their job.” Otherwise H.G. wouldn’t even suggest utilizing them. “So now I just have to go there and wake them up.”

Irisa was watching him closely. “That’s not all there is to it, is it?”

Pete smiled softly. This girl is perceptive. “No, it isn’t,” he admitted.

The Irath just nodded.

“I’m sorry, but the truth… the whole truth… should be better told when…” He hesitated. “When I’m with them.” He blew a ragged breath.

Amanda and Nolan exchanged a glance. After a silent deliberation, Amanda nodded, and Nolan said, “Okay.”

Pete lowered his head in heartfelt thanks.

“But now, we have to deal with how you’re gonna do this,” Nolan said, scratching his head.

“Trust me, it’s going to be hard,” Irisa piped up. And added, “If you’re alone.”

“Exac—” Nolan’s eyes widened at the implication of Irisa’s statement. “Now wait a minute here, young lady—”

Irisa flashed him a look of irritation. “He’s not going to be swayed to stay, Nolan.” She glanced at Pete. “Are you?”

He grinned. “Nope.”

“See? It’s better if somebody with experience out there go with him. Then he’ll have a chance at survival.”

“You can’t, Irisa.” Nolan’s brows were furrowed in frustration.

Pete stepped up and got between the two. He didn’t want to be the cause of their argument. Too much of those in my conscience already. “Hey, listen. I could go alone. I’ve got my stuff with me, and I’ve survived a lot of almost-deaths before.” And a real death, by the way. “I’m cool, could do it myself.”

Father and daughter both scowled at him. “No!”

Irisa pointed a finger at him as Pete made to respond. “Shush.”

She then met the gaze her father was leveling her with.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

Irisa scoffed. “Please. I’m much tougher than you are.” She smirked. “Besides, I could really use some fresh air. I’ve been cooped inside the town for so long now.”

Nolan’s lips twitched involuntarily at the girl’s confidence. “And your idea of fresh air involves badland mutants?”

“It’s much more appealing than running around restraining Datak’s minions.”

He searched his daughter’s face. “You’re not giving up on this, are you.” It’s not a question.

“No.”

He puffed a breath. “Well, I’ll come with you.”

“What?” Amanda’s voice was this close to a screech.

Nolan faced the mayor. “I’ll go with my daughter. I can’t very well just let her set out alone now, could I?”

“But you have a duty to the town.”

“I have a duty as a father first,” Nolan said, his voice bearing finality.

He didn’t see the softening of Irisa’s eyes, but Pete did.

The agent said, “Really, folks. No need to mess everyone up. I can handle—”

“Pete,” Irisa cut him off (for the nth time), “I’m going with you. And Nolan’s free to do as he wants.”

“But—”

“Fine,” they heard Amanda huff after a few more seconds of staring at Nolan. “As long as you’re sure LaSalle’s capable of handling things.”

Nolan smiled. “Yeah, the lad’s capable. And I’ll give McCawley a heads-up too, just in case. And it’s not like we’re gonna be gone for a whole week.”

“I know.” Still looking him in the eyes, Amanda said, “And Nolan… just…”

He squeezed her arm reassuringly. “I’ll come back. We all will.”

She lowered her gaze. And her next words were almost inaudible. “You better.”

*

Pete was ever so thankful that he was found by such kind people.

After the mayor accepted their decision to go, Nolan contacted McCawley and LaSalle through a mobile-thing they call hailer. It was pretty cool, and Pete was sure that Claudia would love to have one. And she’d love taking it apart, piece by piece, more.

When that was done, Amanda asked them how long they think they would be out  (Nolan turned to Pete then, since he’s the one who’d know how much time they’d probably need when they find the Warehouse, to settle what should be settled. Just three days, tops, he answered). She seemed pleased that it wasn’t too long, then she sent out a secretary-type Castithan (gosh, secretary-type? That almost sounded like a Pokemon) to get them supplies for travel.

At that point, Pete was almost bursting with gratefulness. “Thank you.”

Nolan and Amanda looked at him kindly.

“Just… I know it’s kinda lame, but I don’t really know how to pay you back.”

“A scrip could go a long way,” Nolan teased. Amanda elbowed him.

“It’s alright, Pete,” she said. Smiling, she continued, “Just come back with your family and we’ll talk about all of it.”

*

Two hours later, Pete found himself outside Rafe’s house, helping Nolan load their supplies in the roller they were going to use.

Sighing, he told the Lawkeeper, “I’m sorry for this trouble.”

Nolan answered, “No need to be. I kinda miss the outside too, to tell you the truth. I get why Irisa’s eager to tag along.” He paused in his activity. “She and I used to have lots of fun, travelling through the badlands. We barely made it alive each time, but—” Nolan broke off with a melancholic smile.

Pete understood. He had the same thoughts regarding his Warehouse life and his family that came with it. “Those moments are the most important of all.”

Nolan patted him on the shoulder. “That they are.”

Irisa bounded up to them then, holding a bag. At Nolan’s quirked brow, she explained, “Cookies from Rafe’s kitchen. For Pete.”

“Yes!”

“Okay, so now, everything’s set up. Good to go?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Irisa quipped.

“Guys,” Pete began, “I really appreciate all of this. It’s not convenient and it’s dangerous and—”

“Stop it, Pete,” said Irisa. “You need to find your family. And to do that you need to go to this Warehouse. The only thing to do now is to do just that.”

He patted the girl’s head. “That almost sounded like something Claude would say.”

“Do we get to meet her?”

Pete’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Of course.”

*

Pete realized how right Amanda was.

These badlands are dangerous.

Man, these badlands are bad.

Thirty minutes in the so-called Storm Divide, Pete first encountered the mutants.

He was on the back of the roller with Irisa (Nolan was driving, obviously), feeling the wind, when a movement caught his eye. Apparently Irisa saw it too, for they snapped their focus on the same direction at the same time.

“Ssshh,” Irisa said, un-strapping a wicked knife from her back.

One.

Two.

Three.

At the four-second mark, Irisa threw the knife and a howl pierced the air.

“Nice throw, kid!” Nolan called out. He caught Pete’s wide eyes in the rearview mirror and laughed.

Irisa swept up a gun from the floor and aimed it to the left. She fired three shots.

The sound of three… things flopping down hard on the ground reached Pete’s ears.

“Woah,” he breathed, “you are scary.”

He had barely said the last word when he saw a shape fast approaching them.

“WHAT THE—”

Pete scrambled to get his Tesla out of his pocket. He adjusted the power level to maximum, and without second thought, he fired a shot. A blazing arc of electricity spewed forth and slammed into the creature mere meters from them. Pete squinted as he tried to make out what it was.

It certainly didn’t look cute. Resembling a bear, a spider, and an armadillo all at the same time, it looked awful. “What was that?” Pete asked, as the roller continued on its way, farther from it.

“Saberwolves,” Irisa said.

Pete turned to her, wincing. “I don’t like them.”

“No one does.” She eyed his weapon. “Now, what is that?”

He held it up. “It’s a Tesla. As you may have seen, it shoots out electricity. Originally it would need a recharge after a blast that powerful, but Claudia upgraded it to increase effectiveness and efficiency.”

“Does it kill?”

He considered that for a moment. “I never killed anyone with it, but in close range and maximum level power set-up, it could be lethal. Normally, though, it would just cause unconsciousness and short-term memory loss.”

Irisa tilted her head, then handed Pete her gun. “Here, use this. Saberwolves are better off dead, not unconscious.”

With that the Irath sat down on the roller floor and closed her eyes.

And went to sleep.

“She’s right, you know,” Nolan called, after a few minutes.

Pete peeked inside. “Is she alright sleeping like this?”

“Yeah, as long as you’re awake to keep guard.” Nolan raised an eyebrow, waiting his confirmation.

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Kid’s usually suspicious, but she trusted you enough to watch her back.”

Pete smiled sincerely. “I’m honored. Don’t worry, Pops, I got this.”

Before Nolan could answer, he turned and sat down next to Irisa, his eyes vigilantly keeping note of everything they pass by. His hands tight on the gun, he made sure that no harm would come to pass to this young red-head who reminded her so much of Claudia.

*

After fifteen hours of driving (with two breaks for meals and nature calls, and almost a dozen run-ins with other mutants), they reached what was South Dakota Badlands.

Pete was almost surprised that, apart from the new species infesting the area and the new spires or buttes (they looked more wicked and sinister than the spires and buttes of old) that sprouted hither thither, it looked nearly the same way it did 37 years ago.

“Are you sure it’s here?” Nolan asked him. They got off the roller about half an hour ago, and proceeded to trek along creepy, rocky paths. They were now preparing to go up a huge mountain-like cliff.

“Yeah, of course I’m sure. Don’t you feel it?” Pete answered absently. His focus was on climbing the cliff without falling to his death (it’s hard, actually, since he was now covered with cuts and his jaw hurts and oh, his head got hit by an alligator-bear hybrid that they encountered somewhere in Nebraska), so he didn’t hear Nolan’s irritated I don’t get vibes like you.

Irisa, who was behind Pete, said, “This place is strange.”

“Good strange or bad strange?” Nolan looked at her worriedly.

“I— Good strange,” she said, then proceeded to climb the rock face after Pete.

Heaving a sigh, Nolan followed.

After minutes of careful scaling (in between wary glances of whether or not some other monsters were there climbing with them), they reached a relatively wide ledge. Pete approached one wall and gingerly brushed some dust off it with his jacket sleeves.

It revealed a collection of symbols that made sense to neither Irisa nor Nolan. Pete, however, seemed satisfied.

“We’re here,” he declared. Finally.

Nolan looked at the wall askance. “It’s just a giant piece of rock.”

“Tsk tsk,” Pete chided him, “appearances are often deceptive.”

Pete drew a deep breath. His mind went back to that Christmas when he was whammied by Philip van Doren Stern’s upholstery brush. It wasn’t a lovely experience, for he felt so alone then (and Myka was so cold and Claudia was so lost and Artie was in prison… and MacPherson was in-charge of the Warehouse and Mrs. Frederic was bronzed… What a nightmare), but now, he’s thankful for the memory. It provided him a piece of information vital for his reunion with his family in this new world.

“Here goes,” he murmured, steeling his nerves. Out loud, he echoed the words Myka had spoken that day. “Iftah ya simsim.”

He felt Nolan and Irisa’s skepticism, but he didn’t really care. His eyes were trained on the giant slab of stone.

Before either of his companions could question his sanity, the wall split down the middle with a thunderous groan.

“What in—” he heard Nolan say.

He couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his lips, or his delighted whoop of yes accompanied by a punch in the air.

Oh, Myka, I’m so glad you’re such a big geeky nerdy nerd.

He turned to Nolan and Irisa, and inclined his head. “In here.” Then he walked into the cave, relishing the surprised expressions on their faces.

After a few seconds, he heard their footsteps following him.

“What is this place?” Nolan asked.

Pete, who was examining the internal security device, didn’t look at him as he answered, “It’s a secret entrance; the only reason I knew about it was because of an accident.” Under his breath, “I have no Claude to hack this for me, now, though.”

Irisa watched him as he studied the little security box. “We need to open this?” She gestured to the door near the device.

“Yup, and this thing here controls the door. It’s all computer and stuff, but I’m no hacker and— and—” Pete stuttered as Irisa shot the door with a gun that released a powerful energy blast. The door exploded, and Pete quickly covered his face with his arms as a mighty gust of light filled the area.

When it subsided, he found Irisa stepping into the door, with the paneling still giving off smoke. She flashed him an arrogant smile, and copying his action from before, said, “In here,” before continuing on.

Pete shook his head disbelievingly, and turned to Nolan, who had a Proud Papa smile plastered on his face. “Your girl is intense.”

“She is,” Nolan agreed.

His face still wearing a shocked expression, Pete followed Irisa, Nolan trailing closely behind.

They found Irisa in the middle of a smaller area, studying three more doors (with skulls and crossed bones painted on them) in front of her.

“We need to choose?” she asked.

“Yeah, but no need to use visions,” Pete said. He approached the door to the left-most side. “This is it.”

“And the other two?” She waved her hand to the other doors.

Pete winced. Mimicking Artie’s answer when Claudia asked the same thing, he said, “Don’t.”

Then he turned the door’s handle and opened it.

Nolan peeked at the dark, long, and narrow corridor it led to. “Are we sure about this?” he whispered.

Irisa and Pete simultaneously replied, “Yes.”

“Well,” he exhaled a long breath, “lead the way.”

It is not every day that Nolan is rendered speechless. But today is one of those days that he is.

Aisles upon aisles and shelves upon shelves and crates upon crates of all sorts of things are laid out in front of him, seeming to roll off forever. He can see a pyramid off to one side, a house in the other, and a windmill (he thinks it’s a windmill, though he’s only ever seen one in pictures before) somewhere in the middle (does this place have a middle point at all?). There are lines and ropes suspended in the air, going out in all directions. He catches glimpses of balls of light dancing around, and he hears a soft cackle of electricity from a distance.

And the smell . . .

He sniffs deeply.

Pete notices, and asks him and Irisa, “What do you both smell?”

Irisa cocks her head to the side, and says, at the same time Nolan does, “Apples.”

Pete beams at them. “Good! The Warehouse likes you!” He claps his hands like a kid. Then he turns, and almost bouncing in excitement, goes down the metal staircase.

The Warehouse likes us? “Hey!” Nolan shouts at him, “What do you mean?”

“Just follow me or you’ll get lost!” Pete shouts back. “Tell you later!” Among other things. He looks back up the two. “I promise I’ll explain everything you wanna know when they’re awake. I just—” He smiles a bit more brightly. “I need to see them.”

At that Irisa bounds after him. “They’re here?”

“Yeah!” Pete grins at the almost uncharacteristic enthusiasm in her voice. Then he looks at Nolan, who is studying his daughter as well. He catches his eyes. “And I’m not kidding about you getting lost here. Some aisles have special properties that trap people in infinity loops. You can run and run but it won’t let you escape. Unless you know what you’re doing.”

Irisa looks at Pete, then at her father. “He’s not lying.”

Nolan drops his head in defeat as he shuffles down after them. “Fine.”

When they reach the landing, it is all Nolan can do to keep up with the two, who both break off in a run.

It is the first time he has seen Pete so lively and happy.

And after a long while, it is the first time he sees Irisa like that as well.

Pete leads them through a series of turns and twists, aisle after aisle after aisle. It does not take Nolan more than a couple of minutes to believe that yes, he would have been lost here. He’s actually starting to get a headache. It doesn’t help that at every shelf they pass Pete would shout a warning of don’t touch that; it causes brain malfunction/internal hemorrhage/lung disease/emotional breakdown or some other variation. Sometimes an Artie would kill me if something breaks under my watch again.

At last, after who-knows-how-many minutes of continuous running (Pete and Irisa are breathing heavily, but not as heavily as Nolan – it makes him question his health and fitness), they stop at a relatively gloomy area.

Nolan scans the surroundings, and his attention is drawn to life-size bronze statues lining up one wall.

“Where are we?”

“We’re at the bronze sector,” Pete answers simply, as if that explains everything.

Irisa feels something off with those bronze. It’s as if they are emitting some kind of heat. She knits her eyebrows in thought.

“Are those statues—” She points to the side.

Pete looks at her, and holding her gaze, nods. “Yes. They’re alive.”

Nolan, who has ventured to touch one particular statue, immediately draws back his hand at that. “What?!!”

“The Bronze Sector houses the most dangerous people in the world. That one there”—Pete gestures to the one Nolan touched—“that’s Paracelsus. He was a 16^th century alchemist who almost destroyed the Warehouse back in 2013, when he was debronzed. Bronzed people don’t die, you see; they’re just immobile with their consciousness trapped within, and they could cause extreme peril to humankind if released.”

“Why not just kill them and be done with it?” Irisa asks.

Pete chuckles darkly. “That crossed my mind too. But the Warehouse is not in the business of killing people.” At least not officially, his mind adds, remembering the artifacts stored here that could kill, and had already killed, people. His eyes take on a hard glint as he stares at Paracelsus. “No matter how much they deserve it.” He will never forgive him for almost wrecking his home. For bronzing Claudia. For duping him. For just frakking messing everything up.

Nolan steps back from the statue, sensing that Pete’s dislike of the man runs deep. He decides to (kind of) change the subject.

“So, is this how you preserved your friends?”

Challenge Number 2: Wake your family up.

Pete shakes his head. “Nope. H.G. would kill me if I did that to Myka. Besides, the Warehouse bronzing process dates back to a long time ago. And as I told you, H.G. thought of something new.”

He approaches the bronzer. He taps a series of commands on the control panel, and waits as the sound of whirring gears fills the air. The post (with the clamps) twists and sinks down, and the bronzer’s circular floor rotates and after several rusty creaks, lifts to reveal a…

“Is that a Hypersleep Tube?” Nolan’s eyes widen almost comically and his voice is an octave higher.

“A what?” Pete questions, his hand hovering over the controls once more.

Nolan clears his throat. “That… That’s a Hypersleep Tube. How did you manage to get that?”

Pete is looking at him, confused. “You’ve seen this device before?”

Irisa beats Nolan to answering.  “Yes. That’s what Old World Votans used to preserve themselves when they traveled to Earth. That’s some kind of device for suspended animation. It took 5,000 years to get from the Votanis Star System to the Solar System, and those devices made sure that the Votans would arrive here safely. And alive.”

Understanding dawns on Pete’s face. “So… this… It’s alien technology?”

“Yes. But how did you get a hold of that?”

“I— H.G. brought them here.”

“Them?!” Nolan says. “You have more than one??!”

“Of course. One tube holds one person, right? And there are four people I had to save so…” He shrugs.

“Wow. Four. Genius. How did this H.G. ever manage to— Wow.” Nolan’s shaking his head, awed.

Pete turns to the panel once more. “A lot of things that woman is capable of, believe me.” He punches another series of commands, and the Hypersleep Tube (so that’s what they’re called) lights up from the inside, emitting an eerie bluish light. He moves in front of the Tube, turns a knob located on its front section, and carefully steps back as the hood lifts.

A mild crack sounds as the light dims, and after a few seconds, a pair of hands reaches out from the shadows set off by the lifted hood, gripping the sides of the upright Tube. The hands clench with the effort of pulling the body to which they belong out of the device.

Pete, Irisa, and Nolan hold their breaths as a girl with red hair and sharp eyes emerge from the darkness of the cocoon.

She blinks rapidly, getting used to the lights. She looks at her hands and wiggles her fingers, as if testing if they are working properly. She stretches her arms, and rotates her neck, as one would do to work out a crick.

After making sure that all her faculties are indeed functioning as they should, she then calmly turns to her audience. She doesn’t even miss a beat as she catches sight of Irisa, whose facial proportions are a bit different from a human’s.

Her face, however, breaks out in a huge charming grin as her eyes meet Pete’s. Before she can say anything, the guy has her in his arms, twirling her off the floor.

“Claudia!”

She laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck, giving him a fierce hug of her own. “Pete!”

Nolan and Irisa watch the two of them as they wrap each other in an affectionate embrace, like that shared between really close siblings.

Claudia’s feet are still hanging off the floor, for Pete has yet to set her down. In fact, it doesn’t look like he has any intention of doing so.

“God, Claudia,” he murmurs.

Claudia hears the distress interlaced with relief in his voice. Wanting to comfort him, she wiggles a bit, and chuckles when Pete’s grip does not loosen. “Dude, don’t get emotional on me. Put me down!” Her tone is playfully chiding.

“Don’t wanna!”

She slaps his back, and he groans in protest. “Just put me down, Mr. Crying-Pants!”

He does as she says this time, but a hand stays on her shoulder. “I’m not crying,” he says softly. He isn’t, that’s true, but his eyes are wet with unshed tears.

“Could’ve fooled me, Big Baby Boy,” she says. The gentleness of her voice belies her choice of words.

Pete sniffs, and Claudia punches him on his chest teasingly. “Such a softie.”

“Shut up.”

Stepping closer, she wraps an arm around his waist. The hand on her shoulders tightens protectively.

“I just—”

“Ssshh,” she soothes, in that little sister way that she has. “Later.”

“Later,” he agrees.

She waits until his breathing evens out.

“So,” she looks up at him, her eyes twinkling with unrestrained delight, “what year is this?”

Chapter Text

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Steve sighs inwardly. He, Myka and Artie are silent as they make their way through the aisles to retrieve the artifacts Claudia mentioned. And it’s unbearably awkward.

No one seemed to be in the mood to start a conversation: he has always been the quiet type (except when Claude’s around); Artie is his usual gruff self (which means his starting up a conversation is so out of the realm of possibilities – never mind the fact that Steve’s concepts of ‘possible’ and ‘impossible’ have undergone quite a lot of changes in the past hour alone); and, Myka…

Well.

Steve senses Myka’s struggle to take all of this in. He himself is feeling a bit out of sorts, and he could only imagine just how much more confused she is, given that she did not have any prior knowledge of the situation they now find themselves in. Add to that the emotional baggage suddenly dumped on her, what with H.G.’s sacrifice (the second one, as far as he knows. Or maybe the third, if he counted that one with the Janus coin) and the Regents’ decision. And of course there’s the sudden finding out that all her relatives are gone.

Yeah, Myka is surely having it tough.

He chances a glimpse at the lady and feels a twinge at his heart.

Myka’s eyes are brimming with so much sadness that Steve wonders how she manages to not let her tears pour down. They are shining so brightly, like molten emeralds, and though he certainly finds them beautiful (Myka always did have such beautiful eyes – that’s one of Steve’s favorite things about her), he can’t help but notice just how raw the pain in them is.

Beauty in tragedy. Just like Shakespeare. Steve shakes his head at how tragically apt that is, remembering how Myka’s extensive knowledge of the bard and his Lost Folio saved his life the first day they met.

And now I can’t even comfort you.

No, he can’t. Because like Pete, Steve knows that only one person could ever truly comfort Myka. Only one person could ever calm the storm that is surely brewing beneath the cool façade that she is struggling to keep in place.

Only one could ever break through her carefully constructed but still painfully fragile walls.

And sadly, that one is not with them right now.

Steve shakes his head again. This is going to be a long hour.

They only needed half an hour for retrieving the Langdale Axe and the Neolithic greenstone axe, so they still have another half left to wait. And with the silence getting heavier and the tension growing thicker, it’s shaping up to be the longest half-hour of Steve’s life.

Artie is sitting on his office chair with his bushy eyebrows in their usual frown, and it is certainly not helping in relieving any stress. He is grumbling under his breath, ruffling through the files scattered on his table, possibly looking for something that may help their move. Myka, meanwhile, is just sitting on the stuffed chair by the corner, the one where she and H.G. had always cuddled on in the past, and her eyes are transfixed on some unseen point in space, lost in thought. Shadows are cast across her face, starkly contrasting with her pale skin, giving off a certain gloomy and foreboding effect.

Really, what could one say in a situation such as this one?

If he asked any questions, Artie would probably (most probably) just brush him off with a Don’t talk to me. And he can’t very well ask Myka anything, much less try to placate her, because hello, he still feels like a colossal ass for keeping information from her (despite the fact that it was her lover who ordered him to not breathe a word of their plan to her). So, not knowing what to do, Steve just follows his companions’ lead and does not say anything. He leans back on his chair and focuses on resisting the overwhelming urge to scream.

*

When Steve thinks he can’t take any more of the suffocating air in the room, a voice rings out, loud and clear, effectively dispelling it.

“Woah, you all look like you’ve seen the end of the world,” Claudia tells them, Irisa right behind her.

Irisa rolls her eyes at the human redhead. “Technically, you are living the end of the world.”

Claudia winces, and cast an apologetic look at the agents, who have all looked up at them when they arrived. “Right. Poor choice of words.” She looks around. “Nolan and Pete not here yet?”

“Not yet,” Steve verifies. He stands close to Claudia and whispers with obvious gratitude, “Thanks.”

Claudia looks up at him with brows creased in confusion. Nevertheless, she whispers back, “What for?”

“I feared for my sanity in here. They’re much too…” his lips curl as he searches for the word.

Looking at Artie and Myka, Claudia supplies it for him. “Glum?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. And it was so awkward. Like, thinking-I-was-hitting-on-you-when-we’re-alone-in-the-car-without-knowing-I-was-actually-gay awkward.”

Claudia scrunches her nose at that reminder, but it certainly makes Steve’s message cut across. “Yeah, that is awkward.” She bumps him teasingly on the shoulder. “You owe me one, then.”

“I do now, do I,” Steve drawls. He then takes a step back as he notices how the others are watching their whispered exchange.

Claudia did not notice initially, but then she gets Steve’s subtle hint. And so she just proceeds to ask Irisa, “Where in the world did you guys park that roller thing? What’s taking them so long?”

Irisa answers, “We left it about fifty yards away from the cliff leading to the entrance.”

“Cliff?” Claudia repeats. She turns to Artie. “The one your buddy Jimmy used to smuggle out H.G.?”

Artie glares at her. “He is not my buddy, he’s dead. And yes. I believe that’s the one.”

“How did Pete know about that? I thought there was a security code or something,” Myka asks from her corner, and Steve’s shoulders visibly sag with relief. At least she’s speaking now.

However, before Artie could tell them that he does not know, the sounds of running engine and turning wheels fill the air. Claudia rushes out to the railing, looks down, and whistles appreciatively at what she sees.

“He-ya!” she hollers to Nolan and Pete, who have just gotten out of a weird, jeep-like vehicle, “That a roller?”

Pete looks up at her and shouts back, “Yeah! Get your ass down here and have a look, kiddo!”

“Leave my bum out of it, you pervert!” she retorts playfully, replacing the term with one she picked up from H.G. She then spins around and eagerly makes her way down the steel staircase.

When she reached them (with Steve, Artie, Myka, and Irisa hot on her heels), she quickly examined the roller, running her hands on its surface, checking the hinges, the bolts, then popping up the hood and checking out its engine. She hums, satisfied with it.

“Pete,” she says, “got my tools stash?”

“Yup,” he answers, opening the door of the roller. He takes out a big tool box and hands it to Claudia.

“Thanks,” says Claudia. She then sets it down and starts laying out its contents.

Irisa crouches next to her and whispers, “Why are you using these tools?”

She winks at her and answers, “Don’t want Artie to get suspicious of my pockets now, do I.”

Irisa smirks. “Right.” She then stands up and steps away, giving Claudia enough room to do her thing.

“So, you’ve already repurposed this diorama?” Pete asks, looking at the large box strapped on the back of the bioelectric stagecoach, parked a few feet from the roller.

“Yup,” Claudia answers, taking apart the roller’s back compartment. The sound of steel clashing with steel reverberates through the Warehouse as she dumps bits and pieces of it on the floor.

“Pete,” Myka says, her voice exasperated. Pete’s hand stops in its intent to reach out and touch the diorama. He meets her disapprovingly gaze with a sheepish one. “Her repurposing it does not mean you can now touch it.” Her don’t mess up this thing is unsaid, but even so, the words reach Pete. He relents, raises both hands in the air, and moves away from the artifact.

Myka nods at him, and he knows she appreciates his gesture.

“And Pete,” says Artie, in his usual gruff tone, “how did you find and use the cliff entrance? We were just talking about it in the office, and I realized that I never told any of you how to access that.”

Pete looks at Nolan and Irisa, who are both staring back at him, and turns to Artie with a sigh. “And I never did tell you about my adventure with Philip Van Doren Stern’s upholstery brush either, did I?”

Artie’s eyebrows shoot up high in surprise. “Wait, what? When did that happen?”

Pete shrugs. “The Christmas when Mykes and I retrieved Rudolph’s red nose.”

“Holy… Oh god. How did you… I mean… obviously you got back… but… oh god,” Artie has his hand on his mouth as he mumbles under his breath, his eyes worried and confused.

“Hey, hey, Artie. I am fine. You and Claude and Mykes helped me get back.”

Claudia, who is listening as she continues her work, says at the same time Myka does, “We did?”

Myka asks Artie, her brows scrunched up in thought, “What do you mean, ‘got back?’ What does Stern’s brush do? I mean, I know he wrote a short story called The Greatest Gift, which inspired the classic Christmas movie It’s A Wonderful Life, but I don’t know how…” Her eyes widen as a realization hit her. “Oh. Oh my god.” She turns to Pete, worry and shock and disbelief evident in her eyes all at once.

Claudia looks up from what she’s doing and, shooting an annoyed glare at her family, says, “What am I missing here?” She props her hands on her hips in an irritated stance.

Pete drags a hand down his face. And now is another storytelling time. Swallowing back a sigh, he begins, “It all began in the Christmas aisle…”

*

“Woah. That’s why you hugged Mrs. Frederic?” Claudia is laughing really hard, and her eyes are twinkling with unsuppressed amusement. “Oh man, I knew there was some extreme reason as to why you did that. I mean, I know you like living with extremes, but that particular trick was really surprising, not to mention disturbing! No one just hugs Mrs. F!”

Pete groans. “Stop making fun of me! And you all were really crazy at that other dimension you know, and really, really, scary!”

“But I still can’t beat what Myka did! I mean, shocking Artie is my thing, but her…”

Myka, for her part, is hiding her face on her hands in embarrassment. “I can’t believe I put Artie in prison!”

Steve sputters out a laugh at that, and cannot quite keep his smile even though Artie is glaring at him. “I’m sorry, it’s just… to imagine you in prison…” He chuckles fully, joining Claudia.

“Children,” Artie grumbles. “And to think that incident was the one that led you into knowing about the secret entrance…”

“I know, right?” Pete agrees. “And Myka’s being a big geeky nerd really did help out in that.” He slaps his partner in the back, earning himself a glare, but he knows it’s a half-hearted one. “You were awesome there!”

Myka scoffs. “Does that mean I’m not awesome here?” she says, teasing.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

They continue their banter, with Steve, Artie, and Nolan watching them (Steve and Artie with relief – they were both worried about Myka’s earlier behavior; Nolan with amusement), and they only stop when Claudia announces, “Done!”

Irisa, who watched her tweak around while they both listened to Pete’s story, says, “That was quick.”

“The quicker we go, the better,” Claudia wiped her greasy hands on a piece of cloth, and stands back to admire her work.

“Is this gonna hold?” Pete asks, tapping down the hinges of the added space.

Claudia rolls her eyes at him. She asks, mock-indignantly, “Am I supposed to be insulted?”

Pete grins at her. “Maybe?”

She shakes her head and punches him on the chest. “Of course it’s gonna hold. It’s perfectly safe.”

He rubs at the spot she hit, and grumbles, “Okay, okay. No need to punch me.”

“You’re used to it.”

“Well…”

“So,” Nolan says, breaking up the exchange, “what are we going to do now?”

Claudia looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Hmm?”

Nolan scratches the side of his neck. “I mean, you’ve done your thing with the roller,” he inclines his head to the said vehicle, “which is pretty impressive, by the way. But now, what do we do?”

“Oh. That.” The human redhead scans the faces of her family members, her eyes shining with an unspoken question that all of them seem to understand. She then nods to herself and meets Nolan’s confused gaze. “Let’s go.”

He blinks at her in shock. Well, that was fast. “Now?”

“Now,” Claudia confirms.

“As in right now?”

Claudia frowns at him, perplexed. “What’s your problem? Wanna wait till Yuletide?”

“I..” Nolan swallows. Right. Okay. “Nothing. Fine.”

She nods at him approvingly. “Good.”

She then looks at Pete. “Can you put the diorama there for a bit?” she asks, pointing to the roller.

Pete nods and rolls up his sleeves. “Sure.”

“Be careful, okay? Don’t wanna be a metal sheet right now.”

He grunts, annoyed. “Not gonna let me live that down, are you?” he accuses.

Claudia just chuckles, not refuting the accusation. She just turns to ask Steve, “You have the axes?”

He nods, holding up two large artifact-containing foil bags.

“Right. Put those in here,” she says, opening up a slot on the floor of the roller’s back compartment.

Nolan peeks at the slot. “How… I didn’t see you put a slot there!”

Claudia smirks at him as Steve stores the foil bags in the indicated area. “Of course you didn’t.” She then closes the slot, effectively hiding its stash.

Steve pats Nolan on the shoulder and offers a small smile. “You’ll get used to it. She usually does things even we cannot understand.”

Nolan sighs, shaking his head. “You lot are too much.”

“That we are,” Pete agrees with a grin.

Again shaking his head, he regards the human redhead. “So, shall we?”

Claudia holds up a hand, signifying for them to wait a bit, and goes to a nearby metal post. She slides up a metal plate, presses a button, and then suddenly they hear a loud crashing noise. She stoops down, opens a metal flap that they haven’t noticed before, and retrieves a ten-inch long canister.

Holding it up, she beams as she turns around to face them. “We’re gonna need food, right?”

Irisa stares at the canister askance. “We will need food, but I don’t think that’s going to be enough.”

Myka smiles as she catches Claudia’s eyes. “Oh, that will more than suffice.”

Artie looks at her, then at Claudia, then back at her. “Is that what I think it is?”

The older of the two nods. “Yup.”

“Hey,” Pete pipes up, his brows furrowed, “I don’t understand.”

In answer, Claudia twists the canister’s lid off, and from inside takes out a jar.

Pete’s eyes widen as he immediately recognizes the jar, and he lets out a joyful whoop. “Yeah!”

Irisa asks him, “What’s that jar?”

He grins at her and answers, “That’s one of my favorite things in the world!”

At her and Nolan’s confused gazes, Myka explains, “It’s a bottomless cookie jar.”

Irisa tilts her head in doubt. “Bottomless as in...?”

“It never runs out of cookies!” Pete exclaims.

Nolan hums approvingly. “Handy.”

“It is,” says Claudia.

Steve furrows his eyebrows and looks at Artie. “Is that safe?”

“You really shouldn’t ask him that,” says Pete. “He himself succumbed to the power of the cookie jar.”

Artie throws him a death-glare, which has him gulping. “Right. Zipping my mouth now.”

“Good. And to answer your question,” Artie says, turning to Steve, “yes, it’s safe, though the calorie content of its cookies is three times more than that of regular ones.”

“So the downside of using it is health-and-fitness-related,” Myka puts simply.

“We’re gonna lose all that excess calories when we reach Defiance, anyways,” Pete says. “Living in this new world is harder than in the one before. They eat ferrets, for crying out loud.”

The agents gawk at him at that, and he knows that he has made his point clear.

“Well,” Claudia says, recovering from shock, “I’m not going to eat those furry things. Ever.”

Irisa tells her, “It’s not as if we don’t cook them, you know.”

“So not my point, Irisa.” Claudia stares at the Irath with wide eyes, already imagining Pete the Ferret being cooked. She shuddered at the image. “You know what, never mind. Let’s just get out of here.” She puts the jar inside the canister once more and tells the others, “Two can fit up front, and the rest could take the back.”

Nolan says, “Well, obviously, I’ll drive, so who’s with me?”

Irisa and Claudia glance at each other, and Claudia shrugs. Irisa steps forward. “Me.”

Nolan smiles at his daughter. “Alright.”

“So,” Claudia addresses her family and points at the roller with her thumb, “On we get.”

Nolan never thought that he will be able to see so much miraculous things in such a short period of time. Barely a day with these people and he had already born witness to aisles of endless wonder and unearthly re-awakenings and happy reunions.

And now, though he is not Pete, he feels that he will witness another unbelievable sight.

He watches as Claudia puts a large box in front of the Warehouse (which looks so unassuming from outside – he supposes that’s the point), opens it using a key stamped with a XIII mark, and presses a series of buttons at its side. Then she runs quickly back to them, shouting, “Watch out!”

She has barely spoken the words when the world becomes illuminated with a brilliant flash of light.

Nolan and the rest close their eyes and turn their heads away from the light. They hear a thunderous groan of collapsing metal as it subsides, and when they return their gaze, they let out a collective gasp.

The Warehouse’s façade has been transformed into a single metal sheet, and they watch in awe as it slowly folds itself. It tucks its sides neatly, continuously, folding down, down, down, until it is the same size as the diorama.

Then there is another flash of blinding light.

When they look again, the Warehouse is gone, and the diorama itself is giving off small flickers of electric sparks.

Claudia approaches the box cautiously. She crouches down, takes the XIII key, inserts it to the keyhole and carefully twists it. There is a definitive click, and then she straightens up, putting the key in her pocket.

She smiles at them, clearly pleased. “Done.”

Myka beams at her proudly, and says, “Good job, Claude.”

Claudia lowers her head, suddenly shy. She mumbles something that sounds like it was nothing.

Irisa hikes up an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic timidity. She is about to comment on it when Claudia catches her gaze and the message in her eyes is clear: Don’t.

So the young Irath just shrugs and gets back in the roller.

Claudia breathes a sigh of relief. She then turns to Pete. “Can you strap the diorama to that corner there?” she asks, motioning to the far corner of the roller’s expanded back area. When he nods, she hands him a spool of copper wires. “Use this to secure it.”

Pete takes the spool from her. “I’ll get right on it.”

When all is set, Claudia announces in a clear, ringing voice, “To Defiance we go.”

As Myka takes in her surroundings, she understands why Helena wanted her to stay in the safety of the Warehouse.

In the past hour alone, they have encountered four of those so-called saberwolves, and a dozen other mutant varieties. She’s on edge, her eyes flicking from one direction to another, and when she detects even the slightest movement, she shoots with her gun without hesitation.

She had killed all of the monsters they’ve met so far.

“Wow, Mykes,” Pete says, whistling admiringly as the latest one falls down with an agonized howl, “your aim is still impeccable even after 37 years.”

She rolls her eyes at him, lowering her hands but not putting the gun back in its holster. “I’ve been practicing regularly before you knocked me down with an artifact.”

He grimaces at that. “I told you I’m sorry, didn’t I?”

“You did. About fourteen times.”

“And I’m offering you the fifteenth one right now: I really am honest-to-goodness sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. It wouldn’t have been such a threatening move, if not for the fact that it’s the hand holding her still-loaded gun. “Make it up to me by taking the next ones and being useful for now.”

Before Pete could sputter out a retort, Myka flops down next to Claudia. She waits until the redhead meets her eyes. “You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?” Claudia prods, a bit apprehensively.

“Where are we supposed to stay?”

Claudia raises her eyebrows, not expecting that query. “Stay?” she echoes.

“Yeah. I mean, once we…” she searches for an apt word, “…reinstalled the Warehouse.” At Claudia’s questioning look, she elaborates, “We don’t have a B&B anymore.”

“Oh,” Claudia says, understanding Myka’s concern. She smiles at her proudly, “I wouldn’t worry about that too much.”

Myka tilts her head at her, waiting for an explanation.

“I retrofitted the personnel archives.”

Myka’s eyes widen as she analyzes what that means. “We’re going to be staying in the same rooms we stayed in before?”

“Yup,” she confirms, whilst shooting a wary look at Artie, who just sighs exasperatedly.

“How many changes did you make, really?” he says.

Claudia hedges, “About twenty?”

Artie looks at her pointedly from beneath his glasses.

“Fine,” she relents, throwing her hands up, “sixty.”

“Woah, sixty?” Steve asks, startled. That’s plenty of changes.

Claudia nods. “Yeah. Six from the personnel archives,” she sneaks a quick peek at Myka, whose eyes soften at the corners, realizing for whom the sixth one is. She adds in a rush, “Then some small tweaking here and there, with the back-up terminals, the energy furnace, the cooler, the Umbilicus… the list goes on.”

Artie sighs. “I figured as much. I counted about fifty-one when we were making our way for the axes earlier. Huh.”

“So why ask me?” she frowns at him.

“Just wanted to see if you’ll be honest.”

She huffs out an irritated breath at him. “Oldie.”

Before they go on a full-scale argument, Steve remarks, “Don’t know why you changed six of the archives, by the way.”

“Hmm?” she turns to him in confusion.

Myka hides her smile behind a quickly lifted hand. “Steve,” she says, half-amused, half-embarrassed, knowing where he’s heading.

He grins at her. “What? We only need five. You and H.G. always sleep on the same bed, anyways.”

A fierce blush colors Claudia’s cheeks, creeping down her neck, as she comprehends just what Steve means. “Steve!” she exclaims, ducking her head in mortification. She groans when he, Myka, Pete, and even Artie chuckle at her reaction. Really, when will I be old enough for the sex jokes?

Then, Irisa’s voice rings out from up front, “You still have something to tell, them, Pete.”

Claudia turns her head to meet Irisa’s gaze in the rearview mirror, but she is looking intently at someone else. Puzzled at the Irath’s statement, she then directs her attention to Pete, who is standing stock still, leaning against the roller’s railings. His face has gone pale, and his eyes are trained on his partner.

Myka squarely meets his eyes. “So, there’s more?” she says, trying hard to keep things light, but the tremor in her voice belies the attempt.

He swallows heavily, and mutters under his breath, “I suppose it is better that I tell you here and now, than there and then.”

“What do you mean?” Myka asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

He closes his eyes and summons whatever strength he has. And I am asking for yours, too, H.G.

When he opens them, he answers, with words low and measured, “Stahma Tarr is a married woman, and she also has a son.”

The silence that descends upon the agents almost deafens Pete.

He notices how Claudia’s, Steve’s, and Artie’s eyes have gone almost comically wide, and he would have laughed if not for the realization that he probably looked like that too when this information was chucked at him.

And anyway, it is not really their reaction that matters right now.

The one that matters is Myka’s.

And disconcertingly, her reaction is a non-reaction.

Her face is almost expressionless, her lips just upturned in the tiniest of smiles.

After a few more seconds of that mask, Pete cannot take any more and pleads, “Say something?”

Myka laughs, but it is short, brittle. And it makes every one of them flinch. Even Nolan and Irisa, who do not see the exchange, are affected by the sound.

“What do you want me to say?” Myka shakes her head. “Do you want me to say, ‘Oh, that’s okay?’ Or maybe ‘I’d just have to get her back?’ Or ‘I would’ve expected that?’” Her eyes dim considerably, and her voice is disturbingly smooth as she continues, “Because I did expect something like this. Of course I did. The moment you told me she’s living in a town called Defiance, as an alien, I knew she’s bound to be living with a family of her own.” She shrugs, and if not for her clenched fists, the gesture would have read as non-committal. “We’ll just have to work around this bit now, do we?”

Pete’s face is scrunched up in an agonized expression. He hates it, hates seeing his partner sealing the world out. She reminds him of the Warehouse from earlier: she’s folding in on herself, trying to contain so much in so little space.

And he can’t help her in any way. Can’t rescue her from her solitude.

He hates it.

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but before the words come tumbling out, she murmurs quietly, “Let’s drop it, Pete.”

He is prepared to argue. But then the softest of words reaches his ears.

“Please.”

He is prepared to argue. But that one word is laced with so much pain that all the fight just flies out of him. So he slinks down the floor, and not finding the strength to face her anymore, he stares out the roads and focuses on keeping them alive.

The passengers of the roller have stayed quiet since Pete told them about Stahma’s civil status. Even though he hadn’t seen their faces as it happened, Nolan heard the entire conversation, and he certainly felt the tension that came after.

He is definitely still feeling it now.

He sighs, remembering Myka’s humorless laugh. It shook him to his core, how anyone with such a pretty and kind face could ever produce such a bone-chilling sound.

And it wasn’t even an evil or malicious laugh.

No.

That laugh was particularly disturbing because it resonated with a tragic mix of heartbreak and betrayal and pain and self-doubt.

No one deserves to experience any, much less all, of those.

But Myka is experiencing them, and she chooses to suffer in silence, in isolation, than to share her pain with anyone else.

Nolan had never before met someone with such purity, someone who would rather keep the pain all to herself than burden her loved ones with it.

All the more reason for her not to deserve this ordeal.

But the world has always been unfair, and the good ones are always those who go through hell.

Irisa notices as Nolan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. She has a feeling as to why he seems upset, but she waits for him to open up.

“Did we really have to tell her right then?” he finally asks in a whisper.

Irisa answers, staring out her side’s window, “It’s kinder this way, better that letting her see it without any prior notice.” She leans back and looks at him. “Don’t you think so?”

He sighs. He wants to say No, I don’t, but he knows he can’t. Because the thing is, he does see the point, does believe that this way is kinder.

But it does not mean that he has to like it.

Irisa studies Nolan’s face as those thoughts run through his mind. She tells him, “She’s awakened in a world completely different than the one she knew. And no one warned her about it, not her friends, not her mentor, not her lover. Don’t you think she at least deserves a little of that warning this time?”

He sighs again, but nods.

Irisa closes her eyes, and before going to sleep, softly murmurs something that had her father pondering through the long drive.

“She is also a Defiant One, Nolan. Not in the way that anyone would expect, but she is. I see it.”

Claudia catches sight of the Gateway Arch on the sixteenth hour of their journey (she knows – she counted, always checking her wristwatch). It’s barely dawn, and she is feeling a bit sleepy, but when she sees the monument standing proud against the dark skies, energy immediately courses thought her veins.

She exchanges a smile with Steve, who is also awake as their guard (Pete conked down five hours ago). “We’re getting near.”

She peeks through the window to the driver’s compartment, and asks, “How long before we reach that?”

“About thirty minutes,” Nolan answers. He had taken the wheel from Irisa roughly three hours ago – she took it to let him sleep about eight hours after they’d started the trip, since the continuous driving really drained him out and he’d on more than one occasion almost run them through some trees. Now, he’s feeling mostly rested, though he would not refuse a nice nap on a real bed.

“Better wake them up now,” he adds, pertaining to the other agents.

Claudia grins at him. “Okay. Thanks.”

She then gently taps Myka’s shoulder. The older agent groggily blinks up at the redhead. “Claude?”

“Hey, Myka,” she says. “We have thirty minutes before we reach the town.”

Myka straightens up at once, and stands to look at the direction they are heading to. The corners of her lips lift ever so slightly when she sees how the Gateway Arch gleams in the early morning skies, almost like a beacon of hope.

Yes, of hope.

“That Arch had never looked more beautiful in my eyes,” says Claudia by her side.

Myka hums her agreement. Then she looks Pete, who is off to the side, mouth hanging open like a child, and she feels a sudden rush of affection for him. I have been hard on you earlier. Feeling guilty, she gets a cookie from their jar, crouches next to her partner, and stuffs it to his mouth. He automatically munches on the treat, and only when he finishes swallowing does he open his eyes.

“Oh,” he says, surprised at who he sees. “Hey, Mykes.”

She looks at him hesitantly. “Hey.” She knows he is waiting for something more, and she says, “Thirty minutes to Defiance.”

He blows a breath, and nods at her. “Okay.” He stretches his limbs and stand up.

She stands up, too, and she waits for him to meet her gaze. When he does, she says, sincerity ringing in her voice, “I’m sorry.”

He remembers their hunt for Walter Winchell’s tie clip and cuff links, when she also said those words to apologize for her leaving. Leaving responsibilities, leaving the Warehouse, leaving him.

And though he didn’t know it then, she was also apologizing for the fact that it was H.G., not him nor Artie nor Claude nor Mrs. Frederic, that made her come back.

He knows how those little words mean so much, especially coming from her.

So he smiles at her, and it widens when he sees her return it.

With all of them up and (almost) alert, the remaining thirty minutes pass in a blur of anxiety and anticipation. They have gone from wild terrains to a nicer path, with green grass and weirdly beautiful purple flowers. Claudia and Steve watch them in wonder, while Myka and Artie observe them with rapt attention.

“What is that bluish-green hologram-y thing?” Claudia asks.

“Barrier. We’ll have to place a call for them to put it down for a moment,” answers Nolan. He then tells Irisa, “Use my hailer, call Tommy.”

Myka turns to Pete. “Hailer?”

“It’s like a mobile phone, but with much less apps. But it looks absolutely cool.”

“It does,” Claudia agrees, her eyes on the gadget Irisa is holding. She asks the Irath, “Can I borrow that later?”

“Not this one, but I can lend you mine. I left it in the precinct, I think.”

“Yey!”

Claudia watches as she places the call, and when it’s done, she remarks, “That’s one sweet gizmo.”

Irisa lets out a soft laugh. “It is. Just don’t break it when you tweak mine later.”

“I didn’t say anything about tweaking it.”

“You didn’t have to say anything. It’s written in your eyes.”

“Why do you have to be so intuitive?”

Irisa smirks at her and says, “Same reason why you’re a genius. It’s a gift.”

Just as Claudia is about to respond, she hears a slinking sound, and looks over as the barrier disappears, portion by portion. “Woah.”

“Well,” Nolan says, as they pass through the town's protective barrier, “it’s not as fancy as Warehouse 13, but anyway, welcome to Defiance.”

Not as fancy as the Warehouse, no, but Myka can say that Defiance has its own charm. Undoubtedly, compared to the menacing Badlands they drove through, this town seems to be an oasis in the middle of a desert. A safe haven.

She sees a lot of new flora species growing around, and she gets the irresistible desire to classify each of them and name them. She does not get the same feeling for the new animals – they also are interesting, but she thinks she’ll fare much better with organic life that does not really move on its own.

She’ll certainly fare better with the flora than with the crowd of aliens she sees in every direction.

She has prepared for this, but the images Pete provided does not truly capture what these creatures look like in real life. The splash of color of the Iraths; the clinical, almost marble-like appearance of the Indogenes; the whiteness of the Castithans… it’s all a lot to handle.

They get a lot of curious glances as they pass through. Nolan warned them of the sometimes unbearable gossipy culture in Defiance, so she expected it, but she’s still wary of the unwarranted attention. Really, coming to town isn’t such a big deal 37 years ago, unless you’re some kind of celebrity.

Or a Secret Service agent investigating a string of artifact-related deaths.

“You know,” she says, not really addressing anyone in particular, “I would have thought that aliens have better things to do than gossip.”

Nolan scoffs. “Yeah, well, apparently they like that activity almost as much as humans do.”

“Regular humans, at least,” Irisa says. “Your lot is not regular.”

Myka smiles at the Irathient. “Normally, I would be offended by that, but I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is.”

*

Nolan parks the roller in front of a fairly modest building.  He tells them, when he gets off the vehicle, “This is the town hall. I told Amanda we’ll drop by here when we arrive, so…” he shrugs and smiles awkwardly.

“Okay then,” Myka says. “I would love to meet the Mayor.” She raises an eyebrow at Pete. “You’re sure you had no bad vibes about them, right?”

“Yup,” Pete answers.

“Then, let’s go.” She flexes her limbs then jumps down. She waits as the others follow.

“Ah, feels so good to finally be off that thing,” says Artie.

“You know, it would feel even better if you actually stretch,” smirks Claudia, ignoring his glare.

“Ha-ha.”

“This looks like the town halls of old,” Steve observes as they cross the threshold.

“Don’t talk like that, Jinksy. Geez, you make me feel ancient,” Claudia chides.

“You’re only 57. What’s there to feel old about?” Steve teases.

“Shut up.”

They are about to climb up the stairs when they notice that Pete and Myka are still by the door.

Claudia rushes to them as Nolan and Irisa look on. She knows what’s wrong solely by the expression on Pete’s face. “Vibes?”

“Yeah,” Pete gasps.

“A bad one.”

“Yeah. And it’s… it’s from a different person… I just…”

Then they hear Nolan’s low voice, sounding almost like a growl. “Datak.”

The agents look up at the top of the staircase and see a man dressed in a spotless grey suit, his chalky white face framed by wavy dirty-white hair. He is regarding their group with frosty silvery eyes, arrogance and coldness going off him in waves. But it is not his unprovoked animosity that makes their eyes widen in astonishment, nor is it particularly something that renders them speechless – after all, being Warehouse agents, they have experienced their fare share of hostility.

No, what really got their undivided attention is the hooded woman holding on to the man’s arm. She is staring at them with wide silver-blue eyes, her familiar face expressing a mixture of confusion and alarm and wonder.

Well… she isn’t really staring at them.

They watch as her lips move silently, and though it is voiceless, they do not need Pete’s ability in lip-reading to make out the word, or rather, the name that she forms.

“Myka.”

Chapter Text

Forty-one hours had passed, and Stahma still hasn’t again seen the strange man, Pete Lattimer. Curiously enough, she hasn’t seen Chief Lawkeeper Nolan and his Irath daughter, either (it is curious, since the two are usually patrolling or doing some other mundane tasks for their beloved Mayor). She thinks that they probably went out of town – though why she thinks that or why she thinks about them at all, she does not know.

Spending too much thought on a stranger… what has gotten into me?

To make matters worse – or is it better? – the visions have been coming in incessant bursts for the past day. It is as if a sleeping volcano has been suddenly… woken up, has suddenly erupted and the result was a never-ending torrent of images that continuously surges into Stahma’s mind like smoldering lava, burning her up and leaving fiery imprints on her consciousness.

It is all giving her a very intense headache, but then, she realizes that it is most possibly the most glorious sensation she has ever experienced since waking up to live on Earth.

Because, if truth be told, as she lets the images wash over her – an ivory horn, a wooden crate, an azure sky – Stahma Tarr has never felt more alive.

*

Datak was to attend a town council meeting, and as a proper wife, Stahma was to come with him to provide support. But not being a council member herself, she is not permitted to enter the room where the meeting will take place.

That is why she now finds herself sitting on a chair (fashioned from mahogany, they said, though she is not sure what that is) just outside the Mayor’s office, occupying herself with what in human terms could be called ‘knitting.’

The activity, however, does not occupy her enough.

No, not even close.

For with every deft movement of her fingers, every careful flick of her wrists, every deliberate tug of the bright threads, her mind is being filled with her visions. It is like a photo album (if it is what those bound volumes are called) is being constantly flipped inside her head.

But the image of the green eyes she loves remains as elusive as ever. She spends every possible second calling it back to her, but it just stays away.

And it makes her feel frustration, sadness, and longing, all at the same time.

*

On the forty-third hour since she last saw Pete Lattimer, Stahma hears a familiar voice.

“I’m here.”

It wouldn’t have been so alarming, if not for the little detail that it is from inside her head.

And with it comes the image of those deep, soulful, green eyes.

Surprised by its sudden appearance (really, now) her hands nonetheless still as she savors it, her own eyes closing to make it out more clearly.

And oh, how she would love to drown in those lovely orbs and just forget the here and now, to just stare at those brilliant greens and lose herself in them forever.

To her intense aggravation, however, it is in that moment that the door of the Mayor’s office opens and out goes the council members.  Heaving a very deep internal sigh, Stahma stands up to wait for her husband to exit.

When he does, she sidles up next to him (as is proper – but she does it oh-so-despairingly), and asks, “How was it?”

Datak gives her a sneer, and whispers, “They said they would take my suggestions into further consideration.” He seems very pleased with himself.

She knew beforehand that they would say that, and she knew what that meant, too: that the suggestions would most likely be not acted upon. She knew that it was just a deflection from further commitments – she had seen her father, a member of the highest liro, use that strategy far too often when dealing with other members of the governing body. But Datak is not familiar with this, for the closest thing to political knowledge that he possesses is the use of violence. And so Stahma, not wanting to shame him by telling him he was misled, just nods.

With that they make way down the staircase, but she is stopped in her tracks when she sees what is at its bottom.

Or rather, who.

There, looking up at her are the subject of her most precious vision.

Her eyes.

How can this be?

Stahma’s entire world stops as she meets those eyes with her own.

And it is like a spark – a spark? No, not a spark. More like a bolt of lightning – yes. It is like a bolt of lightning strikes its way into her heart and sets it aflame.

The moment she sees the woman with dark, curly hair and brilliant and beautiful emerald-colored eyes (oh, those lovely eyes from her visions), Stahma knows she’s doomed.

Even though she cannot fathom how it is possible that the owner of her favorite eyes is now here, in Defiance, she knows full well that she cannot ever stay away.

No. She needs more.

It’s as if her soul is calling for the woman’s, as if her heart is now beating for its other half.

And she is helpless as her lips form a name – she knows not where it came from or how she could have possibly come up with it, only that though silent, it tastes heavenly as it rolls off her in a hushed breath.

“Myka.”

“Well, well, well,” Datak says, looking down at the group of five people standing with Lawkeeper Nolan and the Irath. “What have we here?”

“Just some visitors,” Nolan answers, his voice dangerously low (as is usual when he’s dealing with him).

Datak and Stahma slowly make their down the stairs (Datak because he probably wants to make an impression by being dramatic; Stahma because she does not trust her limbs to carry her any faster). They stop a few feet away from them (close enough for polite conversation, but far enough that they still have the social advantage of the elevated area), and all this time, Stahma’s eyes are fixed on the curly-haired woman, who has (sadly for Stahma) lowered her gaze to the floor.

“Visitors, you say? Where are they from?” Datak inquires. It is important that he knows who goes in and out of this town.

“What do you care?” comes the reply, with an exasperated breath.

“Now, now, Chief Lawkeeper, that’s not very nice. You are well aware that as a council member, it is part of my job to ensure that no one who ever crosses our town would pose a threat, big or small, to us and to the whole community.”

Pete puts a hand on Nolan’s shoulder before the latter could sputter some (possibly heated) retort. “Came from somewhere in the Badlands. Scavengers, you see. I’m Pete Lattimer, by the way.” He catches Nolan’s gaze. “Me and Nolan are old friends.”

Nolan’s brows crease into a frown. “We are?” At Pete’s pointed glare, he says, “We are.”

Pete stretches out a hand, and Datak shakes it. “Datak Tarr, member of the town council. And this is my wife, Stahma.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. And your lady, too.” He does not give any indication that he and Stahma had met before, and for that Stahma is grateful. She is busy looking at the woman by his side (and admittedly, she is jealous that they are standing very closely to each other – but where that jealousy stemmed from, she cannot say).

“You, too. And what brings you here?”

“Well… Uh…” Pete sneaks a peek at Claudia, who is gaping like a fish. (Now that he stares at them, he notices that Steve and Artie are, too. Seriously, he told them not to react so weirdly. And he really needs some assistance with this right now.) “Claudia,” he whispers, quite forcefully.

When that does not prove fruitful, Irisa nudges her, and she finally shakes herself away from the trance of seeing the alien replica of H.G. Wells in person (or is it in alien? What the fudge.) She blurts out, “What?”

“Kindly tell these Castithans here what we are doing in Defiance.” Pete raises an eyebrow.

She blinks at him. What? “We… uh…” She glances at the overly-white couple before them and gulps nervously. She says the first thing she can think off. “We are going to be new precinct officers.”

Pete smiles at her tightly. “Yes.” What kind of alibi is that?

She can read the question in his eyes. Just because my mentor’s an author by profession does not mean I get to have her creative prowess in these situations.

“I was not aware that we’re acquiring additional law personnel,” says the Castithan man, sounding a bit peeved. “That certainly was not mentioned in the meeting earlier.”

“We wanted to make sure that their assistance is indeed available before confirming it to the council,” Nolan replies. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Councilor, I shall introduce these people to the Mayor.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Datak inclines his head, “but first I must ask, since it struck me as a bit curious: if you were old friends, why wait until now to refer them to this town? Surely you shouldn’t have waited so long to recommend that they try it here.”

It is in that moment that a voice divine to Stahma’s ears says, “We are currently going through a rather difficult time.”

Only then does Datak look at the woman standing fairly close to Lattimer.

She gives off a somewhat independent air, like that of the Mayor, and she certainly looks capable of handling herself, if her no-non-sense stance and the gun on her hips are to hint at anything. Her eyes shine a brilliant green, like plant leaves, and if those could kindle fire, all of them present would surely have been burned down to ashes by now.

He meets her unflinching gaze curiously, and he repeats, “A difficult time?”

“Yes. We lost our old home.” Not a lie.

He nods in understanding. “I see. Through the Arkfalls, I presume?” When she shrugs, he regards their relatively large group contemplatively, and says, “At least you seem complete.”

“We’re not.” Her mesmerizing green eyes shift and focus on Stahma, who hesitantly meets them (she is hesitant, but the compulsion to look at those eyes is impossible to resist – as if she ever stood a chance against that intensity). “We lost someone, too.”

Not a lie, either.

Datak is taken aback. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No need to be.” She shrugs again. “I’ll find her soon.”

At that Stahma speaks up. “’Her?’” Her heart beats faster, and she does not know why.

“Yes, ‘her.’” The woman’s lips form a lovely smirk, and Stahma wants to take those lips on her own. “My lover.” The fire beneath those eyes just burns brighter, and like a moth to a flame, Stahma cannot find the strength to turn away. “She is the other half of my soul.”

Stahma is startled at the term used. My other half.

How...?

And she cannot help but think that the next words are spoken for her. The idea brings a pleasant tingle down her spine.

“And she will come back to me.”

When Myka finally speaks, Claudia’s insides loosen up in relief.

And when she all but proclaims that she will take H.G. back, the redhead nearly dies of happiness.

She can feel that Pete, Steve, and Artie are also positively affected by the strength in Myka’s statement.

She’s glad. She’s beyond glad. Myka has always been the rope that binds them together, and though it is extremely selfish, the young inventor is comforted to know that she is back on track.

When Myka’s declaration – that really brooks no argument – renders its hearers speechless, Claudia clears her throat and says, “Yes, she will. My mentor would not leave you alone forever.” She smiles at Datak and White-H.G. (yep, not calling her anything else) apologetically. “However, I believe the details of this stuff are a story for another time.”

“Yes, of course,” Stahma whispers, her eyes still deadlocked on the green-eyed woman. “We understand.”

“And how rude of us; we haven’t introduced ourselves,” says Steve, who had exchanged a glance with Pete and decided to help out in this awkward and really weird situation. He holds out a hand, “Steve Jinks.” Datak shakes it, and so does Stahma, when an encouraging nod from Steve prompts her.

The thick-browed man who stands silently to his side is next. “Artie Nielsen.”

Next is the redhead human who stands less than a foot away from Irisa. “Claudia Donovan.”

Last is the person Stahma is most interested in. And her heart beats even faster when she says, “Myka.” Myka’s lips upturn to a breathtaking smile that robs Stahma of all coherent thoughts. “Agent Myka Bering.”

And again her mind struggles to find the answer to a simple question.

How?

Before Stahma could go mad thinking how that could possibly be Myka’s name, how she could possibly have known that name beforehand, Datak asks, “Agent, you say?”

“Yes, but the full detail of the nature of our work would be disclosed after we have our chat with the Mayor.” She tips her head in a way that could be read as dismissive, if one knows how to interpret such body language. “So, if you will kindly excuse us…”

Without waiting for a reply, Myka steps up, and when she brushes past Stahma, the latter’s breath hitches and she cannot help but turn her head to watch as the mysterious agent who recently lost her lover makes her way to the second floor, and away from her.

Sometimes she hates being strong.

But because she promised Helena, she has no choice but to be so.

Oh, god. Helena. Why do you always have to be estranged from your body?

It took all of Myka’s self-control not to take that Stahma Tarr into her arms and kiss her, just to see if it would somehow bring her Helena back.

Absurd, she knows. Her life is far from a fairy tale.

Especially now that her princess (who had always been more of a rogue) is not with her, and is married to someone else.

She sighs. Is there really no limit to all this madness?

She is startled as a door opens and a Liberata (based on what she remembers) goes out.

Right. None, apparently.

She hears several footsteps behind her.

“That went quite well,” remarks Nolan, trying to keep the mood light.

“Yeah,” Claudia agrees, “on a scale of 1 to 10, I’d give that one a 7.”

“I’d go for an 8. That exit was so Myka,” says Pete.

“Yeah, but did you see that Datak-guy’s face when Myka walked out on him? Stormy, dude.”

“He deserved it,” quips Irisa. Catching Nolan’s eyes, she adds, albeit grudgingly, “but if you are to play the ‘new precinct personnel’ card, it’s probably wise to stay on his good side.” She shrugs. “Just to avoid any more unnecessary attention.”

“That’s true. Mr. Tarr seems to have a tendency for ugly retaliation,” says Steve.

“Well, Pete did get a bad vibe from him,” Artie recalls.

“Yeah,” Pete frowns, “that was really… bad.”

“So I guess asking him nicely to give us White-H.G. willingly is not in the realm of possibilities,” says Claudia.

Myka chuckles softly. “White-H.G.? Really, Claude?”

Claudia grins at her. “What? I am never calling her that alien name. It’d sound too creepy.”

“Well… yeah. It is creepy.”

“But, Mykes,” says Pete, concern lacing his voice, “are you fine with this?”

She runs her hand through her locks. “Honestly?” she sighs heavily. “I am far from fine. I am on the opposite side of the universe from ‘fine.’ I am so not fine.” She takes a deep breath. “But I have no choice now, do I?” She meets his pained gaze with a resigned one. “We have to solve this mystery.”

“That you must,” says a voice behind them.

They all turn to look at a blond woman regarding them with sharp yet kind eyes. She smiles at them, and meets Nolan’s gaze. “I ended the meeting as soon as Tommy notified me that you’ve arrived.” She inclines her head, and indicates for them to follow her as she enters the room behind her.

When they are all inside, and the door is locked, she greets them, “Welcome to Defiance. I am Amanda Rosewater, the town’s Mayor.”

Artie, being the senior of their group, steps up to introduce them. However, Amanda says, “You must be Artie Nielsen.” She grins at the look of surprise on his face. Her gaze then lands on Steve. “And with your blue eyes, you must be Steve Jinks. And this lovely human redhead,” she continues, appraising Claudia, “must be Claudia Donovan.” Then her voice grows gentler as she looks at Myka. “Ah, the owner of those green eyes.” When she raises her eyebrows, Amanda says, “Myka Bering, Pete’s partner.” Then she adds, “And H.G. Wells’ lover.”

Myka gives her an amused grin. “Well, Pete told us he shared the stories with you.”

“He did,” Amanda nods, “and he described you all perfectly.”

“Yeah, I taught him how to do that.”

“Hey,” Pete grumbles. “Gimme some credit, will ya?” At her dubious look, he relents, “Fine. Don’t.”

Amanda chuckles. “Well, I’m glad that you found them, and that you’ve all gotten here alive and well.” She mock-whispers, “He was very lonely before, you know.”

They all laugh loudly when Pete groans.

“Dude,” Claudia says, “I knew you’re such a softie.”

“Shut up.”

“And to think that you were our Alpha male…” Steve adds. He happily ignores the glare Pete throws at him.

Pete mumbles, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just… ugh. Can we please talk about something else right about now?” He looks at Amanda meaningfully. “We do owe you an explanation.”

Amanda nods. “Shall we get right on it, then?”

“Before that,” Irisa interrupts, “we need to tell you that we had a sort of run-in with Datak Tarr.”

Amanda frowns. “What happened?”

“Well, he questioned their presence here, and…”

“We sort of had to make a story,” finishes Claudia.

“What kind of story?”

“We told them that we are going to be new precinct officers… or something.”

Amanda blows a relieved breath. “That’s not so bad.” She glances at Nolan. “We do need some additional hands to help out.” She regards them carefully. “That is, if you are willing to act on that role?”

“We owe you a lot,” says Myka. “I haven’t thanked you yet for taking care of Pete, and I heard that you also helped in his mission to find us. We wouldn’t be awake now without your aid. So I guess being of assistance in whatever ways possible is the least we can do for you.”

“Yeah. Being out in the field even as a police officer seems to be a nice idea right now,” says Steve. “I miss the rush.”

“Yeah, well, while you do that, I think I’d rather stay in the Warehouse.”

Claudia hums in agreement. “Yes, you better, Gramps. Those bones of yours might break.”

Amanda’s eyes narrow thoughtfully at Artie’s words. “The Warehouse. You’re going to stay in the Warehouse.” When they simply nod, she says, “How will you do that? It’s in…”

“The roller downstairs at this moment,” says Claudia.

When Amanda’s eyes widen, she grins. “Lady, you still have a lot to know about the world of endless wonder.”

And in the succeeding hours, they tell Amanda everything.

Chapter Text

“So that’s what all of this is about,” says Rafe, his eyes blown wide.

“Yup,” Amanda nods.

The two of them are sitting with Irisa, Nolan, and the five agents in Rafe’s dining room. They have just finished recounting Pete’s story for Rafe’s benefit, having done the same for Amanda earlier that day.

“Damn, that’s what you mean by ‘endless wonder,’ then,” the miner breathes. “Can’t believe it.”

“You do believe it,” says Irisa. “You’re just having trouble believing that you actually believe it.”

“Damn right.” He then looks at Myka. “And you are the one that that human Tarr mentioned.”

Myka winces. “Yeah, I prefer calling that incarnation ‘Helena.’”

Nolan throws a glare at Rafe. Really, how callous can the old man be? He decides to stir the conversation to much safer topics. “So, anyway, they plan to relocate the Warehouse underground.”

Rafe looks up at that. “Underground? Where?”

Irisa answers, “We are hoping that you could lend some space from the mines.”

Rafe frowns. “I am not opposed to that idea, personally. But,” he holds up a hand to stop whatever Pete will say, “Don’t you think that’s going to be risky?

“If what you’re saying is true, and the artifacts from that Warehouse offer tremendous power and such, I think the mines would be the last place you’d wanna put that in. It’s almost public domain, you know, and with that you have lots of people going in and out, and there’s a very big chance that your Warehouse could be compromised.” He looks at the agents pointedly. “People in Defiance are known to kill for even a little bit of power. And you’ve just brought in an excellent powerhouse.”

Pete gulps. “We haven’t thought of it that way…” His brows are scrunched up in worry and anxiety. This thing is a bit more complicated than I thought.

“Well, then, what about the piece of land beneath the Gateway Arch?” Artie speaks up. They turn to look at him as if he has lost his mind.

“Gramps,” Claudia says, shaking her head, “that’s even worse. The Arch is a landmark, and I don’t think people would not notice a large Warehouse taking up space beneath it.”

The older agent glared at her. “Well, what’s the use of those mining artifacts you made us retrieve, hmm? I did not say we’ll take the piece of visible land beneath the Arch. What I am saying is we use the space under the land beneath the Arch.” His thick brows furrow even tighter together, if possible. “You get the idea.”

Myka hums in agreement. “Not a bad one. And that way we’ll be close to the Arch.” She inclines her head in thought. “Which is the main reason we decided to relocate, anyway.”

Claudia nods at her. She then turns to Rafe, and asks, “Do you have some tunnels underground that lead to that space?”

“We don’t.”

“So it’s completely inaccessible from down there?”

“Yes.”

Claudia claps her hands. “Righty-ho, then.” She looks at the Mayor with an eyebrow raised in question. “Permission to relocate there?”

The blonde smiles at the human redhead indulgently. She has taken a liking to her, with her obvious intelligence and sass and confidence. Her eyes are sharp and they seem to pierce through the mayor’s tough exterior – it unnerves Amanda, but she could not turn away from it. And if she is being completely honest with herself, she’d say that Claudia reminds her of Kenya, when they were children. “Permission granted.”

Nolan whistles at her answer approvingly. “Wow. The by-the-book mayor is allowing such things to happen without consulting the council? Nice.”

Amanda rolls her eyes at him. “You know as well as I do that should the council hear of this, my head would be in line.” She looks at the faces of her companions. “And yours, too, by the way. But it appears that there’s too much at risk, should the information get out. If anyone from outside gets a hold of those artifacts of yours, or even catches drift of their existence, well…” she trails off.

“Suffice it to say that violence will take place,” says Irisa, her voice grim.

“Had a fair share of those back in the days,” Pete shrugs, and he grins as he catches Myka’s amused gaze.

“So, when do you wish to do this relocation?” Amanda asks.

Claudia stands up and jamming her hands into her jean pockets, she smirks at the Mayor, her eyes twinkling like a child’s on Christmas Eve. “How about now?”

Endless wonder.

Amanda never thought that she would have witnessed the very essence of those two words ever in her life.

But here she is, standing in the cavernous space under the land beneath the Gateway Arch – a cavernous space that most certainly is not here moments ago – with her Chief Lawkeeper, his daughter, the owner of the largest mines in Defiance, and five agents of questionable origin but of highly admirable characters.

She shakes her head, remembering how they find themselves here.

*

“Wait, Claude,” Myka said. She waited for the techno wiz to meet her gaze before asking, “How are we going to access that? It’s not practical that we walk all the way from the Arch whenever we go to town... I mean, assuming of course that we live in the Warehouse, which is kind of will be the case since you told me about the personnel archives.” Her brows furrowed in a curious frown as she asked the redhead, “Right?” When Claudia nodded as a confirmation, Myka continued, “So, it’s bound to get some curious eyes, don’t you think?”

Before Claudia could think of an answer for that, Artie let out an impatient grunt. “Yes, that’s another issue. But thankfully,” he raised an eyebrow in pride, “I thought of that beforehand.” He rummaged through his bag (that seemed way too old-fashioned to Amanda, even for someone who lived in 2013) and held out a piece of brick triumphantly.

All eight people looked at him askance.

“Not to state the painfully obvious here, but…that’s… a brick,” Claudia drily stated, eyes trained on the object.

“Yes, it is,” Artie deadpanned.

“So…” Pete drawled, not wanting to be the one to voice out the question that was surely in everyone’s mind.

Steve (who had seemed to be content to let his friends – family, Amanda corrected herself, for that’s what Pete calls them – do all the talking)  asked it for them. “How – exactly – is that thing going to help us out with our problem?”

Artie smirked at them. “This is a hidden door brick from a 16^th century Hungarian castle – and I can totally appreciate it if those who do not know what Hungary was could just ask about it later, when we’re not pressed for time – and this has the ability to create hidden passages… and the ability to just hide things, no matter how large or small.”

Myka murmured under her breath. “16^th century… Hungary…” Her eyes grow wide when realization hit her. “Could it be from the castle of the Blood Countess?”

Artie smiled at her, pleased (not pleasant, just… pleased). “Yes.”

She hummed appreciatively. “Impressive.”

Claudia pursed her lips as her gaze flitted (impatiently) between Artie and Myka. “Is this the part where I ask what the hell that was about?”

Myka explained, “Elizabeth Báthory was a countess from the then Kingdom of Hungary. Her nickname, the Blood Countess, was inspired by the legend that she killed an estimated 650 maidens and bathed in their blood, supposedly because the blood of virgins retain one’s youth.”

Amanda blanched. Shtako. “650?”

“As I said, it was a legend… and it may be possible that the stories had just escalated to such proportions through humankind’s tendency to exaggerate.” The curly-haired brunette shrugged.  “She was convicted for just 80 deaths, though.”

“Right. That makes it so much better,” muttered Claudia.

“That does not particularly matter right now,” Artie said. He rolled his eyes at their incredulous gazes. “Here’s the thing: it was speculated that the other hundreds were not found because Csejte Castle had its hidden tunnels and chambers, where the bodies were most likely stashed.” He tapped a finger on one side of the brick he was holding. “This brick was from the ruins of the castle, and how we procured it is, yes, you’ve guessed it, a story for another time. What’s important right now is that with this little, unassuming brick, we could create passages to the Warehouse, and can even conceal it when it is already underground.”

“You are sure this will work?” Claudia asked him.

“Of course I am.”

The redhead nodded. “Just out of curiosity…” she met his exasperated gaze, “An agent found those other hundreds… right?”

His non-answer was answer enough.

She processed this information for a bit, and then asked, “Downside?”

He seemed uncomfortable answering the question. But really, even he could not escape the kid’s determination, so he relented. “Red spatters that may or may not be real blood appear on the walls of the tunnels created.”

The color drained from Claudia’s face, and so did from Amanda’s.

The silence went on for several beats, and Pete broke it by saying, “Let’s consider that as a free security measure.” He gave them a tight smile. “You know, to scare off intruders.”

Irisa nodded at him. “Good thing someone could still look at it positively.”

Rafe was looking at the brick dubiously. “That thing could really do what you said it could?”

Artie peered at him from beneath his glasses. “Only one way to find out.”

*

The plan was to make a connection of tunnels from three different points in town, and after a quick but intense deliberation, they settled on Rafe’s house (because that’s where they would be supposedly staying), the precinct (because that’s where they would supposedly be working), and of course, the Arch underground.

They decided to try it on Rafe’s basement first, since they’re in the house, anyway.

Artie pressed the Hidden Door Brick against a point of Rafe’s basement wall approximately facing the Arch, and using a stylus from some 19^th century engineer, traced a rectangular shape that could fit a large man around it. Then he tapped the Brick on the wall three times.

Rafe and Amanda were both taken aback when a trickle of red liquid ran along the traced rectangle. When it disappeared, Artie pushed the wall.

And it gave way with barely a sound.

“Woah,” Amanda breathed in wonder.

They peered through the opening, and were met with a wall of earth.

“How are we supposed to get through all that earth?” Rafe asked.

“Got that covered,” Claudia answered. She looked up at the man. “But first, can you show Myka a map of the town?”

He looked confused, but he nodded. “Sure. Got some here in the basement, I believe.” He turned to ruffle through some boxes, and after a few minutes, he handed a yellowing piece of parchment to Myka.

“Thanks,” Myka said. She peered at the paper, and nodded to herself. “Hmm. We have to be real quiet so as to not disturb anyone.” She looked up at them. “We’re going to pass through some residential areas.”

“Let’s use the Langdale axe then. It does not bring down the earth or shake it up or anything,” said Claudia.

Pete stared at her. “A mining artifact that does not bring the earth down? That’s something. What exactly could it do, then?”

His partner answered him. “It just… paves paths. The earth struck solidifies, and I hypothesize that when used in tandem with the Hungarian Brick, it would create quite strong tunnels.” Myka threw Artie a questioning glance. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” the older agent answered. “Steve, hand Pete the axe.”

Steve, who had been holding two foil bags, handed one to Pete, who then slides an axe from it.

“Now,” Artie instructed, “strike away.”

*

“Not bad, eh?” Pete grins at the look of wonder on Amanda’s face.

She smiles back, and really, she cannot refute that.

This is far from bad.

The large underground is hollowed out, and as Amanda looks up, she can see, not stalactites, but a flat expanse of bricks lining up the ceiling. Off to the far corners are brick arches and columns acting as supporting beams.

She supposes it all makes her think of cathedrals, even if she had seen those only in books.

“Now, for the main event,” says Claudia, motioning to Steve with a tilt of her head.

Amanda’s eyes track the young man’s movement as he crosses to the center of the area and deposits a large box on the ground. He steps back as Claudia inserts a key to its slot, turns it ever so slowly, and yells, “Close your eyes!”

The mayor follows her words, and in time, too, for in the next second, a blinding flash of light illuminated the whole space.

When she opens her eyes again, a towering sheet of metal is unfolding itself to different directions, reaching points Amanda could not see from where she is.

“Damn,” Rafe mutters beside her.

There is a final metallic groan, and then Claudia shouts, “Close your eyes again!”

And again, Amanda complies as another flash of light filled the cavern.

And when she looks up, she could only gasp in amazement.

Amazement and wonder.

She hears Rafe murmur something in awe, too.

For in place of the metal sheet that she could have sworn was there mere seconds ago, there stands a large three-dimensional building. Its façade is rusty, but somehow, the structure still emits some kind of… aura.

As if it is alive. As if it knows something that she does not. As if it contains way more than anyone could have ever imagined.

Steve picks up the box still in front of the building. The agents, led by Claudia, proceed to an inconspicuous door, which the redhead promptly opens. They (without hesitation) go inside, and before Claudia does the same, she looks over her shoulder and grins at the Mayor. “Come on, lots to see.” Then she too disappears into the darkness.

Irisa whispers, “She’s not joking.” She looks up at man beside Amanda. “And you could stop gaping, you know.”

Rafe shoots her an irritated look, but it does not last long. “Did you just see what I saw?”

“We did. And as Claudia told you, there are still lots to see.”

Nolan adds, “We told you we’ve been inside before, and believe me, it’s insane in there. Awesome. Insanely awesome.”

“More awesome than a box becoming a sheet of metal that turns into a building like that?” Rafe says.

Nolan chuckles. “Yes. You can say that.”

The four of them follow the agents into the Warehouse.

“Welcome to Warehouse 13.2,” announces Claudia, sweeping her arms out.

Irisa is reminded of the time Pete did the same, only he did not say… “Warehouse 13.2?” she stares at Claudia questioningly.

Claudia just beams at her. “Yeah. Supposedly there’s Warehouse 13.1, but a co-techie, Fargo, messed it up a bit. And well, I did 60 changes in this baby anyways, and the controls are a bit upgraded – by 2013-Me standards – so it think I shall call this Warehouse 13.2.”

“You act as if the Warehouse is some kind of app,” Steve remarks with an exasperated smile.

“Well… it is,” Claudia shrugs. She glances at Myka shyly.

The older agent smiles at her. “You and Helena always did treat the Warehouse as your personal app store. Or the app itself.” She shakes her head fondly. “Depends on what you tweak or invent on any given day.”

Claudia laughs quietly. “Yeah… about that…”

“The amount of headache you two caused me,” Artie grumbles. He snatches the foil bags from Steve, and adjusts his grip on his bag. “Huh. I’ll be in my room.” The he stalks off without another word.

“What’s with him?” Rafe asks.

“Usual grouch,” Claudia waves her hand unworriedly. She turns to him and Amanda. “So, what do you think?”

“I think it’s…” Amanda struggles to find the words as she looks over the vast, endless aisles laid out before them.

“Endless wonder,” Rafe murmurs. He clears his throat, and tells them seriously. “This place is worth protecting.” He locks eyes with Myka. He heard the story earlier, and he needs to tell the woman something, now that he has seen just what is at stake here. “Your lover did good, saving you, and this place. You must know that.”

Myka holds his gaze, and she feels the tears sting the back of her eyes. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she answers, sincerely, “I do.” Her lips curl to a soft smile. “Thanks.”

Pete breaks up the sweetly awkward exchange with a light clap of his hands. “So, anyway, when shall we do the precinct?”

“Dude,” Claudia groans, “can we do that another time? I could really use some rest now.” She gestures wildly with her hands. “And so do they.”

Steve turns his blue eyes on him. “We do.”

Pete holds up his hands. “Hey, hey, I’m not saying we do this right now, too, you know. Just asking.”

“Well,” Myka begins. “Let’s do that sometime this week. But not today. And not tomorrow.”

“I get the ‘not today,’ and I’m not opposed to the ‘not tomorrow,’ either. But may I ask why?” Pete tilts his head.

“There’s a town meeting tomorrow, 10:00, to be done in the plaza. I don’t think certain members of the council are going to buy our ‘new personnel’ story if we’re not there to facilitate or something. We need to keep up appearances for this to work,” Myka explains. “And we’ll be too tired to do it by night. I’m thinking we split the task into two: morning and afternoon, the day after tomorrow. We could just do the precinct thing in shifts, so at least if anyone were to come by, they’d see that we’re ‘working.’”

Amanda nods in agreement. That sounds reasonable. And then… “Wait.” She looks at Myka, eyes surprised and curious. “How did you know about tomorrow’s meeting? I haven’t even announced that yet.”

Myka smirks. Amanda is not sure how that smirk could look arrogant and humble at the same time. “I saw it in your office. A piece of paper on the table… there was no date, but judging from the haste with which the time and place were scribbled, I could only assume it’s intended for tomorrow.”

Rafe hums in approval. “You’re good.”

Myka shrugs.

“Well,” Claudia says, leaning on the rail, eyes on the Mayor, “how do you announce stuff like that?”

Amanda purses her lips, and sighs heavily. She regards Myka wearily, knowing this is going to be painful.

The other lady just calmly meets her gaze.

“Through the radio station, operated from the top of the Arch.”

Claudia’s eyes light up at that – Amanda knows it’s because of the thing with the gigahertz.

But then… “Who’s in charge of that station?”

Amanda exchanges glances with Irisa (Nolan and Rafe are insisting on looking anywhere but at her). She sighs, and rubbing the back of her neck, answers, “Alak Tarr is in charge of the station.” She swallows thickly. “She’s Stahma Tarr’s son.”

No one speaks for a few seconds. They are all waiting for some kind of response from Myka, whose lips had upturned into a small, sad smile.

Amanda barely knows this woman, but her heart aches for her – she feels the pain emanating from Myka’s very core.

It is unsettling, to say the least.

One look at Rafe tells her that he feels the same way, too.

And when she steals a glance at the other people in the room, she notices that their stances had stiffened, their expressions had turned agonized.

They have seen this before.

Amanda can do nothing as they all wait for Myka to say something.

And when she does, they are not expecting the words that she speaks.

“I’d like to meet him.”

Amanda and Myka are silently making their way to the top of the Arch.

*

Myka’s earlier statement shocked her family, to say the least, but before any of them could protest, she repeated in a voice so firm and resolute, it left no room for any more discussion, “I want to meet him.” She met their concerned glances with a hardened one. “I mean him no harm, if that’s what you’re scared of.”

It was Claudia who told her. “We’re not afraid for him, Myka. We’re…” she hesitated, took a fortifying breath. “We’re more scared of what this will do to you.”

“You don’t have to be.” Myka smiled at her softly. “I’ve been hurt too many times already, Claude. What’s a little more?”

*

Myka feels Amanda’s concerned gaze. The Mayor’s eyes haven’t left her since they decided to pay the radio station a visit rather than send a call via hailer. She is quietly and carefully observing her, and Myka cannot find it in herself to complain.

They have been walking in a rather companionable silence for some minutes now, until Amanda decided to break it.

“You really love her.” It is not a question.

Why would I even deny that? “More than anything,” Myka says. “More than everything,” she adds.

“What… attracted you to her?”

She laughs at that. “If she were here she would have been insulted by that question.” At Amanda’s confusion she explains, “Helena’s got a strong sense of self. She believes she’s so charming and irresistible.”

“And is she?” Amanda opts to use the present tense, for which Myka is grateful, as could be seen in her smile.

“Well,” she says, “she did manage to charm all men of Victorian era London.” She raises an eyebrow in thought. “Except Oscar Wilde. But he’s gay so…”

She looks at the Mayor. “To answer your question, though… I honestly have no clear idea. Before I knew it she has already set camp in my heart.” She wraps her arms around torso, as if steadying herself. “And she’s not leaving,” she adds.

Myka seems lost in distant memories, and Amanda doesn’t have it in her to bring her back.

And so she waits.

“She is dashing and lovely and mysterious,” Myka begins. “Whenever she’s near, everything just fades away. Whenever she’s with me, even if she’s just whispering sweet nothings, I feel safe. Invincible. As if nothing could possibly go wrong. But well…” Her smile turns somber. “It’s Helena and I. A million different things could go wrong in a single second.”

Amanda nods. She murmurs, “And that’s the beauty of it, isn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Myka looks at her companion, waiting.

The blonde says, “You’re living such risky lives. You do not know when you’ll say ‘goodbye’ or if you’ll even be given a chance to do so. That’s what makes each moment spent together sweeter, what makes you enjoy every second to the fullest.

“Because you don’t know if it’s going to be your last.”

“Yes,” Myka admits after pondering the point. “You may be right.”

She swallows a lump in her throat. “But I won’t give up hope. Hope is, after all, the reason Helena decided to play the hero again, the reason she found it necessary to save the Warehouse by all means, even if she had to leave me. And I would never dishonor that. I know we’ll meet again.”

“And this time you won’t let her go.”

The smile that graces Myka’s lips is blinding. “Never.”

Chapter Text

When they reach the door of the observation-deck-turned-radio-station, Amanda turns to regard Myka with keen eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks, wanting to ascertain if the agent is ready for this meeting.

Myka sighs. She couldn’t blame the Mayor for the question. To be honest, she herself is not entirely sure if she wants to do this, either. She’s not sure if she could get through this. She is not sure if she’s prepared to face whatever is in the other side of the door.

Whoever.

But she has to be strong.

She needs to be strong.

For Helena.

And so Myka forces her lips to form a smile, and nods.

It is obvious that Amanda sees through her barrier, but fortunately, she does not say anything. She just lifts a hand up to knock.

Myka’s stomach churns uncomfortably when a muffled “Come in!” reaches her ears.

 With a last glance at her, Amanda opens the door, and they step into the room.

Myka’s breath catches when she sees the young man sitting inside.

His skin is, as with all Castithans, otherworldly-white. So is his hair, though unlike his parents’ (Myka’s heart clenches at the word), his has streaks of dark blue. He is also dressed in decidedly more human clothes, with dark pants and a dark denim jacket over a gray button-up shirt. He seems confident and laid-back, the blood of youth running wildly through his veins.

He stands up as Amanda closes the door behind them.

“Hello, Mayor Rosewater,” he says with a boyish grin. His eyes – the same color as his mother’s – blink in confusion as he takes in Myka.

He has never seen her before, but he feels as if he should know her. “And…”

“Hello, Alak,” Amanda greets him warmly (her issues are with the boy’s father – no need to be cross with the boy himself). “This is Agent Myka Bering, a newcomer here in our town. She and her family will be starting to work as assistants of our Chief Lawkeeper tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Alak nods. “I see.” He holds out a hand to Myka, beaming up at her. “Alak Tarr, at your service.”

Myka, who has been frozen in place, strains to propel her body into motion. With great effort, she moves to shake Alak’s outstretched hand. She clears her throat a few times to dispel the feeling of swallowing sand, and even then her voice is quivering as she murmurs, “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” he says as they release their hold.

Myka is taken by how innocent Alak seems, and though it is crushing her inside, she also wants to make a relatively nice impression on him.

It’s not his fault, after all, that her life is in shambles right now.

She clears her throat again, and says, in as cheerful a voice as she can (which is not saying much), “You know, the word ‘alak,’ in a language from Old Earth, means ‘wine.’ I think it’s pretty awesome to have a name like that.”

Alak’s grin widens at her words. “‘Wine,’ huh. Yeah, cool.” Then he tilts his head, and in a teasing tone (why does he feel comfortable, teasing this lady?) says, “You like getting drunk, then?”

‘Right about now I wish I could get drunk,’ Myka almost says. Instead she huffs a mock-indignant breath and drawls, “Nope, that’s not it.” When Alak raises his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation, she tells him, “It has strong ties to literature, especially in mythology. And Dionysus, an ancient god of wine, was seen as a symbol of immortality.”

The young man’s brows crease confusedly. “But aren’t all gods supposed to be symbols of immortality?”

Myka’s lips upturn to a genuine smile at his child-like question.

It is equally bitter and sweet, the way it reminds her of Helena, when she first discovered post-its.

With mighty effort she pulls herself away from that train of thought.

She answers, “Yes, but Dionysus was not a conventional god.” She smirks at him, tilting her head to the blonde beside her. “Maybe I’ll tell you his history another time, but today we’re here on official business.”

Alak purses his lips, feeling strangely at ease with this woman he had only just met, but then, she is with the Mayor – not exactly someone he could be chummy with.

“Fine. Next time then,” he mutters, playfully. He shakes his head as Myka continues to smirk at him. “So, anyway,” he looks at the Mayor, whose eyes are trained on Myka’s face. He waits until she looks at him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Amanda answers, “I’m just going to announce a meeting for tomorrow. I would have just called you, but…” she shrugs, again glancing at the agent who is standing rather stiffly beside her, “Agent Bering and I were driving around anyway, and we figured it would be better if I drop by and announce the matter myself.”

Myka shoots a glance at Amanda, but she does not contradict the lie. “Right.”

Alak does not seem to notice anything off in the situation, and he just nods again as he sits down in front of the radio equipment. “All right, then. Let’s get that going.” He turns an assortment of knobs and flicks several switches, and speaks into the microphone mounted on his table, “Hello, citizens of Defiance. This is Alak Tarr, from the Gateway Arch. Pardon the sudden interruption of our evening program, but I have been graced with our Mayor’s presence, and she wishes to make an announcement.” He catches Amanda’s gaze and he tilts his head to signal that she should come over. She does. “And here she is.”

“Good evening to you all,” Amanda begins. “As you well know, we all strive to keep an open communication line amongst us, and we have all agreed before to hold monthly town meetings. So, a few hours ago, the council and I decided to hold one tomorrow, 10:00 in the morning, in our plaza. Every citizen of Defiance is encouraged to attend, as it would also be a venue to voice out your concerns.” She pauses. “I would also like you all to meet the five new personnel who have been hired to assist Chief Lawkeeper Nolan in keeping order here in our town.

“That is all. Thank you, and good day. Keep safe.”

Then, switching off the microphone, Alak puts the record player’s needle in place, and soft music fills the air.

“Will that be it?” Alak asks Amanda.

Before she could answer, a voice behind them says, “Some company, Alak?”

They all turn to its source.

Standing by the doorway is Stahma Tarr.

*

Myka gulps. Stahma is looking at her in wonder. And she’d bet her Twizzlers stash that she’s returning the favor.

Stahma’s eyes pin her in place as she says, “We meet again, Agent Bering.” She spares a flitting glance at Amanda. “And you too, Mayor Rosewater.” Then her gaze returns to Myka.

Myka gulps again. Her throat is drier than an Egyptian desert now, she’s sure of it. And though she tries her best, she can’t help but wince as she acknowledges the Castithan woman. “Lady Tarr.”

“Lady Tarr,” Amanda also inclines her head in greeting. “We were just leaving.” She darts a look at Myka, and she suppresses a sigh as she feels the other woman’s distress. Without actually thinking about it, she reaches out and gently wraps a hand around Myka’s – the agent has her hands in fists, and the Mayor is worried that the agent would injure herself with how tightly they are clenched.

Myka is surprised by Amanda’s touch. She looks at her, and she is met with a reassuring smile. Her eyes flit to their joined hands, and only then does Myka become aware of just how tightly her fists are curled.

She is beginning to feel the sting of the marks her nails have left on her palms.

She meets Amanda’s eyes, and Amanda can read the gratitude plainly written in her eyes. They hold each other’s gazes for several seconds, until they hear a whispered question.

“You’re leaving already?”

The two turn to look at Stahma, whose eyes seem to have lost a bit of their glimmer.

Amanda realizes it’s because of her and Myka’s joined hands.

I did not step into a landmine… did I?

Heaving an internal sigh, she very carefully releases her hold on Myka. “Yes. We just dropped by for the announcement. I’m sure Mr. Tarr informed you of tomorrow’s affair?”

Stahma straightens at the mention of her husband. “Yes, he did.”

“All right then. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alak, who has been watching the adults’ exchange, speaks up, “Tomorrow, Mayor. And Agent Bering,” he throws her a huge grin, “you owe me a story.”

Myka chuckles. “Sure, kid.” She gives Stahma one final glance. “Tomorrow, Lady Tarr.”

And before Stahma could say anymore, Myka has again slipped away from her.

He waits for his mother to speak up. She has always been the silent type, but he knows when she wants to say something.

And now, he is positive that she is bursting with whatever it is.

But after several minutes of just the sounds of those Old Earth songs filling up the space between them, Alak decides to take the matter into his own hands.

“Why did you visit, Mother?”

Stahma visibly startles when he speaks, and it takes several seconds for the question to fully sink in. She hides her surprise in an indulgent smile. “Do I need a reason to visit my son?”

Alak laughs softly, shaking his head. “No, but this place is out of your way. You don’t usually come here, unless you’re with Father.”

Stahma hums in agreement. “I suppose I just missed my boy.” She chuckles at the disbelieving look Alak gives her. “All right,” she relents, “I was idly walking around town earlier, to clear my head. And then I felt an inexplicable pull that just compelled me to go up here.”

It’s true. Earlier, she had set out for a brief walk, but before she knew it, she’s heading to the Arch. And before making any conscious decisions, she was already on her way to the top. She just felt a tug in her gut, telling her to continue, to keep going, to reach this place.

And she was helpless in fighting it.

The feeling intensified when she saw who, other than Alak, was in the deck.

Myka Bering.

“Clear your head, eh? Is something bothering you?” Alak’s voice grows concerned, and his stance tenses.

My sweet child. “No,” she says, touching his arm to soothe him. And she decides to bring up the matter which has been bothering her for hours, and has bothered her more when she witnessed the exchange earlier. “But I’m rather curious about that agent,” she says, making it sound almost like an afterthought, as non-committal as she can manage.

Alak’s countenance brightens. “Oh, Agent Bering? She seems nice.”

Stahma raises her brows at the enthusiasm in his voice. “Why do you say that?”

“She told me something about my name meaning ‘wine’ in an Old Earth language, and wine being connected to some ancient god who symbolized immortality.”

Stahma looks at him askance, and she mirrors his earlier question. “But aren’t all gods supposed to be symbols of immortality?”

Alak laughs. “Yeah, I asked her the exact same thing. But they had some business to attend to, so she said maybe she’d tell me the story some other time.”

Stahma hums distractedly, and remembers how tense Myka was when she announced her presence. She remembers the brunette’s clenched fists, and she remembers the almost violent reaction her heart had when Mayor Rosewater took one of those fists in her hand.

Stahma almost felt… betrayed, when she saw the two’s joined hands.

Which is completely ridiculous, because Agent Bering… Myka… is not…

Her heart continues to beat furiously inside her chest as she struggles – almost painfully – to finish the thought.

Hers.

Myka Bering is not hers.

Stahma realizes that that thought is the most excruciating and agonizing one she had ever had.

Pete has just gotten back to the Warehouse. He guided Rafe, Nolan, and Irisa on their way back to the miner’s house immediately after Amanda left with Myka to see White-H.G.’s son.

Why did my life become so complicated?

He was really terrified earlier, when Myka expressed her intent to meet that Alak-guy. Not of Myka (though, yeah, she could be terrifying), but for her, just as Claude had pointed out. He knows just how fragile his partner is right now, what with all the crazy stuff going down, and he knows that this fragility could increase ten-fold if something were to go even slightly wrong.

He does not know in what state he’ll see her.

He somewhat does not want to know.

He sighs. Of course I’d want to know. You’re my partner.

He sends a silent plea, and he hopes she’s listening.

H.G. Please. Don’t break her anymore.

*

And then he sees her.

He is clutching a pillow and his favorite Superman blanket, which he has retrieved from his archived-and-now-newly-permanently-installed room. It’s pretty cool, what Claude did, but right now, he does not really feel like staying there yet.

Maybe tomorrow, he will, but not now.

Just… not yet.

He decides to make his way to the Motorcycle Aisle and into his Pete Cave – the redhead also mentioned that she stashed some futons in there that are totally comfortable to sleep on, so he figures that it’s a nice choice to hole up in there tonight.

He clicks his special Pete Cave remote, and passes through the opened door without another thought.

And so he almost had a heart attack when he sees a body sprawled on the futon by his feet.

“Geezus, Mykes!” he screams, his voice an octave higher, a hand clutching his chest.

Myka shifts, thrusts a hand out blindly, and grabs Pete’s blanket, which had fallen beside her. She spreads it over her body without a word.

Pete winces. He knows where this is going.

“Myka, get up.”

No answer.

“Get up, partner.”

Still no answer.

He takes a deep breath.

“OPHELIA!!!!!!”

Myka gets up and thumps him hard.

“Ouch!”

“What’s your problem?!”

“You’re the one slumped down on the floor! And you have my Superman blanket!”

Myka rolls her eyes at him and blows an irritated breath.

Then she plops down again. She wraps the blanket tightly around her, burrowing deep into it.

Pete thinks that right at that moment, Myka seems to wish to disappear.

And when her green eyes meet his brown ones, the thought is reinforced.

So he sits down right next to her, and hugging his pillow close, he says, “Talk.”

He waits for a few minutes. He senses that Myka will talk; she just needs time to make sure that she can.

And when she does, Pete thinks that he should have just kept quiet.

“What if she doesn’t want to return anymore?” Myka’s voice is raspy, and she sounds smaller than Pete has ever heard her.

He swallows the taste of acid in his mouth. “What?” he says, hedging.

“Pete…” Myka sighs. She knows that he’s stalling. “I don’t…” She tightens her grip on the blanket. “What if Helena’s better off a Castithan than a human?” She looks at him with eyes blown wide with self-doubt and pain and longing. “What if she doesn’t want us anymore?”

Pete hears the unspoken “what if she doesn’t want me” as clearly as if she’d screamed it.

And it shreds him into pieces.

He can’t very well show that, and so he does his best to smile. “Hey, hey… you watched her Farnsworth message, right? You heard her ‘bring me back.’” He smiles a bit more genuinely. “She wants to return, Mykes. Trust me.”

Instead of being comforted however, Myka’s face just screws up into a mask of agony. “But at that time she wouldn’t have known that she’d have a child!”

And that, Pete realizes, is the crux of Myka’s uncertainty.

As he looks at his partner glaring at the drum set in front of them for some crime it did not commit, Pete knows.

It is like Wisconsin all over again.

“Now… she… she’s got a husband and a child, Pete. A son. I…” Myka’s voice breaks further, and Pete’s heart also breaks with it. “I can’t compare to that. I can’t compete.”

He can see the watery film on her eyes, and he feels her struggle to not let it fall.

He tries to soothe her. “Ssshh. Hey.”

“What if we succeeded to bring her back and she had to choose? What then? I can’t put her through that… and I… I… can’t take it if she…”

I can’t take it if she doesn’t choose me.

Again, Pete hears the unspoken words as clear as day.

Pete frowns. He frowns because crying with his partner is not a choice right now.

He needs to be strong, to help Myka hold herself together.

Because that’s what partners are for.

“Mykes, listen to me. Hey. Listen.” He patiently waits as Myka obstinately refuses to meet his gaze.

But since she’s Myka, of course she’ll give in to him.

When their eyes finally meet, he says, with force and conviction, “If she ever had to choose, I can say with every confidence that she’d choose you.”

Myka, however, does not seem convinced. “You don’t know that.”

He grins. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I told you, I do.”

She glares at him. “Why? What can I offer her, huh? What have I to offer?”

Pete, sighing when she averts her gaze, answers, “You don’t have to offer her anything, Mykes. You make her happy just by breathing.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” his tone is almost pleading, begging for her to listen, really listen, to what he is saying. “Your mere existence is H.G.’s happiness.”

She does not answer.

Her rolls his eyes at her stubbornness and grabs her, forcing her to turn to him.

“Hey!” she protests.

“Look at me,” he urges. “Hey. Look at me.” He does not loosen his grip until she does look at him. He stares directly into those forest green eyes, and says in a tone of authority, “If she ever had to choose, she’s going to undoubtedly choose you over anything and everything.” His gaze softens, and he gives her that rare shy Pete-smile that he has. “She’s going to choose you just because you’re Myka.”

Myka is silent, still looking oh-so-very-fragile that Pete feels an impulse to envelop her in a bear hug.

Knowing that she’ll rebuff him with another painful thump if he ever followed up on that impulse, he settles on mock-punching her on her arm, just like he always did all those years ago. “That’s all you have to be, Mykes.”

He watches as she gathers all the strength she has left – and he bet it isn’t much, but he’s glad that she seems to pull out of whatever self-imposed prison that she had been dwelling in – and he beams at her brightly when her lips begin to upturn to a soft, real smile.

“He’s right, you know,” says a voice.

They turn to look at Claudia, who is entering the Pete Cave with Steve. Her eyes are on Myka as she continues. “Pete is right. I mean, he isn’t right most of the time, but he’s right this time.”

Pete turns his eyes to slits as he points a finger at her. “I’m gonna ignore the bad part of what you just said and revel in the good part.”

“H.G. wants to come back, Myka. And she will. We’ll make sure of it,” says Steve, his kind eyes shining with certainty and sincerity.

Myka nods. She stares at them gratefully. Really, she’s so fortunate, having them with her. She desperately wishes to have Helena back, but for now, she’s just thankful that her family is still with her. “Thank you, guys.” She sniffs. “And I’m sorry, for being so…” She chuckles self-deprecatingly. “…this.”

“You don’t have to thank us for being here for you. We’re family, okay? And you don’t need to be sorry for showing weakness,” says Claudia matter-of-factly.

Steve opens a crate in a corner and takes out two futons and two pillows. He sets them down beside Myka, who shifts a little to make room. “Yeah, we can’t always be strong. We’re humans, and we have weaknesses.” He smiles at her. “And we don’t need to change that.”

Pete watches as Steve and Claudia settles down on the floor. He glares at them, “Hey, I appreciate you comforting Myka and all, but this place is supposed to be secret!” He pouts a bit. “The Pete Cave is to Pete as the Batcave is to Batman.” He looks at Myka. “And Robin.”

Claudia rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah, well, Myka may be your Robin, but I am your Alfred, okay? I keep the fridge stocked, so suck it.”

“If we’re going with that, who am I, then?” Steve asks.

Pete scratches his chin, thinking. “Hmm. I got it. You’re Clayface.”

“Why am I an outlaw?” Steve complains.

“Well, you were, for a little bit, during the Sykes thing.”

“That’s not even remotely the same! And does Clayface even know about the Batcave?”

Claudia pipes up, snickering, “Who would you like to be, then? Batgirl?”

Myka watches as they continue engaging in the familiar banter, and the smile on her lips grows more cheerful, more assured, more real, by each second.

Everything will be alright.

She has her family, and they all would make sure that everything will be alright.

They live in a world of endless wonder, after all. Anything is possible.

She just needs to believe.

And so she does.

Chapter Text

The town meeting went more smoothly than they had expected.

The four agents – Artie insisted on staying in the Warehouse, telling them to just make up some excuse about him being the behind-the-scenes guy (while in reality he was just really uncomfortable with being presented to people and aliens) – met up with Amanda, Nolan, and Irisa in the precinct, and from there they proceeded to the plaza. The Mayor had seats prepared for them up on the stage – four seats situated between those designated for the McCawleys (Rafe, with his children Quentin and Christie – who, Myka was told, was Alak’s fiancé) and the Tarrs. It appears that the two families hold the most power in town.

This arrangement – the possibility of sitting so close to her in public – had Myka swallowing nervously, and it did not escape Pete’s notice.

“It’s alright,” he whispered, patting her hand that was gripping his arm tightly, “I’m going to take the one beside Rafe, and you’ll go sit next to me, okay?”

Myka did.

It was Steve who sat beside Stahma (apparently Castithans have a patriarchal society and the man of the household always takes the center place), because he knew that Claudia wouldn’t have been able to do so without doing something that she definitely shouldn’t (which may or may not involve hugging her mentor’s alien version senseless).

Steve was aware of the Castithan woman’s restlessness. Ever since he started using the Feng Shui Spiral, he’s been able to feel others’ emotions (he cannot see auras, per se, but he supposes Leena’s ability to read their moods had been passed on to him – if that was possible), so he knew that Stahma Tarr was having conflicting thoughts. And if the way she repeatedly glanced at Myka’s direction was any indication, he’d bet that those thoughts greatly involved the brunette agent.

He was also aware that Stahma was not too happy when he, instead of Myka, took the seat beside her. He could feel the frustration she had, being so close and yet so far from the object of her obvious affection (he thought this was like a plot for those cliché movies that he watched with Claudia when they just want to unwind in the past).

And as he looked at Lady Tarr from the corner of his vision, he’d swear that the expression on her face was the same one H.G. wore when debating whether or not to kiss Myka in front of Artie.

He stifled a smile. These two are really made for each other. He knew that he should feel sorry for Stahma – her internal turmoil was practically tangible in its intensity, and he’s pretty sure that she didn’t even have any idea, not one bit, of why she’s feeling that way – but instead he’s just relieved.

Extremely so.

He’s relieved because these small details – the way she arched her brows, the way she tilted her head, the way she stared at Myka – these small details reassured him that H.G.’s truly there, somewhere.

He tried his best not to look too cheerful the entire time they sat side by side, knowing that it could easily be misinterpreted by others who were with them (or by the woman herself). But he also did not want to seem too somber, so although it was a challenge, he kept his practiced polite smile on his face.

The meeting was basically just a run-through of the stuff happening in town lately, some updates on the recent razor-rain, then of course the introduction of the new precinct officers. They were met with a round of applause and some pretty loud cheers of approval, and there were some who good-naturedly teased Chief Lawkeeper Nolan about finally having someone else, beside his daughter and his young assistant, to save his ass.

The meeting lasted for only an hour, and it ended on a good note. So it was in high spirits that the four agents followed Nolan and Irisa back to the precinct (Nolan asked Tommy to do patrols. Just in case, he said, though in truth it’s to keep the lad from stumbling over something that he couldn’t be stumbling over).

Last night, in the Pete Cave, they had decided that Steve and Claudia were to take first shift in their underground mission, while Pete and Myka were to man the station aboveground with Nolan. They set about to carry out the plan.

Remembering Stahma’s face (and with it the certainty he felt that H.G.’s just waiting for them to get her back) and Myka’s show of heartbreaking vulnerability the previous night, it is now with renewed vigor that Steve does the task.

Claudia is grateful that Steve took the seat beside White-H.G. earlier. She doesn’t really think that she could have controlled herself if she’d been the one to do that. Sure, all that Castithan whiteness and weird (but pretty – though she still prefers H.G.’s chocolate brown ones) eyes are concrete enough reminders that she’s not really H.G., but still. Claudia is sure that she would’ve done something embarrassing. Like hug her.

She sighs. She misses the Brit terribly. Maybe not as terribly as Myka does, but close enough. H.G. is (yep, she can’t think of her in the past tense, no, sir) not only her mentor, but also her friend. A really great friend. Not that Myka or Pete or Steve or Artie aren’t great, because they totally are, it’s just that H.G. is the only one who actually understands her need to take things apart, to tinker with them, to fiddle with them.

H.G. is the only one who shares her passion for creating. For inventing.

Claudia tightens her hands into fists. H.G. is the closest thing to a mother she ever had, and she lost her.

And Votans be damned if she weren’t taking her back.

*

But first things first.

They have to finish settling in this town, and to do this they also need to finish installing the entrances.

She’s underground with Steve and Irisa (the former because, duh, they’re partners the same way Pete and Myka are, and the latter because, well, to be honest, they just really have that instant bond), clutching a parchment – where she had scrawled her approximation of the directions – rather close to her face. Her other hand is holding the Hungarian Brick.

“Okay, strike here now, Steve,” she instructs, jerking her head to indicate a corner of the earth wall to their left.

“Are you sure?” she hears Irisa ask. She is holding the lamp that is their one source of light, and when Claudia turns, she sees that the Irath is looking at her dubiously.

“Yeah,” Claudia answers. She huffs a breath. “I mean, more or less.”

“Oh, great,” Steve grumbles, gripping the axe artifact with both hands, his shirt damp with sweat (he’s the one doing the brunt work, after all). He plops down in exhaustion. “So, now, we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost, okay?” Claudia retorts, trying for confidence, but her voice carries notes of doubt. “I’m pretty sure we’re not going the wrong way.”

Irisa snorts and she ignores Claudia’s glare. “‘Pretty sure’ is not the same as ‘quite sure.’”

Claudia rolls her eyes and blows another breath in irritation. “No, it’s not,” she says after a beat.

“I don’t understand why we did not have this problem yesterday.”

Steve tells her, “That’s ‘cause we’re with Myka.” When Irisa tilts her head in confusion, he explains, “Eidetic memory. She remembers even the smallest details. Remember when Claudia asked Rafe to show Myka the town map?” He waits for Irisa to nod. “That’s because if she looked at something even for just a second, she’d be able to recall it at will.”

Irisa smiles appreciatively. “Now that’s interesting. Must be handy, being able to do that.”

Claudia smiles proudly. “Yeah, saved our lives countless of times already, actually.”

Steve sighs, looking up at her. “So… what do we do now?”

The human redhead shrugs. “Keep going?”

“Without any idea if what we’re doing is actually right?”

Claudia smirks. “Not the first time we’d do that.”

Steve shakes his head at her, chuckling. “Well, yeah. We seem to be trained for that quite well.” He stands up and, breathing deeply, positions himself in front of the wall once more. “Here, then?”

Claudia nods, stepping back and taking Irisa with her. “There we go.”

Stahma fiddles anxiously with her thumbs as she again sits by her corner in the NeedWant. The town meeting had been concluded half an hour ago, and she is equal parts relieved and saddened by the fact. Relieved, because she finally has some time to herself, to take a breather and calm her wildly beating heart (at least to some degree – she hasn’t been entirely successful with the task). And saddened, because Myka has again gotten away from her sight.

She heaves a sigh. Lately, Stahma’s thoughts have been all about Myka Bering. She just feels a strange, but certainly pleasant (it’s more than pleasant, if she were to be honest with herself) tingle down her spine whenever the agent is near. And her heart just won’t let up in its wild rhythm – it’s almost as if it wanted to jump right out of her chest and into the green-eyed woman’s hands and plead for her attention.

And Stahma has to admit (at least to herself) that she very much likes that idea, letting Myka do with her heart as she pleases.

It’s all utterly overwhelming, how she could possibly feel so much in so little time. She hardly knows the woman, but it feels as if she actually does. Their first meeting was barely more than just a day ago, but it’s as if it was not their first meeting at all. It’s as if she has known that lovely face, those brilliant eyes, that shy smile (oh, that charmingly shy smile) her entire life.

She has no idea why, but whenever their gazes meet, it feels like… home.

Like candlelit dinners and cozy libraries and a couch by the fireplace where they snuggle to keep out the cold winter air…

Stahma blinks, shaking herself off those thoughts. These strange images, these strange visions, they do not make any sense. But somehow, deep down, she feels that they should.

There’s a whisper, somewhere in the corner of her mind that tells her that she should know what these mean. That she could… solve this puzzle, if only she’d try.

But she does not know how to start.

Before she could draw a dejected breath because of this dilemma, her heart started its wild dance again.

She is helpless to turn her gaze at the door, helpless to keep the twinkle that is surely in her eyes. Helpless as her lips upturn to a wide smile. There, entering the brothel is Myka.

Stahma clenches her hands and averts her eyes when she sees that she’s with Pete, and they seem really friendly with each other. She then remembers feeling crestfallen when Myka did not choose to take the seat beside her during the town meeting, instead sitting beside Pete (and they sat rather closely too, much to Stahma’s frustration and annoyance).

And like how she felt earlier, in the incident with Mayor Rosewater, she feels betrayed.

Ridiculous.

But even if she thinks that, the feeling does not go away.

“She is not yours,” she mumbles under her breath (how very unlike her, this act), wishing that uttering the despicable thought would somehow just make it easier to accept.

Alas, her wish is denied.

If anything, the burn in her chest just intensifies.

She allows herself another sigh. It is not good, losing myself like this. (But deep down she knows that it would feel so good to lose herself in the hands of Myka Bering.) She then turns her head to steal a glimpse at the woman again, and her breath catches in her suddenly very dry throat as keen orbs of brilliant emerald meets her eyes in a searing gaze that seems to melt everything that is Stahma Tarr; that seems to undo everything that she is and plunges her in a world where only they exist.

It is heady, intoxicating. And she wants more.

More of her.

Please.

Let me own you.

And Stahma has trouble distinguishing what thought is hers and what is not.

It does not really matter, she supposes.

Not when Myka is walking towards her, carried by the strong purposeful strides of those legs that go on forever.

Stahma is too caught up by this fact that she doesn’t notice the glimmer of apprehension in those eyes – those eyes that first came to her in a dream, before transcending reality – which she learned to love.

Yes.

Love.

I’ll come back to you.

Wait for me, darling.

She should have never listened to Pete.

As she catches sight of that white face, she knows she should not have listened to her well-meaning-but-almost-always-managing-to-put-her-in-particularly-tricky-situations partner.

She sighs, remembering their discussion in the precinct. She had been chatting with Nolan, asking stuff about the general goings-on in the town. They had been talking for some time when Pete decided to bring it up again. He had pestered her about it when they woke up in the Pete Cave that morning.

‘It’ being her talking to Stahma Tarr.

“Come on, Mykes, it’s not like you’d have trouble striking up conversation. I mean, hey, the two of you are lovers.”

Myka rolled her eyes at him, exasperated. “‘Were,’ Pete, not ‘are.’ I can’t consider us as anything right now while she’s married to someone else.”

“But she’s still H.G.!”

“I know,” she ground out. “But as I told you, she’s married. I can’t hit on married people.”

“But she’s yours,” Pete almost whined at her. “What difference would it make if she were married to a man that I’d bet all the cookies in the world she does not love anyway?”

“You don’t know that.”

“You are such a masochist, Mykes.”

“Talking to her would be more painful than staying away, Pete.”

Pete screwed up his face at that. “It’s painful either way, Myka.” He was as serious as she’s ever seen. “So if I were you, I’d choose being hurt while reaching out to the person that I love more than life itself, than being hurt while struggling to distance myself from her.” Then he gave her a smile that was encouraging and teasing at the same time. “And anyway, it’s not like you’d ever succeed in distancing yourself. You’re practically each other’s half, partner.”

And before she could even begin to formulate a response to that, Pete’s stomach rumbled loud and clear. He turned to look at her then, fixing on her those brown puppy eyes while saying something about not having eaten anything for the past three hours and they really should grab and eat something, and Myka was helpless when he looked at her like that.

And he darn well knows it.

Nolan amiably let them take a break so soon after starting their supposed job and he said there’s nothing to worry about when it’s nearing lunchtime anyway. He also handed Myka a roll of cash (called scrip, they said), merely chuckling when she (adamantly) refused it.  He told her to consider it a loan, to be deducted from their first pay-roll, and only then did Myka nod. He also said (while smirking rather suspiciously) something about Pete already knowing where to spend it and be satisfied in doing so.

Pete then whooped delightedly and steered her out the door.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace where they serve the best weird food,” he answered vaguely. He noted her skeptical look (of course he did), and said, “Nothing poisonous, I swear.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she muttered.

Pete led her through some busy streets (where they got, aside from a few curious glances, warm greetings of welcome), and when they reached a not-so-extraordinary structure, he stopped.

“This is the NeedWant,” he said.

“Yeah, I can tell by the sign,” she told him dryly.

He rolled his eyes at her. “It’s a brothel.”

That made her snap her head up at him, eyes wide. “What?” she almost shrieked.

“Sshhh,” he said, his expression somewhat admonishing. “Relax. I reacted that way at first, too, you know. But they told me it’s safe and not that bad, and I already ate with them here,” he explained.

“You ate at a brothel.”

“A brothel owned by the Mayor’s sister.”

And that made her eyes grow wider. She opened her mouth to speak, but he placed a hand on her mouth. “Before you go freak-a-zoid on me, just so you know, it’s more like an adult restaurant than a brothel. And I told you, they serve good food here.” He added, “Though I’m kinda fuzzy with the ingredients used.”

Myka just nodded, slapping his hand away. She recalled him saying something about people here eating ferrets. “Very comforting,” she said sarcastically.

Pete paid no heed at the jibe and simply grabbed her arm and almost-dragged her inside.

Which is how she now finds herself lost in those silver-blue orbs that seem to change in color whenever light strikes them.

She hears Pete whisper, “You know, we can sit with her, do that thing I told you to do.”

And before she has completely processed that, she is already walking to where Stahma Tarr is.

Frakk, I’m so gonna regret this.

*

“Hi,” she says, hesitantly, when she is directly in front of the seated Castithan.

The smile Stahma flashed her takes Myka’s breath away. “Hello.”

Myka clears her throat delicately. “Can we,” she gestured to Pete (who is standing right behind her, suppressing the squeal that is threatening to escape him) and herself, “join you here?”

Frakk. Frakk. Frakk. What am I doing?

Stahma’s smile brightens. She tilts her head in a welcoming gesture, and answers, “Of course.”

Myka sits down, and drags the chair beside her closer with an outstretched leg. She motions for Pete to take it, and he does. Then he waves a hand to call over a Sensoth waiter.

Pete politely asks Stahma, “Would you like something, Lady Tarr?”

The woman says, “Just another cup of the tea, please.”

“Alright.” He turns to the Sensoth. “You heard her. And, uh, two of that thing you served me the other day.” He watches as he ambles off. “Man, they are really descendants of wookies.”

When Pete returns his attention to his companions, he sees that they are engaged in a pretty intense (and admittedly hot) staring match. He lifts a hand to pinch his lips together, keeping himself from grinning like a fool.

Myka catches the movement from her periphery. She clears her throat again, and lowers her gaze, effectively breaking the eye contact.

“So,” she hears Stahma say, “How has your stay been, so far?”

Myka answers, glancing at Pete, who shrugs, “Well, I can say that this place is infinitely tamer than the Badlands.”

The Casti nods. “Have you been staying at Mr. McCawley’s house?”

“Yes, we all are. I mean, it’s not like this world has any hotels or something.”

Stahma’s brows furrow in thought. “Hotels?”

Myka winces. She’s a Votan, Myka, what were you thinking, mentioning hotels? God, what is happening to me? She feels like the filter from her brain to her mouth is non-existent, and the words just come tumbling down uncontrollably.

The last time she felt that way was when Helena first told her that she loved her.

Well, that settles it, then.

I really love you.

Whatever form you take.

Myka chuckles softly, embarrassedly. “Nothing. It’s, uh, part of Old Earth culture, I guess you could say.”

Stahma merely nods. “You seem to be quite knowledgeable about Old Earth,” she comments. When Myka quirks a brow in question, she explains, “I heard you talked to Alak yesterday. He said you mentioned some interesting things. Like mythology. And literature.”

A small smile plays on Myka’s lips. “Ah, yes.” From beside her Pete can see her clenched fists. He sneaks a peek at Stahma, and finding the angle so that the Castithan woman wouldn’t see him do it, he places a hand on top of Myka’s in a comforting gesture.

Myka looks at him from the corner of her eyes.

I seem to be doing the clenching thing a hell of a lot lately.

Shrugging, Myka tells Stahma. “Literature has always been a passion of mine. And through it I learned a lot of things.”

Stahma nods again. Her eyes narrow in thought, and Myka watches as something obviously passes through the other woman’s mind. “Is that how you met your lover?”

Myka stiffens, not expecting the question. What? “Pardon?” Her voice breaks.

The white-haired woman looks stricken, noticing the abrupt change in Myka’s demeanor. “I’m sorry. I just…” She lowers her head. “I assumed that someone like you would be more attracted to one who shares your passion. And literature… it is something elegant and delicate but glorious as well. It in itself is a passion worth sharing.” She smiles, hesitant and deeply apologetic. “I really am sorry… for assuming, and for making this unpleasant.”

Myka blinks. She hears Pete release a ragged breath as well.

“You… Do you like literature?” the green-eyed agent asks in wonderment. Please say ‘yes.’

Stahma nods shyly. “We have a form of literature back in Solus that was different from Earth’s, but yes, I do.” She sounds apprehensive, as if still worried that she somehow hurt Myka’s feelings with her earlier question. But there is no mistaking the glint in her eyes, the same one Myka saw in Helena’s when the author talked about her works.

Not capable of stopping herself even if she wanted to (and she does not want to), Myka let out a delighted laugh. Looking straight into Stahma’s eyes, she is also helpless as the words escape from her lips. “You are really like her.”

Stahma inclines her head in confusion, her heart fluttering like a bird. “Like who?”

You already know the answer.

Stahma is reminded of precious jewels as she looks at Myka’s eyes. “My lover,” the agent answers.

Her breath hitches. Those two words are laced with longing and adoration and love – all of the things that she wishes Myka would feel for her, too.

They are for you.

She swallows, hoping to dispel the dryness suddenly in her throat. Still her voice is hoarse, and hardly above a whisper when she asks, “What’s her name?”

You already know the answer, darling.

“Helena.”

And Myka’s face is so loving (and lovely) as she speaks out the name, as if it is all that is sacred and sublime in the world.

And Stahma cannot help but fall for her more.

She has half a mind to reach out and touch the woman’s face (like she wanted to since first seeing her), but before she could even argue with herself over the idea, the Sensoth arrives, carrying their orders.

So she just contents herself with watching as Myka regards the food with a hesitant (but absolutely adorable) expression. She watches as she takes that tentative first bite, watches as she daintily chews, watches as she beams in satisfaction.

“Not bad,” the curly-haired woman bumps Pete on the shoulder.

The man, who has only just swallowed a fairly large mouthful, grins. “Told ya. Don’t know what it was, though.”

Myka pats him. “I’d rather not know. Might suddenly ruin our appetite.”

“You have a point.”

Myka again catches Stahma’s gaze. Then she looks at the content of the cup that Stahma is holding with both hands. “May I?” she asks.

The Castithan is taken aback by the request. Nevertheless, she relinquishes her hold (and idly, Stahma thinks that she would relinquish anything for the woman).

Myka lifts up the cup to take in the aroma of the tea. She smiles as she hands it back.

“Just as I thought,” she says. When Stahma tilts her head in question, she goes on. “Green tea, Young Hyson and Dragonwell. With essence from peppermint leaves, jasmines, marigolds, lemon verbena. And a hint of pineapple.” She notices that both her companions are looking at her with wide eyes.

She ducks her head, embarrassed. “I remember the smell.” She smiles ruefully. “Helena used to drink that, too.”

Stahma’s heart almost jumped out of her body. Before she can mull over that further, Myka decides to stir the conversation into much safer topics.

“I thought growing plants here is difficult. And yet you’ve managed to procure the ingredients for that particular blend.”

“The town imports some goods from the Earth Republic, in New York.”

“Oh.” Myka takes in this new information. I really should ask Amanda to teach me about everything in this new world. “And how is that done?”

“Every fortnight, a caravan of trucks arrives to transport the products. Sometimes, the townspeople make special orders, and if the orders are delivered to them, they’d just have to pay a higher price.”

“Interesting,” remarks Pete, cleaning his plate with one last swipe of his spoon. He chews thoughtfully, and after swallowing says, “That’s why there were a lot of people by the plaza yesterday. Was there a delivery scheduled?”

“Yes,” Stahma answered.

“Hmm,” Pete hums absently. Then he sees the time and his eyes growing wide, he leans over to whisper to Myka’s ear. “I think we’ll find the B-team back in the precinct right now.”

Myka nods, and stands up. “Lady Tarr,” she says. “We should be heading back now.”

Her heart thumps painfully when she sees Stahma’s eyes dim.

Oh, god, Helena, don’t you dare give me that look.

She swallows thickly, and taking a deep, fortifying breath, she says to the other woman. “Thank you for letting us join you.” And before her courage abandons her, she adds in one breath, “And should you feel like talking or something you could always keep in touch. Bye.”

With that she grips Pete’s hand and, barely stopping to pay their bill, leads him to briskly walk out the door.

An invitation.

She has extended an invitation.

Stahma feels like she could burst with happiness.

You could always keep in touch.

She smiles.

Yes, I can.

And believe me, darling, I will.

Chapter Text

“Geez, guys, where were you?” Claudia asks Myka and Pete, hands on her hips, as they enter the precinct.

“Sorry,” Pete huffs, breathing hard. “We just had lunch.”

“Nice. You had lunch while we were dying underground. Thank you.”

Myka just smiles (she does not believe that the human redhead is pissed with them because of something as mundane as lunch). But then her brows furrowed into a curious and worried frown when she really takes note of the state Claudia, Irisa, and Steve are in. “What happened to you down there?”

It is a valid question. The three look beat-down. There were red spatters on their clothes and they are all covered in sweat and dirt. Their shoes are caked with some kind of drying liquid that bears an exceptional resemblance to blood.

“Had a bit of trouble in navigation,” mumbles Claudia, and Myka sees a slight blush color her cheeks.

“A bit of trouble?” Steve’s voice is incredulous. “Claudia, we went ‘round and ‘round for 45 minutes! We struck the wrong wall three times! Three! God, we’re lucky we didn’t rot down there!”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby! At least I got us out of it!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who led us there in the first place.”

Myka holds out her hands, interrupting them before they launch on a more heated debate. “Hey, guys, just rest. Maybe you could all run down the street to find something to eat. Or maybe go to Rafe’s and return to the Warehouse.”

Claudia nods, but not before shooting Steve a glare. “Yeah, sure, I could use a bath.”

Myka smiles at her then turns to the others. “Where’s Nolan?”

“He had to check something down in the mines,” Irisa answers from her perch on one of the tables. “We came here just before he’s leaving and he told us Tommy alerted him about some earth disturbances. He figured it’s got something to do with the mines, so…” she shrugs. Then she adds, almost amusedly, “Though I’m sure that disturbance has nothing to do with those.”

Myka follows her line of thought. “Wow, you really had trouble down there, huh?” she smirks.

“Totally not our fault,” Claudia defends.

“If you say so,” Steve mutters under his breath. He absently brushes off some of the dust on his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. “Well, I’ll get going, then. I really need some clean water right about now. You guys okay with staying here?” he asks Pete and Myka.

Pete answers, “Yeah, we got it covered.” He turns to his partner. “Right, Mykes?”

Myka’s attention, however, is not on him. She is staring intently at Steve’s right wrist.

“Is that… is that the Remati shackle?” she breathes.

Steve looks down to where she’s looking. His lips form a small smile. “It is.” When she finally meets his blue-eyed gaze, he says, “I was asked to wear this immediately after Pete received the Regents’ Per Ankh necklace.”

Myka’s eyes widen as she turns to look at Pete. “What?”

He simply shrugs, bringing out the necklace from under his shirt. “What? You didn’t think they would have left us with nothing to go on, did you?”

She closes her eyes, as if in doing so she would be more receptive of the seemingly never-ending downpour of information. When she opens them again, she says, “So, Pete’s got Mr. Kosan’s necklace and Steve’s got the shackle.” She purses her lips in thought, and again meets Steve’s level-headed gaze. “Was that how the Warehouse was protected by the blasts that would have surely gone down during that Arkfall?”

Steve smirks, patting the shackle with his left hand. “I guess.”

Myka sighs and she regards her family rather exasperatedly. “You know you could have told me all this sooner.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Pete grins.

“Right. Of course. Your fun is the top priority.” Rolling her eyes at him, she just directs her focus to Steve, Claudia, and Irisa. “You three better take a break. You look like you really need it.” Shaking her head, she adds, “I told you it would be better to just start the works tomorrow.”

“Huh. I just wanted the thing over and done with,” says Claudia.

Myka gives her a questioning look. “Wait, you finished the whole thing?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I thought the plan was dividing the work.”

“Yeah, but,” Claudia shyly meets her gaze, “we were thinking maybe you could use the extra rest.” She clears her throat. “So, uhm, yeah, we’re gonna go now. Take a bath and stuff.” With that she grips Steve on his arm, stirs him to a corner, and taps a brick on the wall thrice. Then, the bricks rearrange and reveal an entrance. “See yah.”

“See yah,” Myka only manages to say before the two agents disappear into the darkness and the tunnel hides itself once more.

“That looked like those bricks in Diagon Alley,” Pete comments.

“Diagon Alley?” Irisa asks.

“It’s from this really good movie franchise, Harry Potter. Based from the books, though I only read them ‘cause Myka insisted on it… and you have no idea of what I’m talking about, do you?”

Irisa shakes her head ‘no.’

Myka chuckles, and says, “Ask Claudia and Steve to educate you on that; they’d be more than happy to.” Then she tilts her head confusedly, as if just realizing something. “Why didn’t you come with them, anyway?”

Irisa shrugs. “They could be a bit too much to handle.”

There is something in the way she averts her gaze that tells Myka that it is not really the Votan’s answer. And she has plenty of evidence that suggests that Irisa likes Claudia and Steve (the former, especially, but that is another matter altogether). So the agent gently prods, “And?”

The Irath sighs; she gets the feeling that Myka is not letting this go. “And I think you’re gonna need some help here while Nolan’s out.”

Myka beams at her endearingly obvious unease. Irisa may have a tough exterior, but she has a kind heart. “Thank you, Irisa.”

All she gets as a response is a mumbled ‘don’t mention it.’

Strangely pleased that the aloof Irath deems it worth her time to spend the afternoon with them, Myka decides not to press anymore on the subject, and she then just takes a seat by a corner.

Pete, meanwhile, is rifling through the papers strewn all over the tables in the precinct. “Wow. For a post-apocalyptic town, there sure is a lot going on. Hmm,” he picks up a random folder and opens it. His eyes widen in shock.

“What is it?” Myka asks, noticing.

He hesitantly meets her gaze. “Uhm, uh. They seem to, uh, have quite some stuff on Datak Tarr.”

Myka tilts her head. The man intrigues her at a certain level, though without a doubt the fact that he’s married to her lover pains her as well. “Well, you got a bad vibe from him,” she says slowly, trying to be objective about the matter. She turns to Irisa. “You’re watching him?”

“That’s not meant to be laid out in the open,” Irisa mutters. “But Nolan can be a bit careless at times.” She sighs, and tells them, “Datak Tarr runs large illegal operations. He’s basically what you’d call a mafia boss – I believe that’s the term Nolan used to describe him. The two of them had always been at odds with each other, and I don’t think their mutual animosity would subside anytime soon.” She motions to the papers Pete is holding. “That’s what Nolan had found out about him so far. It’s not technically in the Lawkeeper’s job description to dig up on Tarr especially since he’s a council member, but it’s Nolan’s, well, personal mission to expose that man. Sadly, Datak covers up his tracks so well, so there isn’t really any concrete evidence to charge him.”

Then she fully meets Myka’s eyes. “He believes Datak is not really the mastermind, though. He told me that the ‘real snake’ is Stahma Tarr.”

“Where are we going?” Steve asks.

“To Rafe’s,” Claudia answers.

“I thought we’re gonna take our baths.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t finished installing the new heating system in the Warehouse yet. The showers are gonna be so depressingly cold.”

Steve frowns, confused. “They were fine last night.”

“That’s from the left-over energy I got from the floating electric balls. I harnessed them to a sort of generator for a temporary heating system, but they won’t last long, especially if we get to use so much power in so little time.”

“What, you mean there’s a risk of having a power shortage in the Warehouse?”

“No,” Claudia rolls her eyes, scoffing at the mere idea. “The generator does not run the Warehouse itself, Jinksy. We don’t have a generator for that. The new heating system I’m pertaining to is the one especially for our rooms. I mean, the personnel archives aren’t exactly designed to be inhabited, you know. So I had to design a new power grid for them, for the heaters and stuff, and I just haven’t yet gotten around to connecting it to the one that does run the Warehouse.”

Steve nods as he absorbs this. There’s a lot he wants to say, but he settles for, “So for now, hot showers are going to be scarce.”

“Yup. Until I find some time to do the adjustments, that is.”

“So where are you going to connect them anyway? Huh,” he huffs. “I haven’t thought of that before. What is the Warehouse’s power source?”

Claudia throws him a wicked grin that has him gulping nervously. “My baby’s run by the Earth’s core.”

When Steve squeaks, “That’s just a metaphor, right?” all he gets in answer is, “Gosh, I can’t wait for you to see the furnace room.”

Steve groans. Nope, not a metaphor.

“You’re gonna love it.”

Somehow, he doubts it.

*

They peek out the entrance they put in Rafe’s basement the day before. They know that the chances of running into anyone when using this particular tunnel is nil, but it still does not hurt to be cautious.

“Okay, all clear,” whispers Claudia, sounding like a character from some crime show.

Steve shakes his head at her. “Doing what you think real agents do just makes you seem more amateur.”

The human redhead just sticks out her tongue at him. “Whatever, ATF boy.”

They silently go out and just as quietly seal the tunnel close. They have a bit of trouble, navigating through the piles of stuff littered on the floor and the curtains of cobwebs between the shelves, but they eventually make it up the stairs.

They freeze to a stop as they hear voices just before opening the door that leads to Rafe’s kitchen. One is Rafe’s, definitely, but the other one… they recognize it as his son Quentin’s.

“Crap,” breathes Steve.

“Shush,” Claudia glares at him. She very carefully turns the knob and pushes the door just the smallest bit open, enough for her to have a peek outside.

“Maybe it’s safer if we just turn around, Claude.”

“No, I’m tired and I need a bath now.”

She sees that it is indeed Quentin whom Rafe is speaking to, and that he has his back to them. Breathing a silent thanks to whatever higher power she knows of, she pokes her head fully out the door, and raises a finger when Rafe’s eyes widen in panic as he notices her. She slinks out and soon after, Jinks follows.

She closes the door with a definitive click, and Quentin turns his head at the sound.

“Oh!” his boyish face is full of surprise. “I--- I didn’t know you’re here!”

Claudia flashes him charmingly embarrassed smile (though Steve knows she’s just acting – he’d know that smile anywhere). “Yeah, we, uh, we were just clearing out the space.” She points a thumb to the door behind her. “We’re gonna use the basement as residence for now, you know, so…”

“Yes, of course,” Quentin nods. “Father and I were just talking about that.”

She swallows hard. “You were?” she asks, meeting Rafe’s gaze. ‘Talking about that’ is never good.

The old man shrugs. “My son here was jus’ wonderin’ where you’re gonna be stayin.’ In the town meeting we announced here, but he’s just confused as to where in this house, exactly.” He raises his brows pointedly. “I was just gonna answer the basement, but then, here you are.”

Steve nods, satisfied with his answer. The last part about him telling his son that the agents are going to be living in the basement is just a nice catch, however, since they haven’t exactly gone over the details of their cover story. Still, Steve is sure that Rafe would have probably made something up to cover for them regardless of whether they appeared in that moment or not (he did mention an attic in passing yesterday, and a room that belonged to another son). It’s just really luck that they did.

“So, you need help in the cleaning up?” asks Quentin.

Or not.

Claudia exchanges an anxious glance with Steve. “Nope, no, we’re good.”

“Are you sure? ‘cause you two look like you could use some help,” Quentin says, noticing their current tattered state. Without waiting for an answer, he walks up to the door and reaches for the knob.

Claudia’s hand shots out to grip his arm. Looking like they’d been in hell and back while having no evidence of the job they’d supposedly done could raise unwanted questions. “Erm, you really shouldn’t. We can handle it, really, no need to trouble you. We have imposed on your family enough already.” Her eyes are panicky as she meets Rafe’s, but all the old man has to offer is an apologetic wince.

Great.

Quentin merely chuckles at her reluctance. “Non-sense. We’d be glad to help in any way.” With that he opens the door and before any of them could even react he has descended down the stairs.

Suppressing a grimace, Claudia follows him, and so do Steve and Rafe. The miner says is a hushed voice, “Sorry, Quentin’s a bit pushy these days.”

“Don’t I know it,” grumbles Claudia.

They quicken their pace when they hear Quentin’s impressed yell of “Wow!”

When they reach the room, yep, they are pretty impressed, too.

In place of the dusty shelves and the dirty floors, they all find a pristine room. It has a partition, dividing it into two areas. One has three single beds, and the other has two. There are posters pinned on the walls, of movies from the 1970’s and there are also those of bands Claudia listened to in 2013.

“Nice,” Quentin breathes, awed. “You really fixed this nicely.” He shakes his head and looks at them. “And in record time, too. You’re gonna be efficient lawkeepers.” With one last look at the room, he turns and goes back up.

“Well,” Rafe says after a beat, “He’s right. I don’t know what you were reluctant for, but you did fix this up nicely.”

“We didn’t,” Steve murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“We didn’t do this,” Claudia clarifies, gesturing to the room.

Now Rafe is most certainly confused. “What?”

Before they could say anything more, the bricks at the far end rearrange themselves, and reveal a smug-looking Artie.

“What are you doing here?” Claudia asks without preamble (Artie’s influence, not anyone else’s).

“Saving your butts,” Artie says.

“You what?”

“Who do you think did this?” he questions, hands motioning around him.

Claudia cocks her head. “What, you’re a custodian now, too?”

Artie glowers at her. “It’s just an illusion.” Then he holds out a device with a 3-inch long antenna. He clicks it once, and the former grubby state of the basement returns. “See? One of Philo’s many inventions. Kind of a trial run for his camera-and-projector artifact.”

Steve lets out an appreciative whistle. “Nice trick.”

Claudia nods eagerly. “Yeah! Not bad, gramps!”

“‘Not bad?’” Artie barks at her. “That was brilliant!”

The red-head rolls her eyes at him. “Whatever.”

Steve comments, “That’s almost how annoying you are when you’re impressed with yourself.”

Claudia jabs him on the ribs. “Ow!”

Regarding them with a simultaneously awed and contemplative look, Rafe says, “How on earth did that happen?”

“Artifact-and-science working together. Mostly,” answers Artie. “And that is the simplest answer one could possibly get.” Then he clicks the device again, and the clean version of the basement reappears. “Let’s just leave it here to be sure.”

Claudia and Steve look at him thoughtfully.

“What?”

Steve shrugs. “Nothing. Just that…” he trails off.

“How did you know to go here and do that?” Claudia finishes.

Artie stashes the device in his bag, and pushes his glasses up. “I was following you.”

“Following us?” Claudia screeches indignantly. “What, like that thing you did during my first mission as in-charge? When? When we were securing the precinct tunnel?”

Artie rolls his eyes. Seriously, the girl is still peeved at him for that? That’s a lifetime ago. Like, literally. “No. Not then. I told you I was going to be in the Warehouse, and I was. I knew something like this is going to happen, especially since the place we’re supposedly staying in belongs to one of the most powerful people in town. There is bound to be some inquiries, bound to be some run-ins like this one. So I looked through the database for something to help us, and Philo’s device is just the thing we need to make our cover as concrete as possible.” He takes in the look on their faces. “You can thank me later. It feels so good to have my awesome on.”

Claudia laughs at the term he used. “Man, you’re finally trying to catch up to the 21^st century.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

“Now you sound like H.G.”

Artie shoots her his full-on glare. He is not pleased – not one bit – that he’s being compared to H.G. Wells, of all people. Even if it’s just in passing. And even if she just so happens to be the reason they’re alive at all.

The hostility is a habit, more than anything else.

And he finds that his habits are the hardest to break.

As he is about to start on a rant directed to Claudia, Rafe speaks up beside her. “I can’t believe I just saw that.”

“Chill, you saw a lot of cooler stuff before.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “We could appreciate the Warehouse’s wonders and Artie’s genius some other time. For now,” he draws a deep breath, “Let’s go up. We actually came by to have a quick shower. It’s just… we feel so filthy right now.”

Rafe smirks. “Of course, of course. Can imagine underground can get like that. I’m a miner, I know it can.”

“And while you do that, I’ll be in the Warehouse,” says Artie.

Before Claudia could offer any more comment on the subject, Artie has again disappeared behind the brick wall.

“The husband’s eager to return to his wife,” the redhead says under her breath, earning a chuckle from Steve and a bemused look from Rafe.

The group then shuffles their way up the stairs. Rafe tells the two agents, “You could go upstairs, there’s a bathroom down the hall, and there’s another in Christie’s room, third to the left. Getting the hot water running’s a bit tricky but, seeing the things you lot can do, I reckon you could handle it.” He pats both of them at the back. “Now, run along. I’ll just go down the mines. Received an alert from Nolan earlier.”

Steve and Claudia glance at each other, and then turn to Rafe. They say, simultaneously, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

Rafe looks confused. “What now?”

Steve puts an arm on Claudia’s shoulder, and tells Rafe, “Maybe we kinda disturbed something while making the tunnels and affected some of your underground areas.”

Claudia adds, “And there’s no casualties, so…”

“Yeah,” Steve gives Rafe a mock-salute with his free hand. “With that, we’d leave you to your duties…”

“…because we need a bath. Bye!”

They leave the miner looking baffled as they scramble to where the stairs are.

Before the two younger humans could bolt up and have that much-desired shower, however, they are stopped in their tracks as they see that Quentin has company in the living room.

It’s his sister, Christie.

And with her is Alak Tarr.

Steve suppresses a wince. He tries to look as calm as he could. He tries to be as calm as he looks. Being a Buddhist, that hasn’t been a problem for him ever.

Until now.

Now, it’s… yeah. It’s a problem.

He’d seen the guy in the meeting before. They had, like, just two people between them, after all. But at that time he hadn’t really looked at this white man (yeah, as in white; he’s not being a racist here or anything); he was more concerned with the mother… who happens to be part of Steve’s family as well, though she just does not know it yet. At least not in that form.

So, no, he hadn’t paid much attention to him, hadn’t really cared about him, except for his being White-H.G.’s son.

But now Steve realizes that it hadn’t been the wisest move. Because by not paying attention, by not caring, he had also failed to consider whatever repercussions this guy’s mere existence entails.

He overlooked the very real possibility that one of those repercussions would be on Claudia’s emotional state.

And that possibility is becoming reality now.

It is reality now.

Claudia balls her hands into tight fists, so tight that she could feel the bite of her (untrimmed) fingernails. She could also feel herself stiffening, could feel the tension spreading throughout her body.

Her eyes harden as she looks at the guy. She’d seen him before. In the meeting. Where she sat nauseatingly close to him (it’s close for Claudia, despite the fact that they sat three people apart). She pretended not to notice him, pretended not to know he exists. Pretended that he doesn’t even exist. That worked then, because they didn’t really have a reason to interact (and she does not really want to interact with him, like, ever). So aside from seeing him from her periphery, no, Claudia hasn’t really studied Alak Tarr. Doesn’t have even the smallest desire to do so. All she knows about him is that he works at the top of the Arch and that Myka very valiantly sought him out.

And that that resulted into the surfacing of Myka’s self-doubt.

Just the thought that Myka willingly faced this guy is enough to piss her off. (Seriously, she loves the woman like a sister, but must she be a masochist?)

And that’s not even the main reason she dislikes him. No, no, sir.

She dislikes him because he’s White-H.G.’s family.

There. I frakking admitted it.

She dislikes him because H.G. is wasting precious time with this son instead of with them. With the Warehouse. With Myka.

With her.

Because, yeah, they may not be related by blood, but she likes to think of H.G. as her mother. And she likes to think that H.G. thinks of her as some kind of daughter as well. She will never be Christina, she knows that – nobody can ever replace a child (and she doesn’t really want to be some kind of replacement anyway because that’s just sick and wrong on so many levels), but she likes to believe that somehow, she had a part in H.G.’s healing process. That somehow, she had a part in easing the pain.

She may not be as important to the Brit as Myka is, but Claudia likes to think that she somehow left an impression, no matter how small.

That somehow, she matters to her mentor, the closest one to a maternal figure she ever had.

And so, yeah.

Faced with this guy, the alien son, she cannot help but feel…

Bitter.

Yep, that’s the word right there. Spot on, you are.

‘Spot on, you are?’ That bloody hell sounded British.

Argh. ‘Bloody hell’ is British, too.

And now even I think I sound like her. Darn.

She feels bitter because this guy is connected to H.G. by blood. She refused to think that way last night, and she cannot afford to have thought that way last night, because Myka needed comforting. But she sees where the older agent’s coming from. She doesn’t want to see it, but she does. She understands Myka’s concern.

Blood is thicker than water.

That Old Earth adage, basically saying that there is no stronger bond than one shared within a family.

They both are thinking if that proverb speaks for the Votans as well.

She really hopes not.

For Myka’s sake.

And mine as well.

Alak knows that the new officers will be living with Rafe McCawley. So he also knows that there’s a chance of running into one of them when he decided to drop Christie off in her father’s (his future father-in-law’s) house after their lunch date. He hoped that the one he’d see here would be that intriguing Agent Bering. She’s really nice, and he’s taken a liking to her, and well, he’d really love to hear her wine-god story.

But, well, it seems that Agent Bering is not currently here.

Instead he’s facing the younger two of the four agents present in the earlier meeting. He wasn’t really paying attention then – town politics is his father’s area – but he does remember having a strange feeling that these two will be a lot harder to deal with than Agent Bering.

And with their stoic faces and sharp eyes directed at him, yep, he knows the feeling’s right.

Quentin exchanges glances with his little sister who is standing beside her fiancé with a confused expression. Apparently he’s not the only one who notices the almost palpable tension in the air.

Weird. As far as he knows Alak has as much interaction with the newcomers as he does. And that is not saying a lot.

So, why the hell does it seem like they’re suddenly in an electrically-charged environment where one wrong move could fry all of them alive?

Feeling deeply unsettled with the situation (and having no idea what the situation actually is), Quentin acts to defuse whatever metaphorical bomb threatens to blow up then and there. He awkwardly clears his throat, and says, “So, hey, Agent Donovan, Agent Jinks, I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to my sister and her fiancé.”

The sound of Quentin’s measured voice shakes Steve out of the trance he has been in. He shakes his head a few times to clear his head of the fogginess it felt (what with its conflicting thoughts), and takes a sharp breath as he prepares himself to take action.

No need for any more complications.

Forcing his lips to form a smile, Steve says, in answer to Quentin’s attempt to dispel the cloud of uneasiness in the room, “Yeah, we haven’t been.” He stretches out a hand to Alak Tarr and Christie McCawley. The pair shakes it politely, albeit anxiously. “Agent Steve Jinks, at your town’s service.”

He hooks a thumb to Claudia’s direction. “This here is Claudia.” Steve sighs when Claudia doesn’t even move in the slightest to acknowledge anyone. He rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture and gives the three an apologetic shrug. “She’s just, uh… a bit tired. Normally she’s perky.” He chuckles, but everyone knows that it is a strained one.

He looks at Claudia, intending it to be a quick glance just so he can assess what’s going on in her mind, but what he sees has him gulping hard.

He’s never seen her so cold and hardened before. Not even when she was bronzed – and that’s a different kind of cold and hard so yeah, it doesn’t really count.

He almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks. “Nice to meet you.”

Steve gulps again, because the degree of sarcasm in that simple statement is almost tangible. Were it any other occasion, he surely would have laughed.

But not now.

There is nothing even remotely funny with the way Claudia is staring at Alak.

Then he realizes that Alak is returning the favor.

Oh, lord.

Steve wishes that they should have just gone to the Warehouse. He’d choose a cold shower over this mess any day.

Yep, that cold shower’s sounding so appealing right now.

Claudia figures she cannot be overly rude especially if Steve’s with her – she knows her friend is concerned about her and that she doesn’t really need to cause him unnecessary worry. And because punching this Castithan in the face could be a definite cause of that unnecessary worry, she refrains from doing so.

She grits her teeth pretty hard to keep her voice from shaking when she speaks. She feels Steve flinch beside her at the sound of it, and she’s sorry for making him so nervous.

But it’s not like she can control her nerves, can she?

And oh, when the white punk meets her gaze head-on, she bristles.

Think you can handle me, do you?

She is ready to forget what Steve might think and just let loose some scathing comment, but changes her mind when she remembers that yep, they’re here with Quentin and Christie.

She knows that leaving an ugly impression on their benefactor’s children is probably not the best way to begin their stay here in this alien-ridden town.

So she just sucks an unsteady breath and forces her facial muscles to cooperate and form some semblance of a smile. And by the look Steve is giving her she knows that it isn’t much, but hey, it’s all she can do in this situation.

She also knows that one more minute in present company and she’d probably end up strangling the life out of someone.

Who might turn out to be this overly white guy.

And as tempting as that sounds, it is not really an entirely sensible option.

No, it’s not. And not because of any moral obligation or whatever, but because she cannot risk Myka getting mad at her.

With that thought and line of reasoning keeping her from doing something unreasonable, she grips Steve’s arm and addresses the other three. “As much as I’d like to talk right now, Steve’s right. I’m tired, and I’m sorry that I can’t really spare any more energy to be in the pleasure of your company.” It is monotonous and she does not care. She offers a seemingly-friendly-but-actually-seething-underneath grin. “So maybe next time?”

Not wasting a second for anyone’s response, she turns around, yanking Steve, who yelps (she’d have laughed at the sound if she were in the mood, but as it is, she’s not) and mutters a string of words that are most likely apologies (because he is Steve and he is more polite than any of them combined).

She drags him back into the basement and opens and closes the tunnel, mostly on autopilot. Not one word is uttered.

They are nearing the underground Umbilicus when she finally regains her senses.

And even then she does not speak.

The two enter Artie’s office in silence, and the old man (who is hunched over the computer) is startled because of it. Claudia had never entered the office in silence, except that first time.

That first time, when she hacked into the Warehouse and kidnapped him.

Claudia’s silence is an ominous sign, Artie knows.

He knows because he’d fallen victim to it before. And he doesn’t want a repeat of that.

He catches sight of something in the young woman’s eyes, but he is not given the opportunity to identify what it is. He watches as the redhead stalks off to the endless, winding aisles of the Warehouse, without speaking a single word.

Perplexed (and more than a little anxious), he turns his gaze to Steve, who is leaning against the wall by the Umbilicus door rather nervously.

“I thought you were taking showers or something,” Artie comments when Steve doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “Change of plans. It’s an integral part of the Warehouse life, I guess.” He gives a short laugh that is in no way genuine.

Artie frowns. “What happened?” The frown deepens when Steve squirms uncomfortably. “What happened?” he repeats.

Steve sighs again, and it does nothing to ease Artie’s nerves. “We had a short, uh, encounter,” he grimaces at the word, “…with Alak Tarr.”

Artie straightens (as much as he can straighten with his bones – because as much as he hates the age jokes, he admits they have some basis). That’s not good.

He was not in the meeting earlier, so he does not know if Claudia saw Alak there. But he knows that if they do meet, and are forced to interact or something, that there’s bound to be some unpleasantness. “Was it bad?”

Steve gives him a long look, as if to say what do you think? If there were mental duhs, Artie’s sure that the blue-eyed agent is doing it.

He scratches a bushy eyebrow. “Oh, god. Was anyone hurt?” He trusts Claudia (really, he does), but he’s aware of the techie’s capabilities. And if those capabilities were coupled with some teen-angst (she’s not a teenager anymore but she still acts like it sometimes – then there’s the stopping from aging thing when she became the Caretaker), he knows there’s bound to be someone getting hurt.

Fortunately, though, Steve shakes his head. “None.” Artie’s sigh of relief is cut short, however, when he adds, “At least not in the way you think.”

“What does that mean?”

Steve just sighs for the third time. And his eyes are sad and his voice is rough when he answers, “Claudia’s hurt, Artie. And it’s not physical pain that she’s feeling.” With that he pushes himself off the wall and walks away.

Artie is left alone to think about that.

And then he remembers Claudia’s eyes when she entered, and suddenly understands just what it was that he saw, what emotions were swirling in those depths.

Steve’s right. It is not physical pain.

Now we have two heart-broken – though in completely different ways – agents.

This time, he’s the one who sighs. This is going to be a very difficult ride.

He just hopes that H.G. would get back in time, before either of the two could do anything harmful.

He idly thinks of whether the harm would be directed to other beings (human or otherwise) or to themselves.

Then he realizes that he does not really want to know.

So better get back here soon and fix this, you Woman.

Chapter Text

Myka is lying on her bed, the one in the personnel archives, staring blankly at the ceiling. This room is exactly the same as her old one in the B&B – which, she muses, is rather the point – and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that she’d see the backyard if she drew the curtain and looked through the window.

But the thing is she does know better. And she knows that instead of Leena’s carefully kept backyard, she’d see the endless aisles of the Warehouse.

She decided to retreat to this room when they returned from their shift earlier, while Pete led Irisa to the Pete Cave to provide the Irathient some ‘much-needed’ (Pete’s words, not hers) pop culture lessons. She wanted some peace and quiet after the busy day, and her family’s company is not really going to provide her those. (For all she knew Steve and Claudia might have joined Pete and Irisa, and having all of them together in the same room is bound to create not-just-some noise.) So she figured she’d just go to her room and acclimatize (it’s the first time she went here since the archives were permanently installed – well, honestly, it’s the first time she went here ever).

She sighs. Before all of the crazy stuff went down (literally, what with the Arkfall and all), whenever she wanted to relax, she’d just go to the Warehouse’s library. It was her sanctum sanctorum, the one place where she could truly just let go of all the stress their job entails and get lost in the stories in its delightfully extensive collection. She had basked in the comfort only books could provide a true bookworm, surrounded by the musty smell of old tomes stacked in every corner and the air heavy with a sense of wonder contained in the pages, with stories of places and people she could only ever dream of.

It was her sanctum sanctorum. It always had been.

And then it became theirs.

When Helena came into her life, the library became a place not just of comfort and relaxation, but also of contentment, serenity, bliss. With the author by her side, the stories became more than just marvelous narrations – they became real, because Helena had a way of making them alive and making Myka believe.

And so the library became their castle. Everyone knew not to go and disturb them there (it was a lesson learned hard – Pete and Claudia could attest to that). The only accepted interruptions were those through the Farnsworth, and even then, the situation would have to be dire (like Artie getting stuck in Santa’s Chimney in the Aisle of Noel, or Pete and Steve being joined by Chang and Eng Bunker’s coat).

Everyone in the Warehouse family knew that the library was theirs and theirs alone.

And that is exactly why Myka cannot find it in herself to go there now. It would be too much, to go to that place. Too many memories, too much emotion. Myka does not think she could handle that. If she saw the room that witnessed far more than displays of ardor, she thinks she would break down, one way or another.

And breaking down is not something that she can afford to do right now.

So, yes, she chose to hide in this room. To be sure, it also bears memories of her and Helena together, but it did not witness the merging of their love of the written word, which, in some way, is a lot more intimate. Here in this bedroom (and it isn’t really the bedroom, anyway, just the archive) they were just Myka and Helena, two people who consummated their carnal desires like any other couples in love. But in the library, they were Myka and Helena, a bibliophile and an author – one could recite passages of every book she had ever read solely from memory, and the other had founded an entire literary genre with her sheer brilliance and inventive imagination – and their union, for Myka, is everything that is pure and splendid in the world.

And with you gone – again – how do you think I’d be able to set foot there?

And it’s kinda unfair, she thinks. The one place that was her solace now would cause her pain, because it’s tainted with a past too painful and too beautiful to forget.

*

She is pulled out of her thoughts when she hears a machine humming steadily. After a few seconds, the hum is overpowered by metallic clashes and loud banging.

Myka furrows her brows. It hasn’t even been an hour yet, so she’s pretty sure that Pete would still be watching in the Pete Cave (yeah, he transferred his flat screen to the Pete Cave ages ago) – if asked, she’d say that he would treat Irisa with a full-blown marathon of the Star War films, and those would take no less than ten hours. So Pete already in the room right next to hers making the noise is out of the question. Steve’s room is always quiet, since he’s Buddhist and well, he treasures calmness as much as she does, so him making too much noise doesn’t make any sense either. Artie is more likely than not holed up in his office, and his room is far from theirs anyway, so that leaves…

Claudia.

Myka chews her lower lip as she stands up, feeling worried. Claudia doesn’t normally shut herself in her room. And if she did, she’d make music with her guitar, and not this noise.

She startles when she hears a loud crash, and without second thought, opens her door and strides to Claudia’s. Her hand is raised mid-air to knock when the sound of a wretched scream reaches her.

Her heart clenches painfully in her chest.

Oh, Claude.

Claudia had forgone her shower, not caring about how filthy she looked or how grubby she felt. When she and Steve got back earlier, she marched down to the Warehouse floor without a word and went straight to the H.G. Wells Sector. There she picked up a relatively large wooden box covered by a yellowing piece of linen and took it to her room upstairs.

She hasn’t come out since.

It has been hours, but Claudia is only vaguely aware of time passing by. She is too engrossed with her work, her goggled eyes trained on the bits and pieces scattered on the work table she installed in this room yesterday. Her hands fly over wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers, adjusting pistons and cylinders, making minute adjustments on sockets and valves. Sweat rolls down her neck and back, there are streaks of grime on her face, and her spine hurts from being bent too long, but she doesn’t stop. She just continues on her task, continues on twisting and turning and altering, until it is done.

When the last bolt is put in place, Claudia stands up and looks over her handiwork.

Their handiwork.

For even if she added the last touch, there is no mistaking the design and the general schematics of the contraption.

Everything about it screams out H.G. Wells’ name.

She clenches her jaw as she takes a deep breath, and her eyes glint with determination as she flicks the switch on.

A mechanical hum of turning gears resounds as the contraption slowly rises, and hovers in the air.

It’s working.

Of course it is.

Claudia bites her inner cheeks hard to keep from screaming, and swallows hard.

She tastes iron. She bit hard enough to draw blood.

Frustrated, she turns to her work table and swipes everything off. Her many tools fall loudly on the floor, and she picks some of them up only to brutally throw them to the other side of the room. One after another they go as Claudia thoughtlessly hurls them away with all the strength that she has.

When she flings a large wrench and destroys her old computer, resulting to a particularly loud crash, a harsh chuckle bubbles up in her throat.

Then she again catches sight of the contraption still hovering amid the pandemonium she created.

The chuckle transforms into a scream of abject sorrow.

She falls on her knees, clutching her head with both hands, as her body trembles with uncontrollable sobbing.

She does not notice her door open.

When Myka opens Claudia’s door, her eyes widen in awe.

And of course she feels shocked, too, and terribly alarmed, for the state of the room is beyond chaotic. The air is filled with the smell of metal and grease. Various tools, some of which she doesn’t even know the name of, litter the floor, along with pieces of crumpled paper. The old computer tucked in a corner is destroyed, with a portion of a wrench peeking out from a hole in the screen. A crowbar is on Claudia’s bed, beside an open wooden crate.

But what really catches Myka’s attention is the thing – machine – floating in the middle of the room. And as best as Myka could ascertain, it is the source of the humming sound.

The machine looks like a skateboard, but it is about an inch thicker. There are no wheels, but there is some sort of bindings on its upper side, which looks like ski bindings. Myka cocks her head to the side as she studies what she’s seeing.

Yep, definitely ski bindings.

But these are not the usual ones, no. These bindings are positioned as one would position one’s feet on a skateboard. And they seem to be made of copper and brass, like most of the Warehouse’s gadgets. The board itself sports copper wirings and a familiar steam punk design.

With a jolt, Myka realizes why the design looks familiar.

It matches that of the imperceptor vest and grappling gun that belong to a certain British inventor.

She tears her gaze away from the floating board when she hears futilely suppressed sobbing. Shaking her head, she walks around the work table (when did it get here anyway?) and sees Claudia’s form hunched down. The young agent has her head on both her hands, and Myka can see tremors run through her body as she cries.

Myka winces at the sight. Did I look like that when they woke me up?

She sighs as she runs a hand through her hair.

I probably did.

Claudia doesn’t give any indication that she knows she has company. She remains in her position on the floor, trembling as she tries to hold in what she’s feeling.

And Myka can see that she’s feeling a lot.

Taking a deep breath, the green-eyed agent gets down on her knees, and carefully puts a hand on the redhead’s shoulder.

Claudia flinches at the touch and immediately turns her head, eyes widening when she sees Myka. She makes to get away, but the older woman wraps her arms around her, keeping her in place. When she tries to escape, Myka’s grip tightens, until she is forced to just melt in the embrace.

“I-I…” Claudia gasps between sobs, unable to form any coherent words.

“Ssh,” Myka soothes. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” She runs a hand up and down Claudia’s back, calming her. The look on Claudia’s face when she saw her reminded her of a wounded animal, and she knows she has to be extra careful. She has seen this on the techie before, when Steve died and she was angry with the Regents. And Myka knows from experience that Claudia has a tendency to withdraw when she is like this.

To withdraw and run away.

Myka cannot let that happen again.

“Just let it go, Claude,” she murmurs softly. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not leaving. Just let it go.”

And Claudia does.

*

She does not know how much time has passed as she holds Claudia. She feels the front of her shirt get wet from the redhead’s tears, but she does not say anything. She just stays there, silent, and only begins to smile as the last of the shudders ebb away.

Claudia takes a deep breath as she disentangles herself from the brunette agent. Her eyes are puffy from crying too much, and her throat feels raspy from all the sobbing.

“S-sorry,” Claudia says, voice scratchy. She’s looking down at her hands, unable to meet Myka’s gaze.

“It’s okay, Claudia,” Myka answers, understanding in her tone.

Claudia shakes her head defiantly. “No, it’s not.” She swallows. “You keep saying that, but it’s not.”

“Claude-”

“No, Myka,” she interrupts, though she is still not looking at Myka. She purses her lips, brows furrowing as she thinks about what to say. “I had no right to break down like that.”

Myka’s expression turns baffled. “‘No right?’” she repeats. “What makes you think that? There’s no law against getting emotional, you know.” She tries for humor, but she knows it won’t succeed.

She’s right. Claudia just shakes her head again. “You don’t get it.” Grease-stained hands clench into fists. “I’m in no position to break down while H.G.’s gone.”

Myka sighs. What has gotten to this kid? “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Claudia. It’s not like people are given rights to mourn for lost ones. It does not work that way.”

“I’m just her mentee.” Claudia finally looks up, but there is no sign of strength in those eyes and it crushes Myka inside. She continues, “And as such I’m not supposed to turn into an emotional wreck. I mean, you’re her lover, for crying out loud, and we don’t see you breaking down like that.” Claudia looks so much like a child in that moment, looking embarrassed and sad and lonely, and Myka wants nothing but to comfort her.

The brunette says, “There’s no ‘just’ there, Claude.” She gives the younger agent a gentle smile. “You’re important to her, too. And just because we’re together doesn’t mean that other people can’t react the same way that I’m supposed to.” She shrugs. “I actually think it is sweet that you feel so strongly for her. You’re like a daughter to her, you know, and-” She stops as she hears a hitch in Claudia’s breathing. “What?” she asks, concern lacing her voice.

Claudia is looking at her with a mixture of surprise and incredulity and a bit of happiness (and even if it’s just a bit, Myka’s glad that it made an appearance). “Really?”

“Really what?”

“She…” Claudia casts down her eyes again. “She thought of me as a daughter?” Her voice is small and soft.

Myka’s eyes narrow in thought for a second, then her smile widens. She finally understands where all this – the very teenaged display of angst (which, okay, may be a little overboard) – might have come from. “Yes. She told me that…” she waits for Claudia to meet her gaze before continuing, “…that you’re all she hoped her Christina would be.” She reaches out to touch the redhead’s cheek, wiping off new tears with her thumb (much like what was done for her before, when she was wakened). “You’re a very gifted young woman, Claudia. You’re creative and inventive. A genius, like her. She cared for you a lot, and she wanted the best for you.”

Myka waits as Claudia struggles to compose herself, watching as the techie wipes her face with her sleeve and smudges more grime but doesn’t appear to care.

“I’m really sorry. Frakk this is embarrassing,” Claudia sniffles, standing up.

Myka shakes her head fondly. “No need to be embarrassed.” Then before she can think about it she says, “This is about Alak, isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

Claudia goes still, a hand on the back of her neck. She gulps heavily then gives a small nod.

“You met him.”

Another nod.

“I’m sorry.”

Claudia’s forehead creases. “What for?”

“You shouldn’t have seen me break down last time.” At her blank look, Myka clarifies, “In the Pete Cave. Yesterday. That was about Alak, too.”

A look of comprehension passes through Claudia’s features, followed by – to Myka’s surprise – amusement. “You call that breaking down?” She snorts, waving both hands around her room. “That doesn’t even compare to this mess.”

Myka smirks, glad that at least Claude is beginning to sound like, well, Claude. “We have different methods of coping. Mine is less destructive, apparently.”

“Right.” She grimaces as she sees the old computer with the wrench. “Man, my Grampa PC.”

“As if you can’t repair that.”

“Well, I can, obviously.”

“Modest, as ever,” Myka chuckles. She straightens her damp collar as she stands up. Then she again notices the board, still floating in the air. “What is that, anyway?”

Claudia turns to look at what she’s referring to, and releases a ragged sigh. “H.G.’s invention.”

“Figured.” Myka steps closer to the machine. “Why is it here?”

Claudia picks up a small object from the wooden crate on her bed. Also stepping closer to the floating machine, she clicks a button, and holds out her arms to catch the board when it stops floating. Then she puts it on her work table, motioning with a tilt of her head for Myka to follow.

“We haven’t got a name for it yet, but it’s a type of hovercraft, as you might have noticed. H.G. designed it after seeing a skateboard in the Extreme Sports Aisle. She was fascinated with the mechanics, you see, and uh, she kinda asked me to assist her in the project.” She clears her throat. “And well, I couldn’t say no. I mean, H.G. Wells enlisted my help. Wouldn’t pass that up for anything.

“So anyway, yeah. She said she wanted to create a vehicle that could fly. Cars are a bit more difficult to experiment with, so she wanted to start small, and the skateboard perfectly meets the conditions she’s looking for. It’s small, light, portable, and easier to tinker with.

“The design involves using cavorite as a base material, with its anti-gravitational property, which is ideal for the floating aspect. And since H.G. invented it, it’s familiar territory. The only problem would be how to control it, which is crucial for the machine to be operational, like in changing directions and braking. That’s where I come in.”

She points to the bindings. “I showed her snow ski bindings, perfect for holding the rider in place. I modified the toe and heel pieces, connecting them to the cavorite inside the board itself via Tesla’s copper wires, and I altered the anti-friction device, making it anti-gravity. Plus I also adjusted the pieces so that the rider could change directions and speed with just a little movement of the ankles. And the brake works just the same as in skiing.”

She holds up the small object she retrieved from the crate. “This here is like a remote control, but there’s also a switch on the deck. This is just for convenience, since the rider would have to stoop down to turn it off, so.” Claudia looks at Myka as the brunette lets out a soft laugh. “What?”

“This is amazing.”

Claudia shrugs. “H.G.’s brilliant.”

“And you are, too.” She laughs again, still softly. “You helped complete it.”

Claudia blushes, and she hides it by ducking her head. “I promised her.”

Myka’s eyebrows quirk up, and she waits for Claudia to explain.

The redhead genius clears her throat again, awkwardly. “The schematics were done 37 years ago. We’ve begun building it, but we haven’t gotten around to connecting the board to the bindings, because…” she trails off.

Myka understands, and she finishes the thought. “She went away.”

Claudia nods. “I promised her, before she went away, that should something happen, I’d finish this myself. She said something about trusting me, and that I could do it.” She blinks away the tears threatening to fall again. “And uh, after this afternoon, when I met the…” she tries her best to keep the bitterness out of her voice though it isn’t entirely successful, “White Guy, I was just so pissed and I needed to do something that would…” she trails off again.

And again Myka understands. “Something that would affirm that you’re someone to her.”

Claudia lets out a self-deprecating laugh. “Something like that.” Veering away from the emotional side, she jokingly says, “When did you become a mind-reader, anyway?”

Myka shrugs. “I don’t know. When did you become a teenager again?”

Claudia holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, below the belt.” She then runs her fingers on the board’s surface. “This is for you, you know.”

Myka tilts her head confusedly. “Huh?”

“She wanted to complete this hovercraft for you.” Claudia smiles at her. “She told me about that time her cavorite jammed you and Pete to her ceiling. She said she wanted to erase any animosity you might have had for the metal.” She shrugs. “Figures this is how she’ll do that. Quite romantic, if you ask me.”

Myka swallows back a lump in her throat. This, this magnificent and amazing thing… it’s for her?

“You can use it in patrols now, I guess. But you have to practice first. And oh,” Claudia motions to the wooden crate, “there are especially-made boots in there. You can’t use the board in high heels, after all.”

Myka has to clear her throat thrice to make sure she won’t sound hoarse. “This has no name yet?”

“Uh-huh,” Claudia confirms. “‘Hovercraft’ and ‘hoverboard’ are just too tacky. So we were stuck with ‘Skarite’ and ‘Cavoboard.’” She scrunches her nose. “Though they sound pretty tacky too. Couldn’t decide, really.”

A small smile plays on Myka’s lips as she imagines the two inventors coming up with names for their creation. “Skarite,” she says. She likes how the word flows and she knows that this is it.

Her eyes are twinkling softly with adoration as she stares at the machine. “This is Skarite.”

To say that Claudia is embarrassed that Myka saw her have a very teen-angsty episode would be an understatement. And it’s not just a regular teen-angsty episode, too: it involved flying tools and broken instruments and a wrecked room and some ugly crying.

It isn’t in her personality, at least not anymore.

Or so you thought.

It’s just that seeing that White Guy really pushed her buttons in all the wrong way, and she needed to do something that, in Myka’s oh-so-very-apt words, would prove that she’s something to H.G.

And with her temper-run mind the only thing she could think about that would do just that was finishing the project they started together.

She remembers the day when she made her promise.

*

“Claudia,” H.G. said, while poring over the blueprint of the then-unnamed contraption with an engineer’s critical eye, her fingers tapping a frustrated rhythm on the work table’s surface.

“Yeah?” the young techie turned her head from the boot she was working on to look up at her mentor. Her lips curl into a delighted smirk when she saw H.G.’s brows furrowed in much the same way that Myka had when concentrating (and Claudia was dying inside over the couple’s cuteness that they pick up habits from each other). And the smirk grew wider when she noticed that the Brit’s shirt was smeared all over with grease and oil.

(She knew that the shirt was bought by Myka for this very purpose – work attire. H.G. had taken to wearing Myka’s meticulously pressed shirts and the curly-haired agent was getting annoyed that her lover continuously stains them with various substances that were simply impossible to get rid of – she more often than not resorted to just throwing them away in the end, and by the way things were going her wardrobe would be empty sooner rather than later. When Myka suggested that H.G. wear coveralls, the look on the Victorian’s face was so indignant and Claudia regretted not having a camera to capture it. H.G. said something about never wearing anything that was so ghastly, and so, Myka, exasperated with the author’s stubbornness, just took it upon herself to shop for shirts that were comfortable to work in. And though she couldn’t have cared about appearances, she was extra careful that the shirts she chose would be pleasing for H.G. – otherwise they wouldn’t be used at all. ‘Seriously, who cares about fashion when you tinker with machines?’ she muttered to Claudia then, who just sniggered and said, ‘Apparently Victorian inventors do.’)

“How would you connect the boots to the deck in such a way that it could also control the cavorite?” H.G. asked, turning her eyes to the young agent.

Claudia held up the boot in her hand. “Through the toe and heel lugs and the foot bed. I could work around to have the controls in minimal movements.”

H.G. seemed to ponder this for a bit. “And the buckles?”

“They’ll hold,” said Claudia. “I mixed some metal from the container you took from your vault, as requested.”

“I see. Compatible with the copper, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” She frowned curiously. “What metal was that, anyway? I tried it with pure bronze but it’s like oil and water.”

H.G. chuckled. “It was some experiment gone wild, I suppose you could say.” She paused, and said almost absently, “And I still have not gotten around to naming that mix.”

Claudia knew better than to ask the brilliant inventor any more about the subject – she’s got that mischievous glint in her eyes that told the redhead that the story was most possibly not appropriate for this time. So she just nodded. “Righty. And speaking of names,” she waved the boot she’s still holding aloft, “we haven’t got one for this, either.”

“Oh, right. What do you think of ‘hovercraft?’”

“Tacky.”

“‘Hoverboard?’”

“Somehow that’s tackier.”

H.G. quirked a brow at the young genius. “What do you suggest we do about that?”

Claudia shrugged. “I think we should do a blend of ‘cavorite,’ since it’s our main material for this to work, and ‘skateboard,’ since it’s the basic model we used.”

The Brit hummed appreciatively. “I think that’s a brilliant idea, darling.”

The following minutes were of them trying out words and laughing hard when something they said turned out to be so ridiculous-sounding that they were certain no one would take the machine seriously if they really called it those. In the end they narrowed it down to ‘Skarite’ and ‘Cavoboard,’ though Claudia insisted that ‘Skarite’ was better since it sounded like ‘Skyrim.’ Before H.G. could ask what ‘Skyrim’ was, however, H.G.’s phone rang.

The tune, Claudia was amused to realize, was Pachelbel’s Canon.

“Hello, love,” H.G. answered the call. “Oh, okay. Of course. We’re coming.” Pause. And a smile quite different from her other smiles graced H.G.’s lips. “I love you, too.”

After tucking her phone away, H.G. noticed Claudia’s pleased expression. “What?”

“You are so smitten,” she teased. She laughed when H.G. tried to look insulted but could only manage to look just as Claudia said – smitten.

“All right,” huffed H.G. “It is true, anyway.” She started putting her tools back in place. “Myka called to let us know that the others are going home. And only one car is available at the moment, since we all went here together this morning. So, we’re to make haste and go now, or we’d walk all the way to the B&B.”

Claudia nodded and started putting away her tools, too. She halted in her movements when H.G. said, “Claudia, I need you to promise me something.”

The redhead looked over and saw that the Brit’s expression turned somber. What’s with the sudden change of mood? “Yeah?” she asked, puzzled.

“When something happens, promise me you won’t abandon this project.”

“What? What are you saying?” She frowned. “Are you leaving?”

“No,” H.G. shook her head. “But we don’t know what the future holds.”

There was something in H.G.’s eyes that made Claudia feel dread. And the techie wanted nothing to do with dread.

“Just promise me, Claudia.”

There was urgency in H.G.’s voice now, and so Claudia smiled nervously – there’s really not much else she could do – and said, “Okay.”

“Say it.”

She met H.G.’s gaze squarely. “I won’t abandon this. I will finish this project even if I had to do it alone.” She chuckled, but continued with every bit of seriousness, “But I sincerely hope that we’d finish this together.”

H.G. smiled at her, and Claudia could almost swear that there was pride in there, somewhere; not the Brit’s usual pride of her own brilliance, but of Claudia. And her voice was soft when she murmured, “I do, too.”

*

“Skarite,” she repeats, after Myka makes her decision. She smirks (and she’s glad that she can smirk again – boy, being too emotional did things to her that she’d really rather not experience at all). “Quite partial to that myself.” She watches as Myka traces the Skarite’s deck, almost reverently, and her heart melts when the older woman regards her with eyes full of gratefulness and admiration. She has to blink quickly to keep her own eyes from tearing up again (seriously, when did she become such a softie?).

Clearing her throat, she says, “You know, I just remembered, H.G. chose Pachelbel’s Canon as a ringtone for you.”

Myka looks up from studying the machine. “Huh?”

Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, Claudia explains, “I heard it play when you called while we were working. If it were any other couple I would have gagged because that one’s too usual, but somehow, I find it cute for you two.” She chuckles. “Though I bet H.G. wouldn’t like being called cute.”

Myka smiles, and agrees. “She wouldn’t.” Then more to herself, “Canon, huh?”

“Yup,” Claudia chirps. “Just like the two of you. My canon couple.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Claudia smirks again. “Never mind me. And you might want to go out of this room.”

Myka seems slighted. “Why would I get out?”

Claudia sighs, wincing at her own phrasing. She clarifies, “Not that I’m driving you away, Myka. I’ll just,” she gestures wildly around them, “clean all this mess up.”

“Oh,” Myka rolls up a sleeve. “Let me help.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Claudia,” Myka draws out her name. “I want to.” Then she pats the Skarite still on the work table. “And while we clean up, you’re going to tell me all about this.”

She suggested that Claudia drop by the Pete Cave (“I think Pete’s still in the Pete Cave, ‘educating’ Irisa; you might wanna join them.”), but the tech wiz declined (“I think I’ll just crash in bed, after showering. Gosh I’m so filthy. Long day”.), and Myka then left her to her devices (literally).

It is almost midnight when Myka makes her way back to her own room. She passes by Pete’s, and notes that his door is still slightly ajar, which confirms that he isn’t there yet. Steve’s has that ‘IN/OUT’ sign on the door, which as of now is flipped to ‘OUT,’ so she figures he’s with Pete. Artie’s is located next to his office, so it’s just Myka and Claudia in this area this time. Somehow that’s comforting, not because she dislikes having them close (nothing could be further from the truth), but because it would provide the two of them some much needed tranquility.

Myka ambles to her bed and sits on the edge while working out a crick on her neck. Then she catches sight of something glinting on her dresser. She stands up and cautiously walks to it, and sees that the object is a ring.

Helena’s ring. The one she retrieved from the Escher Vault along with the necklace containing Christina’s photo.

Myka frowns. It’s not there before.

For all she knew it might be an artifact acting up, and so she retrieves a purple glove and a static bag from one of her drawers, and warily handles the ring.

There is no electric sparks.

And so Myka holds the ring with her bare hand.

And she falls asleep.

She’s back.

She’s back in the barren world.

She looks up and the sight of the twin-suns confirms it. However, instead of one planet, she can see two.

She feels a familiar tingle down her spine and she turns around to see an amused face staring at her.

“Hello again, love,” Helena says, her British drawl making butterflies flutter around in Myka’s stomach.

“Hello, Helena,” she greets back, but it is cautious and guarded.

Helena notices, and her smile drops a little. She lowers her head in a sheepish gesture. “How are you?”

Taking a deep breath, Myka walks up until they are mere inches apart. Her eyes and voice are pleading and urgent. “What is happening, Helena?”

Helena shrugs, but Myka knows it is forced. “You’re here again.”

“You did not answer my question.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.” And that word holds finality.

Helena sighs, running a hand through raven-dark tresses that Myka knows are silky to the touch. “You are so obstinate.”

“You said that’s one of the things you love about me.”

Helena smirks and her roguish charm makes Myka weak in the knees. “Indeed it is.” She reaches out to twirl brunette curls in a slender finger. “I love everything about you.”

Myka’s breath hitches, and she closes her eyes. She can feel Helena’s warmth and she wants to get lost in that feeling, if only for a moment. “You’re distracting me,” she murmurs, as her curls are released and the finger traces the line of her jaw in a feather-light touch.

“Is it working?”

Myka smiles softly. “Yes.” She opens her eyes and stares into dark pools of unfathomable depth. “But I need answers.”

Helena returns her smile, just as soft, and her hand rests fully on Myka’s cheek. “I suppose you do.” Myka leans into the touch, and Helena’s heart takes up a faster rhythm and she swears it would jump out of her chest. “Where do you want to start?”

“Hmm,” Myka’s brows furrow into an adorable frown as she thinks it over. “Is this real?”

“Is what real, darling?”

“This,” she waves a hand around them. “Us.”

“We have always been real.”

“Sweet, but I’m serious here.”

“As am I,” says Helena. “We have always been real, Myka. In any world.”

“That,” nods Myka, as if proving a point. “What ‘world’ are you talking about?”

“All worlds.”

“There’s more than one?”

“If we go by the rules of grammar, yes, I believe that’s what I was saying.”

Myka rolls her eyes at her lover. “Don’t be such a smart-ass,” she berates, but there is no bite in the statement. “Is this one, with both of us, real?”

“Yes, it is. At least in some way.”

“Care to explain?”

“I want to, darling, but I just can’t. Not right now.”

“Helena, you’re not you. Not in the world that I am actively living in. And we want you back. We all want you back. I need you back.” Myka’s voice goes low, as if obscuring the tremors that would otherwise be heard. “And I need you to explain, to help me make sense of this.”

“And I promise I will. In due time.”

“When is that?”

“When you have brought me back.” It is a statement of fact.

“How do you know I could?” Myka asks, doubt seeping in. “I don’t even know what’s happening anymore. I can’t do anything without answers, and you’re not giving me them.”

“Myka, dearest,” Helena soothes, “I trust you. You can do this.”

“How could you? I don’t even trust myself. I don’t even know if you want to return.”

Helena looks affronted. “Of course I do! Why would you even for a second think otherwise?” Her eyes carry hints of hurt. “I thought you believed you’re mine and I’m yours.”

“I do, but-”

“Then that’s all there is to it,” Helena cuts her off. “I’m yours and you’re mine and I’m returning to you.” She smiles again. “Believe in yourself. You’ll find a way. You always do.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Helena smirks at that. “I always am.”

“Right.” Myka shakes her head, but she’s glad to see Helena’s confidence so intact.

She runs her hand through the Brit’s hair, entranced by the way the silken strands seems to flow through her fingers. “So this is real,” she breathes. “I’m with you right now.”

“Yes.”

“This is a different planet, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“But the same what, dimension? The same ‘here?’”

“In a way, yes.”

“Can I stay?” She already knows the answer, but she needs to at least try.

“Not for long,” Helena’s voice is wistful.

“But I can be back, right?”

“You can.”

“How?”

Helena nuzzles close to her, running her cheek along Myka’s. “You found your way here twice already. Surely you can do it again.”

“I-I,” Myka falters, caught up in the emotions Helena’s closeness evokes, “I’m not sure how I did it.”

“The fact that you can do it should be enough to tide down your self-doubt over how you did it.”

“You’re always speaking in riddles in this world,” Myka grumbles, so very much like a petulant child, earning an amused laugh from her lover.

“I thought you like exercising your brain.”

“Thanks, but I’ve had enough of that in the past three days to last a lifetime.”

“Well,” Helena says, pulling back in order to look straight into emerald eyes. “You can rest assured that when I say I love you, it is a fact and not a riddle.”

Myka places her arms around Helena’s neck to reclaim their proximity. “That is actually the greatest mystery of all.” When Helena raises an eyebrow, she clarifies, “You loving me.”

“It is no mystery,” Helena counters, “for who could ever resist falling in love with perfection?” Before Myka could argue with her, she presses her lips against the agent’s, and they perform a dance of passion they have both been familiar with, something that they would never forget, never tire of.

When they part, Helena says, “I look forward to doing that again.” She takes Myka’s left hand, and the curly-haired woman’s eyes widen when a ring is pushed onto her fourth finger. Helena kissed the ring, and she flipped Myka’s hand so she could also press a long, lingering kiss on her palm. Then she winks, and Myka remembers that this woman is basically Seduction incarnate. It doesn’t help when Helena whispers, in a voice low with desire, “And I look forward to doing so much more.”

And just like that she steps away, and again tells Myka, “A part of me is always with you.”

And then the world turns black.

When Myka wakes up, the first thing she becomes aware of is the fact that she is on her bed, with the blanket tucked neatly over her body.

The second thing she becomes aware of is the cold touch of a narrow strip of metal on her left hand’s fourth finger.

It is real.

Chapter Text

Irisa wakes up with a slight headache. She and Pete had been up most of the night, and only when they finished with the first film of the prequel trilogy did they sleep. Pete told her that they’d continue with the two remaining films later, after they get some rest – they just sat in there and watched, yes, but their eyes were drooping with tiredness and they immediately fell asleep when The Phantom Menace’s credits rolled in.

Now she sees him curled on his side, mouth slightly open. She figures the man needs more rest than she does, so she lets him be. She stands up and makes her way out the door. ‘The Pete Cave,’ she remembers him calling this room, going on to describe a crime fighter with some kind of bat-related things. (She’s vague on the details, and Pete tends to rant on using terms that she isn’t familiar with, so it’s really difficult to keep track.)

Once out the Pete Cave, she suddenly realizes that she has no idea of where exactly in this huge Warehouse the exit is. She is about to turn around and disturb Pete for directions when she sees a familiar red-haired human walking to her.

“Hey,” Claudia greets as she stops in front of Irisa, hands jammed deep in the pockets of her frayed jeans. The lapel of her dark jacket sports a collection of pins with symbols Irisa can’t make sense of.

“Hello,” the Irathient says. “I didn’t see you again yesterday.”

“Yeah, I kinda spent the rest of the day in my room,” Claudia shrugs, but Irisa sees that it’s an attempt on nonchalance. She points to the door with a jut of her chin. “Pete still in there?”

Irisa nods. “He’s still asleep.” She explains, “We watched Star Wars until way after midnight.”

Claudia grins at that. “Aww! I should’ve joined you. Did you like it?”

“It was nice, I suppose,” says Irisa.

“‘Nice?’”Claudia’s eyes are wide with incredulity, as if she could not believe anyone would ever describe the films that way. “That’s like, the father of science fiction films! It’s legend!”

Irisa lifts her shoulder in a shrug that mirrors Claudia’s earlier. “For humans, yes, I can see why it’s incredible and why you and Pete both seem to love it very much. But for a real extraterrestrial being?” She lets the subject hang.

The human genius shakes her head. “Yeah, well, whatever.” She begins walking to the door behind Irisa.

“You’ll wake him up?”

“Yes, Myka says it’s time to eat. And Pete hates it when we eat without him.” Then she sighs. “I would have just called, but I haven’t repaired the Farnsworth yet.”

“I see,” Irisa nods. “But first, can you give me directions? I should be heading back, but I don’t know the way around here.” She hesitates, as if what she’d say would sound silly. “The aisles seem to be changing.”

Claudia snorts. “Darn right they do.” She tilts her head. “You could stay for the meal, you know. Then just come with us when we head to town later.”

“Would that be alright?” Irisa doesn’t want to impose on what appears to be family time.

“Of course, why would it not be? And you can accompany Steve and me when we take a tour.”

“You’re taking a tour?”

“Yup. Myka said that your dad told her and Pete yesterday that familiarizing ourselves with the town would be a good idea. And today’s a weekend, perfect for that. Though Pete and Myka would probably just head to Mayor Rosewater’s – Myka wants some lessons about stuff and Pete won’t let her out there alone. And Chief Nolan and his deputy could do the work since it’ll just be some minor stuff leftover  from last time.” She scrunches her nose.  “Or something like that. I was kinda zoning out earlier.”

Irisa purses her lips, and then asks, “Did she tell you which deputy he was talking about?”

Claudia hikes a brow at the question. “There’s more than one?”

“Yeah,” Irisa grumbles. “There’s… a guy, a human one. Then there’s me.”

Claudia narrows her eyes at the Votan and appears to study her. Then she smiles knowingly. “I see.”

Irisa glares at her. “What?” she says, tersely. She doesn’t like the way Claudia’s eyes are glinting, as if she knows something that Irisa does not. It is unnerving.

“Nothing.” Claudia’s tone is breezy.

“Stop it.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re planning on doing something.”

“I am not.”

“Just drop it.”

“And I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“Just go wake Pete.”

Claudia chuckles, clearly enjoying how riled up Irisa is. “So there’s a guy, huh.”

Then before Irisa could say anything in reply, Claudia opens the Pete Cave’s door and hollers at the top of her lungs, “PETE!”

The poor man startles at the sound and immediately sits up, wincing when his back protests. “What?!” he asks irritably, squinting when Claudia, now standing over him, points a flashlight to his face – it is torture to his currently oversensitive eyes.

His irritability immediately fades away, however, when Claudia says, “Breakfast time.”

He grins widely and Claudia grips him as he struggles to stand up.

“Hey, Irisa!” he waves when she sees the girl peeking through the door. “You’re awake already.”

Irisa just nods, then stares at Claudia. She seems incensed, but the techie just smiles at her sweetly, so Pete lets it be.

“So,” Pete says, stretching his arms as they begin to walk to where Irisa assumes the office is, “what time is it anyway?”

“A little past eight,” says Claudia.

“’s early.”

“Maybe, but you and Myka are gonna go to the Mayor’s, right?”

“Is that for today?”

“Uh-huh.”

Pete seems to think this through for a bit. “Okay.”

“What does she want to learn from the Mayor, anyway?” Irisa asks.

Claudia answers, “Just the general on-goings. Not of the town in particular, but this world in general. Like in trades or something – I remember her mentioning caravans and New York.”

“Oh!” Pete claps suddenly, startling the two redheads, and he doesn’t seem particularly apologetic about it. He just beams at them and says, “I heard about those, too. I mean, I was with Myka when we encountered that exact word combo.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“We were in the NeedWant yesterday, right? While you and Steve and Irisa were, you know…” he trails off a bit.

Claudia raises her eyebrows, and continues his sentence, “…toiling hard underground. Okay, then?”

“Right. That,” says Pete, having the grace to look sheepish. “Anyway, while there, we, uh, ate with White-H.G. She was drinking tea, which was apparently the same one that H.G. drank back in the days, and Myka got curious as to how these people procured the ingredients for that. And she said there are caravans from New York that get here, transporting goods and other stuff, and-”

“Woah, woah, stop it there, man,” Claudia holds out both hands, cutting off Pete’s ramblings. The three of them have stopped walking, and she is looking at Pete with a frown. “You sat with White-H.G. to lunch yesterday?”

“Y-yeah,” he answers warily. He’s not particularly fond of that all-too-familiar sharpening of her eyes.

“And you didn’t even tell me?!” she accuses.

Pete rolls his eyes. “Come on, Claude,” he says, “you cannot even stand to sit beside the lady in the meeting.”

“Yeah, but still…” Claudia mutters, and then raises her voice again. “And that’s not my point!”

“What is your point?” a new voice rings out. The three of them all turn their heads in time to see Steve strolling from an intersection ahead of them. His blue eyes are directed at Claudia, whose arms are crossed in a defensive stance as she refuses to meet his gaze.

“They should have told me,” she grumbles. Then, more quietly, “She should have.”

“And she would have, if you haven’t been destroying your room,” comes the reasonable reply.

Irisa and Pete both frown at that, while Claudia looks at Steve with wide eyes. “Y-y-you-” she stutters.

“She destroyed her room?” asks Irisa, the same time Pete says, “Was her guitar alright?”

Steve sighs deeply, and says, “Let’s just talk as we walk, okay? Myka actually sent me here to fetch you all. Coffee’s turning cold. She doesn’t know what’s taking you so long, and you know how she is when you keep her waiting.”

Claudia is annoyed.

Annoyed with Jinksy for knowing about her tantrum (‘It was not a tantrum!’ she shouted at him, but he ignored her and continued to refer to it that way, so) – it doesn’t matter that it was knowledge involuntarily obtained through some artifact acting up on her negative ‘mojos’ and making the Chinese spiral thing go wonkers. And because of him Irisa and Pete now know about it, too. Darn.

Annoyed with Myka for not even mentioning anything about talking to White-H.G. – it doesn’t matter that she’s just afraid that Claudia might again throw a tantrum (she’s gonna strangle Steve for calling it that – she is not some brat, for crying out loud) if she did.

Annoyed with herself for being annoyed with Myka and Jinksy – she knows that they both are looking out for her, and seriously (she has to be honest with herself here), she is not even sure that she would not throw that tantrum if Myka did tell her about the lunch meeting. According to Pete, White-H.G. showed some remarkable similarities to H.G. (barring the physical ones, of course, because that’s obvious) – she drank the same tea (confirmed by Myka’s amazing detail thing), she loves literature, she smiles the same regal British way. And knowing how depleted her emotional capacity is, Claudia would be lying if she said that she could control whatever impulse she may have had when exposed to overwhelming reminders of how her mentor used to be.

That would be too painful for her.

And she realizes, with no small amount of admiration, that Myka must have had a hell of a time, going through that lunch meeting. It must have been torture, sitting there with your lover, not able to touch her, not able to tell her how much you love her, not able to claim her as your own.

Suddenly Claudia feels disgusted with herself for being so selfish.

Her annoyance with Myka (and okay, with Jinksy, too) fades away, and all that remains are guilt and more annoyance with herself.

By the time they are in Artie’s office, where the round table is cleared out to give way to platters of food, Claudia is brimming with self-frustration.

And she seems to be transmitting some kind of bad mojos again, because she unexpectedly feels a hand touching her own and she turns to meet Irisa’s concerned gaze.

“Are you okay?” the Irathient asks.

Claudia swallows hard then averts her eyes. “Yes,” she lies.

Irisa regards her carefully. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Claudia gives her a weak smile. “Just losing a bit of control these past few days. Nothing new.”

Just as Irisa is opening her mouth to answer, they hear Myka’s voice.

“Oh, good, you’re here already. What took you so long?”

“They got stuck down Peyton,” says Jinksy. “They were… talking.”

“Okay,” Myka raises a brow at the vague answer, but she doesn’t push. “Well, we’re just waiting for the pancakes.”

“What are pancakes?” asks Irisa.

Pete turns to the Votan girl, intent on explaining (because of course he’d be the one explaining about food). “They are these pieces of heaven made of batter, which is made of flour and milk and some other stuff. And they are-”

“Here,” Artie says, entering the room with a large plate stacked with the treat.

“YES!” Pete screams enthusiastically. “I missed those!”

Claudia rolls her eyes. “Technically, you’ve been without them for just almost a week.”

Pete sticks out his tongue as he takes a seat and grabs a plate. “Yeah, but my body’s been without them for almost four decades.”

“Alright, children,” Myka says, “let’s try and eat in peace.”

“Not possible here,” Jinksy tells her.

“Thank you for that evaluation, Steve. Just sit, all of you.”

They do.

They settle around the table, stacking their plates with pancakes and bacons and toasts. Claudia and Pete teach Irisa how to ‘properly’ consume pancakes, telling her how they could be lathered both with maple syrup and chocolate syrup and why the butter must be evenly spread out.

After several minutes, Pete says, directing his eyes to his partner, “So, what’s the deal?”

Myka swallows the bacon she just bit before asking, “What do you mean?”

“This whole thing,” Pete waves his fork to the food before them. “I mean, not that I’m complaining, of course, because you know I love food, but it seems like there’s a special occasion or something.”

“I asked her that myself,” they hear Artie grunt.

Myka clears her throat then sets down her fork and knife. She takes several deep breaths and when they think they’re about to hear an explanation, all she says is, “Yeah.”

“‘Yeah?’” Claudia repeats, eyebrows hiked up. “What ‘yeah?’” Then she catches sight of Myka’s left hand. “And holy frakk is that H.G.’s ring on your left hand?”

All the others turn their eyes to the said hand, and Myka nervously twists the ring around her finger, but she does not remove it.

“It is,” she says simply, and there’s a small smile on her lips.

“Can we elaborate on that a bit? I’m kinda lost here. I mean, I know you two are practically married,” he smirks, and Myka rolls her eyes, “but did it become official or something? Are you hiding Lady Cuckoo here somewhere?”

“I won’t hide her if she were here, Pete,” Myka blows a ragged breath. “Believe me, I would parade her around the world and call her ‘mine’ if I could.” She shrugs and clears her throat at their sympathetic gazes. “As for elaborating…” she begins, and then lets out in a quick huff, as if afraid that her confidence would abandon her, “I’ve been dreaming about Helena.”

She is met with silence as they all stop in their meals (a piece of bacon is sticking out from Pete’s mouth, and the rest’s forks are in varying stages of travel to their open mouths – this moment is something to behold, honestly), and she rushes to continue, as if afraid they misunderstood what she meant (because of course she’s been dreaming of H.G.), “I mean literally. I’ve been literally dreaming about her, and I have reasons to believe that the dreams are not just dreams.”

She then proceeds to tell them about her two dreams. She tells them the one from when they were all cryogenically preserved in the Hypersleep Tubes. And she also tells them the one from last night after she went back to her room from Claudia’s, and how she woke up with the ring on her hand. (‘And I mean, none of you could have possibly done this, right?’ she asked them, waving the hand with the ring, and they all agreed with vigorous nods of their heads.)

“Hold on a sec,” Claudia holds out her hands in much the same way she did earlier with Pete. Something Myka said… Did she hear correctly? Her hearing’s usually perfect, but… “You were dreaming while we’re Hypersleeping?” This is not right. That can’t be right. Right?

Myka tilts her head confusedly. “Yes. Weren’t you?”

Her green eyes widen when they shake their heads ‘no.’

Claudia furrows her eyebrows as she thinks back to when they woke Myka. A phrase struck her then, during her rant when she attacked Pete… “And you said you were trapped in a cold, dark, space,” she breathes, brows scrunched up in thought.

Myka shivers at the reminder of the space Claudia described, but she nods.

“Myka,” Claudia looks her in the eyes, wary, as if thinking of how best to break bad news (if there’s even such a way). She decides to go with plain truth, because it’s simpler with Myka that way. “None of us experienced that in Hypersleep.”

“What?” Myka’s voice cracks.

“All of us underwent Hypersleep as if we were really sleeping, and there were no dreams or cold, dark, spaces. We were just that: Hypersleeping.”

Myka is still as she tries to grasp just what she’s saying.

“Huh,” Claudia blows a breath, “So I guess the dream’s why you were unusually disoriented when we woke you up.”

Myka nods, her words not fully registering.

And then they do. She asks, baffled (again), “What do you mean by ‘unusually disoriented?’”

“The others aren’t disoriented when they came out of the Tubes,” Irisa offers as explanation. “They just seemed like how people are when they wake up in the morning, like it’s routine, like they were expecting to be woken up.”

“B-but,” Myka stammers, and Claudia can almost see the gears turning inside her head, “there were visions.” Wide green eyes look at them in turn. “Those were disorienting. Didn’t you have those visions?”

Pete asks, eyes trained worriedly at his partner, “What visions? What did you see?”

Myka looks lost as she meets Pete’s gaze. “I… there was…” she shakes her head, as if clearing it up, so that her thoughts may have some semblance of order (and Claudia knows just how much Myka loves order – last night’s cleaning up is proof of that). “I saw Stahma Tarr,” she whispers.

“What?” Artie gruffly asks, eyes intense behind his glasses.

“I didn’t know it then, but I believe I saw Stahma Tarr,” Myka says in a louder voice. “There were glimpses of silver-blue eyes and white skin and white hair.” And her eyes are imploring as she asks them, “That couldn’t be anyone else, right? That’s her. Right?”

“Yeah, of course!” Pete nods, and Claudia could only describe his expression then as frantic. So she backs him up, “Sure. Who else could it be?” Because, yeah, who else could it be?

Myka nods, but it’s more to herself. “But what does this mean?”

Before any of them could come up with something, anything, to answer that seemingly simple question, Irisa speaks up, “And that place you described, that’s the Votanis binary star system.”

That also catches the attention of others. Of course it does. It amazes Claudia, really, how a few words from this red-haired Votan can spin their world in a dizzying pace.

Irisa explains, “As far as I can ascertain, that place in your dreams is our home star system. I mean, not that I know that from memory or anything but…”

“You get your own visions,” says Pete with a wave of his hand.

Irisa nods. “The first one probably happened in either Daribo or Irath, since the other star only had one planet beside it. But the second one, from last night, that’s definitely in Casti.”

She then tells them about the Votanis origins, about the suns Vygu, around which the planets Daribo and Irath revolve, and Solus, around which the planet Casti revolves.

The people around the table grow silent as they try to think of what possible explanation there might be, or what this might even mean, or if there were explanations at all.

But, heck, this is H.G. they’re talking about. And they are in the frakking Warehouse of endless wonder. So, yeah, of course, there has to be some kind of explanation. There just has to be.

Myka. H.G. Dreams that apparently occurred in distant planets… dreams transcending reality. White-H.G. having behavioral similarities to H.G. Visions of said White-H.G. that appeared only to the one person who knows H.G. better that anyone else…

“Oh. Oh.” Claudia’s eyes are wide as her mind forms a theory.

“What do you mean ‘oh,’ Claude?” Steve questions the techie.

“Of course,” Claudia nods, but she is staring past them, as if the answer is scrawled in the air. “That has to be it.” There is an almost manic quality to her now, but hey, yes, she found the answer.

“What? What has to be what?” Pete asks.

“Myka,” Claudia begins after several tense moments, looking at Myka, meeting those green eyes. “Remember when you were freaking out and the only words that can calm you down were those spoken by H.G. in that forest during the Janus coin thing?” Myka nods, albeit reluctantly, and she could see the theory build inside the brunette’s mind, too.

“None of us experienced anything remotely like what you did.” She looks at the other agents for confirmation. When they give it with their nods, she continues, “And of all of us who slept for 37 years, you were the only one who got visions upon waking up, and not just any visions – those were of H.G.’s Votan form. That can’t be a coincidence. That is deliberate. Because you, you are the one who knows her better than anyone else. You two are bound to each other in a significant way. So it has to be you.

“And if you dreamt consciously – I mean, it’s consciously in a way – like that while in the Tube, and again last night when you are clearly not in cryogenic processing, I think…” she takes a deep steadying breath, “I think H.G.’s communicating with you.”

“Do you think Claudia’s right?” Pete asks.

Myka sighs deeply. When Claudia laid out that theory, she was first compelled to laugh it off and dismiss it as impossible. But something stopped her – a tug in her heartstrings and a whisper at the back of her mind that tell her that what the red-haired techie said is true (and seriously, who says ‘impossible’ within the Warehouse’s walls? They woke up in the future without aging a day, so there’s really not much that she can label as such, right?). And she couldn’t ignore those, and so instead she smiled at Claudia and murmured something along the lines of ‘maybe, who knows, let’s revisit this later’ (which kinda became her mantra for these past few days, anyway).

There was an awkward pause, but it was like her family had some telepathic skills or something because not one of them argued and they left the subject alone. It was like they had a secret consensus to heed her words and give her some space – they resumed breakfast as if no nerve-wracking issue was ever broached. And though it was weird, Myka was grateful for their understanding.

As was planned, after the dishes were cleared, Claudia and Steve went up to tour town, and it seemed like Irisa would be with them for it, which was ideal, Myka thought, because those two could really use someone friendly to guide them around. (There was no use repeating their underground mishaps – it’s true that they were with Irisa too when those happened, but well, the town proper is her forte so it’s a completely different playing field. It’s highly unlikely that the Votan would get lost on the surface of her own town.) Artie, as usual, stayed behind.

Myka, being Myka, wanted to seek some new knowledge, and Pete, being Pete, wanted to accompany her of course, which is why they are now making their way together to Mayor Rosewater’s office. They have been walking in relative silence, but well, Pete really isn’t known for that. She figured it would only be a matter of seconds before he gave in to his natural state of liveliness (and she uses the word in the most positive way – mostly).

And, hey, here it is. And she knows she can’t really deny him her answers – not when she herself is struggling with them.

She can feel him looking at her with that brotherly gaze, and it soothes her, somehow, because it’s one of the few familiar things left in this world. She basks in it.

And so she responds, “I don’t know, Pete.” Because she doesn’t, not really.

“Mykes,” he whines, “I’m not asking for what you know. I’m asking for what you think.” She quirks a brow, and he adds, “And don’t be snarky about it, okay?”

She sighs again, more deeply this time. Of course he has to make it harder. He knows she isn’t one to operate on speculations, that her choosing between ‘I think’ and ‘I know’ is tantamount to him choosing between ballet and football – there really is no competition.

But she can’t rebuff him, not the only brother she ever knew.

“I think,” she pauses and glances at him, emphasizing the word, and he rolls his eyes in return, “that Claudia’s theory is in the realm of possibilities, yes.”

“Myka,” he draws out her name in that way that he knows she hates, “you’re making this complicated.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. And it’s immature, partner.”

“This from the man who still believes Spiderman could be real.”

“Hey! That’s not the same and you know it! And stop with the subject changing.” She hears him blow an almost-annoyed breath. “It’s just a matter of whether you think the theory’s right or not, you know. No need to run to the realm of whatever.”

She runs a hand through her curly locks. She knows that what he’s asking is simple, and she admits (though not to his face or he’d gloat – he’s unbearable when he gloats) that she’s being immature. But it’s just that she’s being cautious, because if she gave in to Claudia’s hypothesis, a seed of hope would be planted inside her, and it would inevitably grow. And she’s so, so afraid that that hope would be crushed.

But she also knows that Pete is not going to let this go.

“Technically, theories are supposed to be repeatedly-proven facts. But,” she holds up a hand to keep him from speaking, “okay, I think Claudia’s right.” And she elbows him hard on the ribs when, of all things, he squeals. Like some teenage girl. Which should be mortifying enough if they were alone, but as it is, they have now entered the mayoral building and the sound he produced caught the attention of a bunch of citizens milling around.

“Oof!”

“Why did you have to squeal?”

“Because it’s true! H.G.’s communicating with you!”

“It’s not confirmed in any way, Pete. And I said ‘I think,’ which is not exactly a reliable statement.”

“Oh come on!” he says, throwing his hands exasperatedly in the air. “We’re talking about you here. When you say something, it’s never questionable. And contrary to your belief, your statement is always reliable.” Then he grins. “Hey, that rhymes.”

She just huffs, irritated, though he ignores it.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “It’s just that, Myka,” he stops, and she spins around to face him. They are already in front of the Mayor’s office. “You said it yourself earlier: you have reasons to believe that those dreams weren’t just dreams. And now, the fact that you think what Claudia said might be true is enough proof that it is true.”

He is so sure of it, that Myka feels like she has to ask, “Did you have a vibe or something?”

He smiles at her, a genuine non-teasing smile.

It is answer enough.

Then he tells her, “And if there’s one thing in everything Claude said that I firmly believe in, it’s that you and H.G. are bound, in ways that I can’t even begin to comprehend. Which makes me certain that that other thing she said is also true: H.G.’s reaching out to you, Mykes.” And his smile widens, and his next words make Myka’s heart beat erratically in her chest: “She’s close to coming back.”

With that, Pete opens the door.

“Where are you taking us?” Claudia asks Irisa, who is almost sprinting ahead of them – she and Jinksy are having a hard time keeping up with the petite girl’s pace and it’s almost embarrassing.

“Gotta work on my cardio,” Steve gasps beside her.

Irisa turns to smirk at them, then goes on. She answers over her shoulder, “Near the mines.”

Claudia frowns. “What are we gonna do in there?”

“I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see.”

And that’s the end of it.

*

Irisa wanted them to meet someone. Or more accurately, a group of someones.

Claudia and Steve find themselves facing a large group of Irathients.

And a huge male Irathient is approaching them. And she means huge. He’s like, easily 6 feet tall or something. And he’s wearing a kind of top hat, which gives him more height.

Claudia automatically grabs Steve’s arm in panic.

“Hello, Little Wolf,” he says, and they watch as Irisa embraces him. He pats her head fondly.

“Hello,” she says. Once released from the embrace, she tilts her head to where Claudia and Steve are standing as stiff as boards. “I want you to meet my friends.”

“Your friends, huh,” Huge-Irathient’s eyes are glinting in a way that Claudia is yet to determine if positive or negative. She supposes it’s not aggressive, but it sure as heck isn’t friendly either.

But Irisa seems unaffected. “Yes. The young man’s Steve, and the girl is Claudia. They are two of the town’s newly appointed lawkeepers.” Then she tells them, pointing a thumb to Huge-Irathient, “This is Sukar. He leads the Spirit Riders.”

“Hi,” Claudia raises a hand in a small nervous wave. She gulps. “And Spirit Riders are?” (Because seriously, the term evokes images of spirits riding that boat in mythology. The, uh, boat of the dead. The one ferried by… what’s the name? Charon? Geez. She’s remembering mythology now, of all things.)

Irisa jerks her head to the rest of the group. “Them. They’re raders, basically. They usually loot around the Badlands, but this part of the mines is theirs.”

“Raders,” Claudia echoes meekly. She tightens her grip on Steve’s arm when he had the nerve to chuckle.

“Ouch!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“Fine. I’m not.” She gulps again when it is Sukar who laughs.

“You have fine red hair. You’re not half-Irathient, are you?”

Claudia glances at Irisa, who just made a motion as if telling her to go on, and so she looks at Sukar. “Who? Me?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, no, no. I’m human. Full-blooded. Uh, yeah.” She ducks her head in embarrassment.

She hears Steve clear his throat. “So, Mr. Sukar, sir, Irathients and humans could have offspring together?”

Sure, of course it’s him whose tongue is not tied around during times of distress.

“That’s right, boy. Steve, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your red-haired friend seemed a bit nervous.” Now Claudia can hear a smile in Sukar’s voice.

“She’s just like that during mornings.”

She looks at him sharply, and he just shrugs.

And that’s when she notices the motorbikes parked along the walls.

“Oh, sweet,” she breathes. She releases her grip on Steve, and she walks almost absently to the vehicles.

Huh. Spirit Riders. So these are what they ride.

“Sweet,” she repeats as she inspects the motorbikes.

She doesn’t notice Steve and Irisa exchange an amused and relieved glance, because her eyes are trained on her new toys.

Steve’s pretty glad that Irisa led them here.

At first it was unnerving, of course, because it’s the first time Steve’s been with so many Votans without the other agents nearby, but it turns out that he didn’t have to be nervous. The Spirit Riders are friendly, if somewhat wild, but since they can survive the Badlands for long periods of time, he supposes that wildness is a necessity. So yep, some new unlikely acquaintances for him (huzzah for that).

But what really made him glad is the distraction this brought Claudia.

He worries about her in a way only a brother can worry about his sister. She told them (hesitantly) earlier about her tantrum (‘It was a tantrum, Claude, don’t deny it’), because she didn’t really have a choice since he already knew anyway. His Mood Gauge (yep, he already has a name for his new-ish ability) picked up on some negative stuff from her last night as he was using the Feng Shui Spiral. He was about to go to her room to check on her, but he saw Myka enter it, and he felt like going after them would be somehow intrusive. They are the two people with whom H.G. is the closest, and they hadn’t had a decent conversation yet, so Steve let them have their time. He went back to the spiral and slept in that room.

He’s pretty sure that there was still some depression left in Claude when he saw her this morning. He’s been devising some way to uplift her spirit, and Irisa provided that way.

It was awesome, seeing Claude stammer because of nervousness when Sukar approached them (definitely something to tease her with at a later date). But it’s more awesome, seeing her entranced with those machines that are somehow deemed fit to be called vehicles – he’s not so sure if he could ride one, or if he’d survive if he did. (Well, better not take chances.)

He knows he’s not the only one relieved when Claudia’s eyes lit up in that distinctively Claudia-way as she beholds the machines. His gaze met Irisa’s, and he knows that she too picked up something negative in the techie’s mood and thus set out to dispel it.

Yup, that something negative is being dispelled right now.

“Awesome,” Claudia says, and her face is bright like Christmas morning. “This one’s a modified Harley Davidson FL 1200 Electra Glide, 1971. This is vintage, Steve!”

He shakes his head as he walks over to study the bike. “Right.” It’s one of her more endearing qualities, the way she prattles on in techno-speak. Though most of the time it gives him headache.

“Whose is this?” she asks no one in particular, and he sees she’s trembling ever so slightly.

He recognizes that slight trembling. It’s the one she has when filled with excitement.

“Mine,” a female Irathient answers. “What’s the matter?”

“This is just plain awesome. It’s like, king of outperformers back in the day. 45 ° V-Twin, OHV, 2 valves per cylinder, engine’s air cooled. I see you’ve altered it a bit. Different type of fuel?” She sniffs. “Right, not gasoline. Does it roar when the throttle’s rolled on? It should.”

“Roar?” the owner repeats. “What do you mean? And who do you think are you?”

“Easy, Rynn,” Sukar puts a hand on her – Rynn’s – shoulder. He looks at Irisa, who looks back with a smirk. “What is your friend doing?”

“She’s great with machines. If you’d give her half a chance, she can improve your motorbikes.”

“They’re fine as they are,” Rynn says hotly.

“Oh, they are. It’s HD, after all,” says Claudia. She shrugs, “I don’t usually tamper with perfection…” Steve snorts at her words and she ignores him, “…but, there’s a lotta room for more here.”

Rynn narrows her eyes at Claudia, whose gaze has turned steady as nervousness left her. The Irathient seems to size her up, but Steve’s glad to see that she’s not intimidated (nothing like the presence of machines to chill Claudia out).

Finally, Rynn asks, “What more?” And Steve knows they’ve got it.

Claudia’s lips form an impish grin that has him and Irisa smiling, too. She buries a hand in her pocket and retrieves what he recognizes as a… fix clamp.

He frowns thoughtfully. How did that fit in her pocket? He glances at Irisa, but she does not seem to be surprised. And that surprises him.

Claudia twirls the fix clamp in her hands like it’s some sort of cheerleader’s baton. “I’ll show you.”

Chapter Text

Stahma needs to see Myka Bering.

She knows that she needs to see the curly-haired agent as soon as possible.

*

It is strange and disconcerting and soothing all at the same time – she is, it seems, in her home planet, Casti. And she is talking to Agent Bering. She knows she is, but her own voice is different… accented. And it isn’t unpleasant to hear, not at all. It is confident (bordering on arrogant), as if possessing that lilting drawl was an honor of the highest degree.

Now that she thinks about it, maybe it is.

But what really arrests her attention (aside of course from ever-beautiful Myka) is the difference in her body. There are no mirrors or reflective surfaces, and so she cannot see her entire being, but she knows that her skin is not Castithan white here – it is pale, to be sure, but it is human paleness. And her hair… it is the color of a raven’s wings.

And there is the extraordinary feeling that this body is as it should be.

That feeling intensifies when she and Myka Bering share a passionate kiss.

Oh, how she wishes this moment can last.

But it does not.

The moment ends, and she puts a very familiar-looking ring on Myka’s finger, and tells her, “A part of me is always with you.”

The words roll effortlessly off her tongue, and she thinks that they might be the most truthful ones she has ever said.

Yes. They are.

*

She knows that her dream was filled with wonder and love.

But for all that there is she cannot remember what exactly the dream was.

She struggles, she tries so hard to remember, to catch those glimpses dancing in the corners of her mind, but it is to no avail.

She sighs, tired of all of this games her own brain is playing on her.

She closes her eyes.

She sees emerald ones.

And then she decides.

She is going to pay a visit to the precinct.

The meeting (or as Pete called it, ‘Lecture on A Frakking New World’) went as well as Myka could have expected. Amanda (the Mayor was adamant on the first name basis – and Myka couldn’t really argue with the woman who is technically their boss) proved to be pretty good in explaining every facet of this post-apocalyptic world – she had covered everything from trades to religion to culture. The Mayor also had a way of making everything easily comprehensible, so much so that by noon, even Pete could recite an account of the events leading to and from the Pale Wars.

Truth be told, both Myka and Pete had fun in the lecture, which was unexpected, at least for the latter. And they wouldn’t have left if the Castithan secretary did not announce that the Mayor will have a private meeting with an Earth Republic representative in an hour. Knowing that it’s improper to hold back the Mayor from something so terribly important (since they also now know that the Earth Republic is very interested in Defiance and thus they have a clue on how crucial that meeting might be), Myka and Pete decided to cut their visit short so that Amanda can prepare.

“It’s okay,” Amanda chuckles at the dejected look on Pete’s face, “you can come back later this afternoon.”

“And seriously, when did you even start caring about history?” Myka asks her partner, highly amused, because Pete not being bored with facts is so new.

“But this is awesome!” Pete exclaims. “It’s not Civil War or World War or anything! The Pale Wars involved aliens, Myka! It’s like Star Wars, and it’s like the Defiant Ones were Luke Skywalker and Leia and Han Solo! It’s not like history at all!”

Amanda looks at Myka with a brow raised in question. “I have absolutely no idea what that means,” she says truthfully.

Myka shrugs and smiles at her apologetically. “Most of the time, me neither.”

Pete claps at them, and his brown eyes have that puppy-quality in them that just makes Myka wince because she knows he has something in mind. Something that would most probably give her headache.

She is not wrong.

“We could totally do the movie marathon later! Amanda, you can join Irisa and me, and I’ll just catch you up with what happened in the past four! And you, too, Myka!”

Amanda holds up both hands. “I understood maybe about three words in that.”

“Pete-” Myka begins, because her partner is seriously like an overgrown kid sometimes.

“And oh, look, I need lunch, it’s lunchtime.”

Make that most of the time.

Pete takes Myka’s arms and leads her to the door. She has barely said “Thanks and see you later, Amanda!” when they are out the office.

Once outside the building, Myka tugs at Pete to slow him down. “Where are we going?”

“Lunch.”

“NeedWant?”

“Yup.”

“Again?”

“Well, it’s not like there are any other choices, you know.”

Myka concedes his point.

“Have I told you how much I miss Happy Meals? I’d like me some burger and fries right now.”

“You do realize you’re making it harder on yourself by thinking of that, right?”

Pete groans. “That’s true. I just wish there are food chains here that serve greasy food.”

Myka pats him consolingly on the back. “And I’d be fine with just some Twizzlers.”

*

Pete ate something that suspiciously looks like an otter, while Myka settled on some bread – she’s really not in the mood for meat.

After eating, Pete wanted to go around the town.

“It’s totally not fair that Claude and Steve are the first to go,” he complains.

Myka rolls her eyes at him. “They deserved it, Pete. They finished our share in the underground thing, remember? Let the kids be for a while.”

“Still…”

“Stop acting like a kindergartner.”

“So what are we gonna do now?”

“I’m heading to the precinct.”

“I thought today’s day-off.”

“We spend way too much time slacking off. How about we actually do something productive, hmm?”

“Why do I get the feeling that when you say ‘we,’ you’re actually talking about me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You are talking about me, are you?”

“Some introspection might work.”

“You’re still talking like a dictionary.”

They continue arguing, and even though Pete’s not really for it, they are in the precinct before either of them realized.

They see Nolan and LaSalle inside, bent on paperwork.

“Hey, Sheriff, Deputy” Pete greets, while Myka just gives them a small wave.

“Hey, assistants,” says Nolan. He tilts his head confusedly. “Told ya today’s your day-off, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but Mykes wanted to be here.”

Myka averts her gaze when Nolan looks at her with brows raised. She mumbles, “We’re not really doing anything, anyway.”

“Well,” LaSalle says, “we’re just about done with these papers. We’re going on patrol.”

Pete’s eyes light up at that. “Do you have a cruiser?”

“If by cruiser you mean a dilapidated 2013 car with ‘Lawkeeper’ painted on the sides, then yeah, we do.”

“Cool!” He turns to his partner. “We should totally go with them!”

Myka sighs. Pete really is too much sometimes. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Why?”

She looks like a teacher explaining a difficult math problem to her student. “Someone has to be here for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She turns to Nolan. “I won’t mind staying.”

“Are you sure about that?” Nolan asks, and he’s genuinely worried. “I can stay, too.”

“Or me,” says Pete. He shrugs at the look she’s giving him. “What? We’re partners. I gotta have your back.”

She smiles at him. “That’s sweet and all, but you should go. Just pick me up later.”

“But, Mykes-”

“Go, Pete,” she cuts him off, but her tone is gentle. She holds up a hand, “And you don’t have to offer, Tommy. I’m good.” She laughs at their concerned faces. “Seriously, boys, just go. This woman can handle herself.” She emphasizes her point by pulling her gun and spinning it like a Texan cowboy in one smooth move.

“Woah, where did you learn that?” Pete gapes at her.

“I watched enough Western movies with you to pick up some skills,” she answers, smirking and looking very pleased with herself. She points to the door with the barrel of her gun. “Now, I repeat, go.”

They don’t need to be told again.

Stahma had waited for quite some time earlier, waited until Agent Bering is the only one inside. She wasn’t even sure if the moment would present itself, but she knew she had to be patient if she were to spend some time alone with the brunette.

And she was rewarded for it.

Stahma hesitates only for a second before entering the precinct. She is thankful that the door was left open, so that her presence won’t be announced prematurely. She walks carefully, creating only the softest of noises with every step.

She is robbed of breath once she entered the threshold.

Myka Bering truly is the most beautiful creature she has ever seen, human or no.

The agent is absently running her slender fingers over a book’s surface, and oh, what Stahma wouldn’t have given to be in its place, to feel those very fingers on her own skin. The thought alone sends a lovely warmth through her soul, and she fights hard not to shudder.

She knows she can only ever be in this beautiful woman’s presence during moments like this – brief, fleeting, ephemeral. But if stolen moments are all she’s going to get, then she’ll make certain that no second is ever wasted.

Myka sighs for the umpteenth time.

She knows that it was on her prompting that Pete went with the two other lawkeepers, but she has to admit that she’s kinda lonely without him around.

Which is a kinda insane admission, because they have spent many hours apart.

But not in this new world.

Point taken.

She is lost in a swirl of thoughts as her fingers run across a book propped on the table. The Time Machine. (She saw it earlier in Amanda’s office and she was helpless as a whisper of ‘Can I?’ escaped her lips. Amanda kindly smiled at her and told her she could take it. And so she did.) She’d read it before of course, countless times actually, but there’s just something that calms her whenever a book like this is within her reach.

It’s as if its author is within her reach as well.

It’s an absurd notion, one that would most predictably end in disappointment, but one that Myka clings to nonetheless.

She is so intently staring at the cover page, imagining it is Helena’s face that her fingers trace, when a voice suddenly cuts through her reverie.

“Hello.”

Myka turns around quickly, gun in hand, the barrel pointing directly at…

… Stahma Tarr.

Stahma seems taken aback. She cocks her head to the side and eyes Myka questioningly.

“Oh. It is you.” Immediately Myka returns her gun to her holster. Always at gunpoint, is it?

“Indeed it is.” For a moment Myka thinks that Stahma responded to her thought, but before she could mull over that further, the Castithan steps closer, regarding her intensely (and it is like she would burn under that gaze). “Were you expecting someone else?” she queries.

Myka merely slumps back down, picks up her book and cradles it in her arms. She doesn’t answer the question, nor does she look at Stahma as she asks, “What brings you here, Lady Tarr?”

Stahma sighs. “Would you not call me Stahma?”

“I think that’s inappropriate, given that your species has that whole aristocracy and hierarchy thing going on.” She knows this, because Amanda pretty much drilled the idea into her earlier. (‘Seeming is being. You don’t just get close to Castithans – they are the caste system itself.’)

Stahma smiles at her though Myka doesn’t see it. “I suppose your presence draws out my more… casual side.” She pauses. “That’s what you humans call it, isn’t it?”

Myka’s heart skips a beat at the words. You know better than to hold on to words like that, Myka. “Yup,” she says, deciding to answer the safe question than to dwell on the rather suggestive (not in that kind of suggestive… ugh, this is no time to think about that kind of thing) statement.

She does not see the rueful look on Stahma’s face. Myka doesn’t seem like she’s going to elaborate the point. ‘Why are you so distant?’ the Castithan wants to ask. But she is afraid of what the human lady will say. So she asks instead, “May I sit with you?”

Myka just gestures for her to go on.

Stahma chooses a seat right next to Myka, so close they are almost touching.

Myka exhales loudly at the proximity. Torture. This is much too soon, after last night’s dream and this morning’s revelations. “What brings you here?” she asks again.

“Datak is in the NeedWant, and Alak is spending time with Christie.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You didn’t answer mine either.”

Myka raises an eyebrow. “And what was that?”

“I asked you if you were expecting someone else.”

Myka just shrugs. She sets the book on her lap and again gently traces random patterns on its surface, much like what she did in the past, on Helena’s skin, after they made love. The memory makes her sigh.

Helena… When I see you again, I will punch you so hard. And then I will kiss you senseless. And then I will punch you again.

Then maybe kiss you some more.

Myka considers that for a moment. I will definitely kiss you some more.

I miss you so much it hurts.

“You’re thinking of her,” a voice says, softly, interrupting her musings.

Myka shakes her head to clear it of her thoughts and at last looks at her companion. “What?”

The white-skinned lady simply stares at her, and Myka can’t be sure but she thinks she sees amusement in the gaze. And a little… what? Is that longing?

“You’re thinking of her.” Stahma repeats.

“Her who?” Myka asks, though she knows the answer.

“Your lover.” Her gaze never wavers. “Your Helena.”

Myka’s smile is small and sad. “Was it that obvious?” The question is rhetorical.

“It was.” Stahma looks down. “It is.” She whispers, almost inaudibly, but Myka hears her.

After several moments of silence, Stahma lifts her gaze and again observes Myka.

Myka lets her.

“Is that what you humans call a book?” Stahma indicates to the object on Myka’s lap.

“Yes,” Myka automatically says. Her brows furrow. “Wait.” The statement takes a while to fully register. “You Castithans don’t have books?” Myka is incredulous.

The other woman shrugs. No one should be allowed to shrug so darn gracefully. “We have what you would call an ‘oral tradition.’”

Myka forces herself to focus on the conversation and not on those eyes that will burn her. “So… you don’t read?”

“No.”

Huh. A Helena who doesn’t not read. Her heart clenches at the thought. “But I thought you said you have literature in your planet.”

“And I also said that our form of literature is different.” When Myka raises both brows in question, she explains, “We have what could be approximated as poems in this world.”

Myka nods. Amanda told her a lot of fascinating things about the different races and their cultures, but she supposes there’s a lot more to learn from those who are members of the races themselves. There’s nothing like immersion and first-hand experience, after all. Maybe I can ask Irisa about the Irathient culture later. “Poems, huh. Helena was fond of those.”

“I was, too.”

“Hmm?”

“Back in Casti, when I was still young, I used to…” Stahma searches for the word, elegantly gesturing with a hand that Myka wants to take on her own, “…present poems.”

Myka frowns thoughtfully. “Like… a public reading?”

“A public reading?”

Myka shrugs. “Yeah. You know, it’s when you recite your compositions to an audience.”

Stahma nods as the concept clicks to her. “Well, then, I suppose it’s something like that, yes.”

“Interesting,” Myka says. She looks at the Castithan, studying her as much as she was studied earlier.

“But though our tradition is different, I have learned how to read your people’s words.” Stahma smiles at her, and Myka’s heart beats painfully faster. “Just because I don’t does not necessarily mean that I can’t. We do have to adapt, after all. And I haven’t read any interesting book yet.”

“So you know what a book is?”

“I do.”

“Then why did you ask if this is a book?”

The smile turns teasing. “I just wanted to see how a lover of literature would react to that. And I was not disappointed.”

Myka shakes her head. “I’m glad,” she says dryly.

The minutes tick by in a comfortable silence, until Stahma breaks it.

“You’re married.” The words are whispered, and if Myka weren’t paying particular attention she might have had missed them.

But she is paying attention. Of course she is. However, the words that she hears do not make any sense, and so she asks, “Sorry, what?”

Stahma takes a deep breath, and in a slightly louder (but tremulous) voice, she says, “You got married.”

Myka’s eyes widen. What? “Wh-why-” she sputters. She shakes her head to collect her thoughts (which always seem to be scattered whenever this woman is concerned), and tries again. “Why in the world would you think that?”

Stahma smiles at her, but she sees that it is forced. It is so unlike the one she is graced with earlier. “You’re wearing a ring on the fourth finger of your left hand. It is human custom to do that when one has a spouse, is it not?”

Myka stares hard at her, then at her ring, then back at her.

Oh. Right.

She shakes her head again, and eyes her ring. “It is.” She hears Stahma’s breath catch. “But I’m not.” She looks up at the Castithan woman, regarding her carefully. She takes note of the confusion evident in that lovely face. She clarifies, “I’m not married. At least not technically.”

Stahma’s expression is full of doubt and hope at the same time. “I don’t understand.” Her voice is soft, apprehensive, and Myka wants so very badly to hug her, to reassure her with a warm embrace.

But she can’t.

She clears her throat (hoping to clear her heart of any emotion as well, at least for the moment – but it is a futile hope, she knows) and explains, “This ring belongs to Helena. And uhm, I decided to wear it to… I don’t know. Maybe to show her, no matter where she is, that I’m hers.” She shrugs, and smiles self-deprecatingly. “I guess it’s a symbol that I’ll wait for her. So I’m not technically married, but metaphorically, I think I’m as married as anyone can get.”

Stahma regards her with eyes that stare deep inside. It is like she is being stripped of all her walls and she does not know if she is ready for that.

She clears her throat again, trying to dispel the unsettling feeling. She meets those eyes, cool and warm at the same time – cool with that Castithan iciness, warm because she knows that deep inside there’s Helena – and she does not really know what to feel anymore.

Myka thrusts the book to the Castithan lady. “Here,” she says, “why don’t you give it a try?”

“Give it a try?” Stahma repeats, baffled by the sudden action.

“Yeah. Read it. It’s one of my favorite books.”

Stahma carefully takes the book. Her eyes scan the cover. “The Time Machine by H.G. Wells,” she reads.

“She wrote it, you know.”

Stahma looks at her. “Pardon?”

“Helena wrote that book.”

“Oh.” The Castithan seems unsure of how to take that. “Are you sure I can…”

“Yes,” Myka smiles. “Read it. Then let me know what you think.”

“If you say so.”

Then they hear some rumblings outside.

“That,” Myka breathes, “must mean they’re back.”

“Who?”

“Pete and the others.”

“Then I shall take my leave,” Stahma says, standing up.

“You can stay,” Myka offers. Why is she offering? This is torture.

Stahma just smiles at her, and it makes Myka gulp, because that smile was the one Helena gives her whenever she says something amusing. “The Chief Lawkeeper and I are not really in the best of terms.”

Myka stills. Oh. Yeah. That issue. She remembers Irisa telling her about Stahma Tarr being the ‘real snake.’

Though really, thinking of this woman in the same line as a cunning, slithering creature manages to lead Myka into plenty of inappropriate thoughts.

She clears her throat. “Okay, then.”

“I’ll see you again, Agent Bering.” That smile turns brighter. “Sooner, I hope.”

And then, as opposed to those times that Myka leaves Stahma speechless, now it is Myka who is speechless as Stahma walks out the precinct’s door.

*

“We… we saw Stahma Tarr… was she just leaving?” Pete asks, without preamble.

Myka nods simply. “Yeah. That’s her.”

“Why was she here? What happened?”

“Well, last time, I did basically tell her to see me whenever, didn’t I?”

“And?”

“And where are Nolan and LaSalle?”

“Stop changing the subject!”

She sighs exasperatedly. “Are you not letting this go?”

“You bet.”

She groans. “Fine.”

She tells him what happened, and by the end he is bouncing like a pup.

“Will you please calm down?”

“I can’t! She visited you!”

“Geez, Pete, I shouldn’t have let you eat so much sugar for breakfast. And drop it, okay? Can’t deal with it right now.” She rubs her temples. “Now, are you telling me where Nolan and LaSalle are?”

“They picked up the roller from Rafe’s, then told me I can take the cruiser for a spin.”

“And you decided to go back here?”

“Hey, it’s not like I can leave you out here alone for long.”

“Sappy.”

“Is that the thanks I’ll get?”

“Whatever. So you gonna sit?”

Pete shakes his head, and holds up a padlock. “Nolan said to lock up.”

“So soon?”

“He’s really more of an in-the-field kinda guy.”

Myka stands up. “Right. So, what’s your plan now?”

Pete grins. “Mayor’s? I need some more Wars lesson.”

She lets out a laugh at his enthusiasm.

*

They wait in front of the Mayor’s office. Apparently, the Earth Republic person is still inside.

“What do you think are they talking about?” Pete asks.

“Politics, most probably,” Myka answers wryly.

“Seriously, Mykes, can’t you be nice for even a minute?”

“I am nice.”

“You’re not.”

Myka is about to retort when the door opens.

“Just think about what I said, Mayor Rosewater,” a male voice says.

Amanda answers humbly, “I will, President Miles.”

The agents’ eyes widen at the word.

“Did she say ‘president?’” Pete whispers, except that it isn’t a whisper at all. Both Amanda and the man look at him in surprise.

And Myka is too caught up staring at the man to elbow her partner or something.

The man, this President Miles, is also staring at her.

She knows those hazel eyes. And that hair – she knows that brown hair even though it is now interspersed with white strands of old age. That prominent nose, those strong jaws…

“Myka Bering,” he says. And he turns to Pete. “Pete Lattimer.” Then his eyes – with that familiar intelligence shining through them, windows of the genius within – return to Myka’s face. And his stare is full of incredulity and shock and hope and happiness.

“It’s you,” he shakes his head, and he smiles. It is familiar. It is different, and yet it is not.

That smile seals it, and a puzzle piece falls into place.

Myka cannot keep herself from smiling, too. And so her lips upturn, because now she’s sure.

That smile can only belong to one other person.

“Joshua Donovan.”

Chapter Text

Pete could have sworn he heard Myka wrong.

But right now, intently staring at it, the president’s face is beginning to be more and more familiar.

Then those hazel eyes not dimmed one bit by old age crinkles on the corners with silent laughter.

And he gets a really good, really strong vibe.

So if he swore that he heard Myka wrong, he’d be off-mark, too.

Okay. That’s it, then.

“Frakkin’ dude,” he says (because seriously, what the effing frakk?), “Is it really you?”

Joshua nods and spreads his arms, as if inviting them to take a look, and that swag reminds Pete of when this old man was a young one. “It is me.”

“And she called you ‘president,’” Pete adds, referring to what he heard Amanda call Joshua earlier.

“She did,” his arms slap down his sides. He shrugs, and the movement is very much like Claudia’s. “I am.”

“You… you’re alive?” Myka shakes her head in wonderment, and blows an unsteady breath, and her gaze never leaves him. “Claudia will be ecstatic.”

Joshua’s breath audibly hitches at the mention of his sister, and his eyes immediately brighten.

“I would like that,” he says, but then a touch of sadness creeps upon him. “But I don’t think meeting her right now would be a good idea.”

Pete knows he mirrors the look of confusion on Myka’s face. “Why not?”

Before Joshua could answer, Amanda holds up both hands. She is staring at them, eyes wide with bewilderment, as she asks, “Am I missing something here?”

The three of them exchange meaningful glances and turn to look at the mayor. They answer in unison, “Yeah.”

Amanda squints at them thoughtfully. After a moment, she cocks her head to her office and says, “Why don’t we all come inside and talk?”

Her tone is heavy with warning, so they do not have to be told twice.

Myka’s head is pounding hard. This situation is just so weird.

To say that 37 years had passed and you haven’t aged one bit is one thing.

To see a man biologically younger than you are looking so much older than you do is another.

She thought nothing else could take her by surprise after waking up in an alien-filled world.

She has never been so wrong.

Seeing Claudia’s older brother again, alive and in one piece, is something that she had never thought to consider. And boy, this is a surprise of gigantic proportions.

Her nerves are all over the place and so as soon as they are all locked safely within Amanda’s office, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “How are you alive?” (Because seriously, how?)

Joshua’s brows shoot up, and she realizes how the question might have sounded. She amends, “Sorry, it’s just that I didn’t… I thought… we all thought you were… gone.” She can’t quite bring herself to say ‘dead.’

He chuckles, and he looks so much younger as he does. “Yeah. I figured.” He takes a seat and waves a hand for them to follow. Which is kinda weird, since this office is not his. But they do anyway.

Once they are seated, he says, without preamble, “H.G. sent me to a bunker in New York.”

At the mention of that name, all air swooshes out of Myka’s lungs.

“Woah, bro, back up,” she hears Pete say. “H.G. sent you? How? When? Why?”

“I-”

“Wait,” Amanda says. Her forehead is scrunched up in a frown and she looks exasperated. “Can we slow down for a bit? It’s like you are all speaking in a completely different language here.”

Myka manages to smile at that. She figures Amanda is going to need answers as much as she herself does.

She and the Mayor have that in common – the need to make sense of things in an unpredictable world.

So she looks at Joshua (it really is weird to see him like this, old and dressed like a Mafia boss from the 1920’s) and tilts her head for him to address the Mayor’s question.

Joshua understands the silent signal, and his hazel eyes meet Amanda’s blue ones. “What do you want to know, Mayor?”

Amanda does not back away from his gaze, and Myka cannot help grinning at her determination. The woman really does know how to stand up for something, even if it means facing the man who leads the republic which has been intently monitoring her town.

Huh. That story is one she herself would like to hear. What the heck happened for Joshua to end up being a president of a frakking republic?

He’s been hoping that he would live long enough to see them again.

He’s been hoping to see these agents inhabiting this new world.

He’s been hoping for this day since he was sent to an underground bunker 37 years ago.

And now his hope is being fulfilled.

Here, in front of him, decidedly alive and breathing, are Myka Bering and Pete Lattimer, agents of Warehouse 13, looking no older, no different, than they did in 2013.

Myka’s eyes are as green as ever, and Pete’s countenance is as lively as it was before.

He feels his heart twist with nostalgia, because he’s glad that at least some things did not change.

And then when Myka says her sister’s name, his heart leaps with wild joy.

He would love to see her – his sweet, darling, brilliant sister – right this minute, right this second, to envelop her in a great embrace, and to feel her warm and alive and well.

Because even though he knew she’s safe all those years, there’s still that brotherly worry that never quite went away, tugging at him and making him want to go to South Dakota just to be sure that she’s alright. The only thing that kept him from following through that impulse was the fact that he does not know how to access the Warehouse’s secret entrance.

So, now that he knows they are in this town, that she is in this town, he could just barely keep himself from bolting through that door and hunting her down.

Barely, but he tamps down the urge nonetheless.

For no matter how overwhelming the urge to see his sister is, he still needs to settle some complicated things. Because now he’s not just Joshua Donovan, a researcher and scientist mentored by Artie Nielsen and sent to work in CERN. He’s not the lad he used to be, not the idealistic boy who risked his life to attempt teleportation.

No, 37 years in a world of extraterrestrial beings and wars and politics had certainly changed him.

He needs to finish his business before he can change back, revert to his old self, if that were possible.

He needs to make sure that this world is safe for his sister to live in.

He is about to tell them that, but before he could, Mayor Rosewater speaks up, obviously confused. And he couldn’t blame her, not really. Because this situation would most certainly look confusing to anyone not them.

*

He knows he’s going to be repeatedly interrupted, so when Myka silently signals for him to address Defiance’s mayor first to avoid such, he obliges.

Her first question is expected. “How do you all know each other?”

Her follow-up, less so. “I mean, were you a Warehouse agent once?”

He hikes up a brow in question and asks the agents, “You told her about the Warehouse?”

They nod. Myka says, “We needed them.”

He tenses. Them? He hopes they don’t mean those under the Republic’s watch (yes, under the Republic’s watch, even if Defiance technically owns jurisdiction). “Who are the others?”

They note the change in his demeanor, and Pete hastens to assure him, “Just the Mayor, Sheriff Nolan, Irisa, and McCawley.”

He releases a breath he did not know he was holding.

It’s a good thing that the chosen ones are all of exemplary character. (He knows this because of some reconnaissance details he sends to Defiance regularly.)

But… “Artie approved of four?” It sounds implausible. Artie is an extremist when it comes to the Warehouse’s incognito operations.

“He didn’t really have a choice. And if it makes any difference, I got no bad vibes from them.”

He nods. He’s a little confused with how Artie didn’t have a choice, but so long as Pete tags the four with good vibes, that’s good enough for him. At least for now – he looks forward to exchanging stories with them when all is settled.

“Alright,” he looks at the Mayor, who is carefully observing their group, “To answer your second question, no, I wasn’t an agent. I never was. As to your first, how I came to know them, and how I became associated with the Warehouse, well,” he smiles, “I was once taught by Artie Nielsen, and I am also Claudia Donovan’s older brother.

“And as you might have heard, my real name is Joshua Donovan.”

Mayor Rosewater nods. “Why did you change your name?”

He laughs dryly. “I had to. It’s the only way I knew how to leave the past and forge a future.” He turns to Pete and Myka, who are both looking at him intently. “Joshua Donovan was a researcher and scientist, and he wouldn’t survive in a world plagued with mutants and aliens and disputes. But Nelson Miles can.”

Pete cannot help sputtering out a laugh. “You chose to rename yourself Nelson Miles? The war general? Seriously?”

He grins. “What? He’s a bad-ass who fought in three wars and survived.”

“He was a store clerk.”

“And if a store clerk could do it, so can I.”

Myka chuckles at them. “I can’t believe you’re arguing over a name, of all things. And Pete, how did you know about General Miles? I thought you hate history lessons.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t get them. And I was Marines, remember? We get tidbits sometimes.” He smirks at Joshua. “And then? What happened after, Nelson?”

Joshua rolls his eyes, much like he did 37 years ago when exasperated with Claudia. “I began as part of the diplomacy division, facilitating negotiations with the Votans. But then, by 2023, well…”

Myka finishes his sentence, “The Pale Wars started.” He is surprised that she knows, and it must have shown, because she explains, “Amanda told us all about it.”

He hums, accepting the explanation. “Yeah. That. It went on for years, and I fought in it at times.” He shrugs at their incredulous looks, and he teases, “I had to honor my namesake.”

“You’re lucky you survived,” Pete says, and he agrees.

“I was. I even lived through the Arkfall in 2030, and I was named president in 2031, when I also signed the armistice to end the Pale Wars. I’ve been holding the post since.

“And it all wouldn’t have happened if H.G. didn’t prepare a safe place for me.”

“The bunker,” Myka says.

“Yeah. I saw a piece of paper on my journal in 2013, and scrawled on it were numbers. I realized they were coordinates, in New York City. I went there, and discovered a trail leading to an underground bunker.” He smiles. “It was pretty cozy, too, if I say so myself. And certainly well stocked. There were also papers all over the place, filled with measurements and calculations.

“But the thing is, they were in a whole other language. So I couldn’t make much sense of them at first. Only later did I realize that they were written in Kastithanu.”

Myka mutters, “Why does it always have to be Castithan?”

Joshua’s smile turns somber, for he understands the meaning behind Myka’s words. “You saw her already, didn’t you?”

There is no mistaking to whom he’s pertaining. “Yes. Several times, actually.”

“I was shocked when I saw her. Really shocked.”

“Who wasn’t?” Pete pipes.

“True,” he concedes. “And I think I was led here in Defiance to see her.”

Amanda warily gazes at him, and he feels so, so, sorry for worrying this woman too much. He thinks today he might begin to rectify that. “Look, I have no wish to take over your town. I never have. I was just driven here by a purpose, and that is to understand the message an old friend left me.

“Those calculations I saw maps out the exact places where the Arkfall would hit the hardest, and also those places where it would be safe for humans to live. There were also directions leading to St. Louis. And another coordinate, which I learned is the Gateway Arch’s. There’s something important in there, I’m sure of it. Otherwise, H.G. wouldn’t have repeatedly written it on almost a dozen post-its scattered all around. And I need to know what it is.

“It’s just that on the way to doing that, I also uncovered some fascinating things about a member of your Council.”

Amanda sighs. “Datak.”

“Yes,” he catches Myka’s eyes. “And the fact that he’s spouse to the Castithan form of my old friend makes him even more interesting.

“I learned that Tarr is not a very bright fellow, more brawn than brain, if you will. But he managed to worm his way to the top of the social ladder, by the cunning of…”

“White-H.G.,” Pete supplies. He shrugs, “Claude coined the name. That’s what we’ve been calling Lady Tarr when we talk about her.”

“White-H.G. it is.” Joshua smirks, and he understands the need for a code name. “Yes. And she definitely possesses H.G.’s natural intelligence. I knew from the moment I saw her that she’s a crucial piece to this puzzle. There’s a reason White-H.G.’s the way she is, a Castithan woman.”

“Is she why you kept sending spies here?” Amanda asks him bluntly.

He winces. “Yes, and I’m really sorry for that. I was desperate.”

“What did you two talk about earlier, anyway?” Pete can’t resist asking.

“More spying missions.” Amanda answers, and there is a slight annoyance in her voice.

Joshua sighs. “It was a security measure.” How many times does he have to make this point?

“You were suggesting to spy on Datak Tarr. I can’t spy on a member of my own council.”

“He is a threat, and he’s been smuggling firearms for months now. He’s managing a criminal cartel,” he reasons. “And he’s on Earth Republic’s watch list.”

“On Earth Republic’s, not Defiance’s. And I hold executive power here, which means I do not have to listen to that.”

“We’ve been working on the negotiations, haven’t we?”

“We don’t operate on the same way that you do. And why are you the one in the meeting anyway?”

Joshua rubs his temples. “My business in this town is not really directly connected to the Earth Republic. It’s personal, as the presence of the Warehouse can attest, which is why I chose to sneak in here – nobody knows about it. And I can only secure an immediate meeting with you under the guise of an Earth Republic representative.

“Now that we’re laying things out in the open, might as well say it: I don’t plan on seizing power, just as I told you before. I just need access to some of your people.”

“And what would the people say if they find out?”

“They won’t. And I’d be more concerned about myself if I were you. Next thing you’d know he’s going to topple your rule.”

“Dude,” Pete drawls, amused by this side of Joshua Donovan, “you’re speaking like a real politico.”

“Sorry,” Joshua murmurs, abashed, “I mean, I was one. I am. Have been. For a long time.”

“Claude would certainly find this funny. I do.”

“Right, thanks.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “We’re getting off-topic here.” He turns to look at Myka, who has been quiet for a while.

He sees a familiar look in her eyes, one when she’s connecting pieces of a particularly tricky problem.

That look makes his heart thump in anticipation.

“The Arch,” Myka breathes, meeting his gaze. “It really is the Arch.”

He frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for starters, the Warehouse is underneath the Arch right now, right underground, so yeah, there’s definitely something important there now. A lot of somethings, actually,” Myka lets out in one breath. She adds, “And also, Helena seems to want us there.”

Joshua’s brows furrow. “What?” That doesn’t make any sense. The Warehouse? Transferred here?

Undetected?

The question must have been visibly swirling in his eyes, for the next minutes are filled with Myka telling him about the Farnsworth message and how they concluded that they’re supposed to go the Arch and relocate.

“Brilliant,” he says when she finishes, and his eyes are twinkling the same way Claudia’s do when she figures something out. “H.G.’s absolutely brilliant.”

“Why?” Pete asks. He catches the look Myka is giving him, with an eyebrow raised and lips curled, and he tries again, fumbling with his words, “I mean, we all know she’s brilliant, that’s basically a given, but what exactly did she do this time?”

“That 598M gigahertz…” Joshua begins, voice filled with a scientist’s excitement on unraveling a mystery, and it is in moments like this one that his and Claudia’s resemblance is most visible. “…that’s the number I need to restore the Earth’s electromagnetic field and counteract the terraformer technology.”

Myka is not sure if Joshua is serious or not.

Okay, maybe the way he’s grinning like a researcher on the verge of the next great discovery is proof that he is.

But is what he said even possible? As far as she knows, the Arkfall’s effects on the Earth are pretty much irreversible. Those terraformers did too good a job on changing everything.

And so she asks, “Restore it? To the way it was?” Her tone is skeptical, and she’s aware of it.

Joshua just beams at her. “Yes.”

“How do you think you could do that?”

“I need to talk to my sister sooner than I expected.”

Chapter Text

(Society usually thinks lowly of the ladies of the night, underestimating them and regarding them as harmless and gullible and foolish simply because of their line of work.

That, Kenya thinks, is its gravest mistake.

By not recognizing them as actual, living individuals, society provided them with the perfect cloak with which they can hear and see without being heard and seen in return.

It is a splendid way to acquire secrets and information, and use those to their gain.

In a world as cruel and unforgiving as this one, that is an extremely advantageous skill indeed.

And it is with this very skill that Kenya sees a strange story unfold.)

*

She adores Stahma Tarr.

She wouldn’t go as far as saying she loves the woman – because she can never allow herself to feel that, especially for someone married to a very dangerous person who could make her disappear from the face of the earth – but she definitely feels something for her.

And that something, whatever it is, scares her more than anything.

Emotional entanglements – no matter how seemingly shallow – can make everything potentially disastrous and way more complicated, and heavens know she’s got enough complications in her life already.

She wants things simple, and so she makes herself content with the small talks and the smiles and the sex. Oh, gods, the sex. Kenya has certainly been experienced in that department – it is a job requirement, after all – but she can honestly say that Stahma kind of gives her a run for her money (which is pretty ironic, since it is Stahma who actually pays her for her services). At first she was inclined to think it was just a Votan thing (she is Castithan, after all, and Castithans are known for their… liberal culture), but she’s been with enough of them to know that it’s not true. Everything that happens between them in bed – well, that’s purely Stahma Tarr.

And the truth is, Kenya definitely enjoys every minute of it. And if she could be entirely honest, she’d say that she savors the knowledge that nowadays, only she could have her way with the beautiful Castithan. She revels in the secret power she’s given, because she knows that not even Stahma’s brute of a husband can lay claim to the woman in ways that she regularly does.

It is a hypnotic kind of power.

One that she wants enough to hold on to.

And Kenya can be very protective of what she wants.

*

From the moment she first saw the green-eyed agent, Kenya knew that she’ll be a complication.

She just didn’t know how much of a complication she’d be.

*

Kenya first saw her in the town meeting.

She was with three other newcomers, and Amanda introduced them as additional lawkeepers, to aid Nolan with his job (not that he’s been doing so great at it, but Kenya supposes that’s the point of the additional personnel).

Kenya was initially intent on not paying that much attention on whatever her sister was announcing that time (she loves her, she really does, but these town stuff with the entire politicking are really not her forte, so), but then, she happened to notice Stahma Tarr’s (okay, not so much as happened to – she’d been stealing glances at the Castithan for quite a while) reaction when Amanda introduced the brunette agent.

Stahma’s eyes at that moment…

Her normally icy blues lost their sharp edge – they became soft and warm and… loving.

Those are three words that Kenya had never before associated with Stahma Tarr.

And she never really thought that she would ever do.

So, yes, she was compelled to take notice.

(She was compelled to take notice because that gaze that Stahma directed at the agent – it transformed her wholly and Kenya’s breath caught somewhere in her throat because Stahma’s face was just so beautiful and radiant and ethereal.)

It was the first time that Kenya saw Stahma Tarr look so very much alive.

(And it brought a mild pain in her chest, for admittedly, Stahma never looked that way even after the most pleasurable of their trysts.)

And so (naturally) she turned her gaze to the person who incited such a reaction from one of the coldest people she knew, with hardly a single touch.

Myka Bering, she heard her name is.

Her curly hair frames a fair face, and really, her greatest asset (as far as Kenya is concerned) would be those intense forest green eyes – they seem to directly reflect sunlight, making them shine like the moon on a clear summer night.

And Kenya knows she shouldn’t have been so generous in her description of the lady-agent.

But it’s true.

Her eyes could drown any man – or woman, as case might be.

Kenya again stole a glance at the woman in question. (Her woman, but she’s not an idiot and she knows that she doesn’t really have any actual claim on her… and really, since when did she even claim anyone? Claiming requires emotional bonds, and that’s something that she tends to avoid at all costs.) Stahma still had that look in her eyes, but it was obvious that she’s tamping it down, suppressing it, and this fact made Kenya release a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

This fact was a sign that at least Stahma knew that whatever she shares with Myka Bering would, at best, be fruitless. (Because going against her husband would result to death, as was said to her weeks ago. And Stahma is much too careful a lady to risk her life.)

And so when the two’s gazes meet, Kenya considered the look shared as harmless. Just a passing glance, no more, no less.

No more, no less.

*

It was harmless.

At least that’s what Kenya kept telling herself.

But even she is not entirely clueless when it comes to matters of the heart.

*

Kenya let the first time pass, thinking (on the surface of her mind, at least) that it was just a harmless meeting. She's not so sure on the second one.

The second one happened in her brothel, of all places.

*

Kenya was watching Stahma from a dark corner of the NeedWant (a habit she would never admit to falling into, ever), just beside the bar. The Castithan was calmly drinking her tea, her eyes frosted with their usual ice. But then Kenya noticed (of course she did) the exact moment when Stahma’s defenses dropped without warning and that soft-warm-and-loving gaze again made an appearance.

She felt it first, rather than saw – the cause of the evident change in the lady’s demeanor.

Kenya watched as Myka and Pete (another one of those agents Amanda employed, and she’s not sure but the man reminds her of some kind of puppy) intently walked to where Stahma was sitting, and really, she could almost touch the bolt of electricity that seemed to pass between blues and greens.

The intensity of their shared gazes was just so overflowing with unspoken words and Kenya shuddered to think of how much more powerful the… bond between the two would be if the words become declared.

And it was all too much, and Kenya’s breathing became quick and heavy and she didn’t know why, and so as soon as the two agents took their seats beside Stahma Tarr, she averted her gaze. She downed half a bottle of brandy and savored the burn the liquid trailed inside her as she stumbled away.

*

She doesn’t really know why the idea of Stahma Tarr and Myka Bering together, in any capacity, affects her so.

Okay, maybe she does, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it. She could barely admit it as it is.

(But then there are whispers at the back of her mind that tells her just what it is she is feeling.

Jealousy.)

*

This, whatever she’s feeling (jealousy, her mind supplies, but she ignores it – and she mostly succeeds), reached its peak when Stahma Tarr broke up with her.

Which was ridiculous, and darn nigh impossible, because they had never been together-together in the first place.

 But really, how else can she refer to the last conversation she had with the Castithan?

Termination of contract? Parting of ways?

‘Breaking up’ was really the only way to call it.

(At least in Kenya’s mind. But who’s asking?)

*

(She still remembers how that happened.

Of course she does.)

It happened (almost) right after she left the scene, that day in the NeedWant.

Kenya had been holed up in one of the upstairs rooms, the one where she and Stahma always meet up. She was reclining on the bed, her minds wandering off to far-off places.

(Or maybe not so far-off, seeing that the subject of said wandering was dining downstairs.)

She might have lost track of time, and she might have fallen asleep for a bit, for the next thing she knew, a familiar figure was looking at her from the foot of the bed. She dug at her eyes with the heel of her hands, hoping to expel the grogginess in her brain.

But then the figure – Stahma Tarr – let out words that cleared her mind faster than anything she could think of right then.

“We have to talk.”

Those four little words, spoken with far more seriousness than she’s accustomed to, sent shivers down Kenya’s spine.

And these shivers were so unlike the others also inspired by this woman.

No, these shivers were not inspired by pleasure and wanting and desire.

These shivers… they were because of dread.

Clearing her throat, Kenya tried her best to appear nonchalant as she sits up and tilts her head at Stahma, who was leaning against the closed doors with her arms across her torso. The glint in those icy eyes was almost wistful, apologetic.

It made Kenya all the more guarded.

“Do we?” she asked, and she winced at how her voice trembles.

Stahma just nodded, and she made no move to close the distance between them, and Kenya acutely felt all kinds of cold, down to her bones.

Rubbing her arms in a nervous gesture, she said, “So talk.” She pointedly avoided meeting Stahma’s eyes, but honestly, they seemed to have their own gravitational field and Kenya could not hold herself responsible when she finally succumbed to their power.

And Stahma did talk, but the words coated Kenya in all the wrong ways. “This has to stop.”

Kenya quickly stood up, spine straight as a rod, and her brows were drawn up in a frown. She asked, and it was really more of a stalling-for-time thing instead of an I-don’t-understand thing, “What has to?”

Then it was Stahma who sighed at her, like she knew what Kenya was doing (and with the way her eyes shone more with that wistfulness, Kenya’s got to say that that must have been the case), and said, “This arrangement we have, the sleeping together, all of it… this arrangement has to stop.”

Kenya gulped hard, hard enough for it to be audible, and she didn’t care if it was proper or not, gulping like that in public (and no matter how much she wished it to be untrue, her time with Stahma Tarr would now be restricted to public settings). And she had to ask, she just had to, “Why?” though deep down she knew the answer and she was trying her damnedest to ignore it, hoping for another answer, one that wouldn’t hurt quite so badly.

Stahma just shook her head, and murmured something that sounded like, “Just trust that it’s not you who did wrong here,” though with the way her blood was ringing in her ears Kenya couldn’t be sure, and she had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep the bitter laugh bubbling in her chest, just in case she heard right.

“So it’s just not humans who had the tendency for the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ route,” she said, and if it were any other occasion, she would have giggled at the realization. Votans and humans apparently give the same lame-ass excuses.

Stahma’s brows furrow adorably, and damn it, Kenya should not really find her adorable at all in any circumstance, but then, Kenya rarely did what’s she’s supposed to do. (Just ask Amanda.)

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, and instead of explaining herself she just told the Castithan, “I understand.”

But she didn’t.

Stahma didn’t have to know that, however, and so when she opened her mouth to say stuff like ‘are you sure’ or some other, Kenya just cut her off with a simple “It’s been a pleasure.”

It seemed to be the right thing to say, for then Stahma walked up to her, tucked some folded scrip in her hand, pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her cheek, and left the room.

*

Kenya touched a finger to the area where her favorite pair of lips pressed its last kiss. Or at least, its last kiss intended for her.

See?

It was a break-up.

But the good thing is she’s got money out of it. That’s better than most break-ups go, as far as she knows.

She straightened out the scrip and filed them away on a notebook hidden in one of her dressers.

She forgot that not even a ‘goodbye’ was actually uttered by either of them.

She did forget.

But whatever.

It was a goodbye. It was more final than any other goodbyes.

No words were really necessary, in their case.

*

Jealous people almost always do things that they shouldn’t.

Rattle the snake’s nest, for example.

(Not that Kenya would do that.

Or rather: not that Kenya would ever admit to doing that.)

Datak Tarr is looking over the fighting ring, watching the players hit and kick each other and trail blood all over the dirt floor, when he catches a glimpse of long dark hair amongst the crowd. He cocks his head and squints his eyes, thinking it was just a trick of his mind, but no, she’s still there.

Fascinating. What is Kenya Rosewater doing here?

Standing up, he murmurs instructions to one of his men regarding the game, and he walks over to the younger Rosewater, who, upon seeing him making his way, turns around to head out.

When Datak finally catches up to the woman, they are already a block away from the NeedWant.

He watches as Kenya stops in her tracks and turns to face him, head held high and her eyes dark with intent.

Datak asks, “What were you doing there, Kenya?”

She smiles. “I came to see you.”

“Why is that?” It doesn’t make sense. This girl has been avoiding him for weeks now, and has downright refused his company in her brothel. And now she is seeking him out?

The question must have been visibly swirling in his eyes, for Kenya smirks. But what she says in response takes him by surprise. “I actually wanted to see if you’re doing well.”

He tilts his head confusedly. “Why would I not be?”

She shrugs. “I believe it would be difficult for men to endure not having sexual release for weeks at a time.”

At that he stiffens, his eyes wide with shock.

Not because the words are not true, but because they are.

It has been a while since Datak had last been pleasured. Stahma has been distant for some time now, and Datak does not want to put the effort into seducing his own wife into his bed; it is an insult to his masculinity, being the one to do the seduction. Castithan men do not do that.

But it is something that he never talked about to anyone.

So how in hell did this human know about it?

Bewildered, he asks her exactly that.

Kenya scoffs at him, as if the answer should be obvious by now.

But it isn’t.

And that response is not something tolerated by Castithan men, and this human girl better learn it fast.

Datak is standing in Kenya’s personal space in a matter of seconds, glaring down at her dangerously.

But she does not look fazed, not even a little bit.

And it irritates Datak more, like an itch he cannot scratch.

(Not even McCawley managed to upset him this much. And that is saying something, given that his rivalry with the man is based on power and influence. But this? This Datak cannot fathom.

It really infuriates him, the way females of any species manage to completely wind him up. Without even really trying, it seems.)

And so he says with a voice menacingly low, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The girl actually smirks at him. “It’s evident, isn’t it? How could you experience release if you don’t do it with me, or with any of my girls?” She shrugs again. “Or even your wife.”

She steps back, and her eyes are dark like coals. “It must be hard that you cannot keep her tethered to your side. And that pleasure is not even found with you that it had become necessary to seek it from others.”

With that she leaves him, dumb-founded, his insides churning with unpleasant realizations.

Because what she said – implied – actually explains a lot.

And anger, hot and urgent, spikes through him.

No one messes with Datak Tarr.

Chapter Text

Claudia is in the greatest mood she had been in days. (Or maybe years, if you count the time spent in Hypersleep… or not, since she couldn’t really be in a mood while Hypersleeping, so, whatever.) Her lips are stretched in a lazy grin, and she can just feel giddiness and excitement pumping through her veins.

She, Irisa, and Steve are taking a leisurely walk through the town plaza after spending the rest of their morning, and most of their afternoon, in the mines with the Spirit Riders. The Irathients had been extremely welcoming, if a little boisterous, but overall, she’s glad to make their acquaintance. They have this huge-family thing going on, something to which Claudia can relate, as it is the same case with her and the Warehouse agents. So maybe that’s why she also felt an odd sort of kinship with them (which is so not a bad thing).

Being allowed to tinker with their oh-so-lovely motorbikes was just the very sweet icing to the cake.

Yep, very sweet icing indeed.

*

Aside from the 1971 Electra Glide, Claudia had the honor of working on an FLSHRSEI Screaming Eagle Road King 2003. And a 2008 FLHRC Road King Classic, a fact which should be impressive on its own. But it was also, well, a product of HD’s 105^th anniversary. Which just made it all the more awesome. So seriously, there’s no wonder why Claudia felt like she’s been in Santa’s ‘nice’ list – she’s just so ecstatic. She didn’t even notice the fact that her every move was watched by more than a dozen pairs of eyes. Votan eyes. (Okay, yeah, she did notice, but she was too in the zone to mind.)

So she just did what she does best and fiddled the hell out of those cool machines – updating the throttle-control, upping the power, even increasing fuel capacity. (She learned that the new fuel used is called gulanite, and the material, like most new things in this world, has Votanis origins. Whatever.)

She was so into her work that she felt almost inebriated by it.

This feeling was strengthened when Sukar offered her – her! – a motorbike of her own. A motorbike of her own.  And a Ducati at that. A frakking Ducati. And it’s Radical Ducati Vendetta. Geez. This had been in her wish list since forever. (Okay, since it was released in 2011. But still. That is forever.)

Vendetta’s got a very angst-y, very edgy design – it’s just so bold and sinister it shouldn’t be legal. Like, at all. It’s got all those sharpness that really cuts. And well, this might be weird and inappropriate, but the mere sight of the Vendetta was Claudia’s… jam. (Wow. That’s awkward.)

So, needless to say, Claudia was everything short of drooling when Sukar told her she could have the Vendetta as a payment for the work she’s done on the other bikes. And if she did drool, she didn’t care.

She’s got a Vendetta. (Yeah, that’s never gonna get old.)

Granted, she couldn’t very well just drive it to the Warehouse, but Sukar told her that they could look after it in their place for now. Claudia agreed.

She’s too happy she would have agreed with anything.

(Which was how Steve finally managed to drag her away and bid goodbye to the Spirit Riders before she could even consider a test drive, while Irisa looked on with that smug little smirk of hers.)

*

“Those motorbike-friends of yours are really cool,” Claudia can’t help saying, her eyes glowing bright as she steals a peek at Irisa, who simply shrugs at the statement.

“I guess they are.”

“You’re just saying that because you have a new ride,” teases Steve.

Claudia sticks out her tongue at him. “And you’re just jealous ‘cause you didn’t.”

“Me? Never. And I wouldn’t ever ride those things anyway.”

Claudia bumps him on the shoulder. “Too macho for your tastes?”

He huffs. “See, that’s a low blow. You’re so sexist, just like other females your age.”

“You do realize the irony in that statement, don’t you?”

“I actually do.”

Claudia grins. “You really don’t like motorbikes, do you?” She somehow finds this hilarious.

“I don’t. I think any vehicle with only two wheels should not be called a vehicle. That’s not to say that skateboards are vehicles, though, even if they do have four wheels.”

“What is with you and cool stuff?”

“‘Cool’? Try ‘dangerous’.”

“That depends on the rider,” Claudia defends.

“Yeah, well, when you ride that thing you might as well be screaming ‘Hey! This ride of mine can make all of you scream our safe word!’ while holding a whip and with Rihanna’s S&M playing loudly on the background,” he says with a straight face.

Claudia’s face, however, is almost as red as her hair, which is saying a lot. “Steve!” she squeaks, indignant, and rightfully scandalized.

Irisa, who has been walking a couple of paces ahead, looks at them over her shoulder with a curious expression.

Steve merely shrugs unapologetically, and proceeds to scan the stalls around them for anything fascinating.

Irisa waits for Claudia to fall in step with her. When she does, the Irath asks, “What was that about?”

Claudia, still not quite believing Steve actually said those words aloud, only manages a weak, “You’re better off not knowing.”

“If you say so.”

“Uh-huh, I do,” Claudia answers, while glaring daggers at the back of Steve’s head. He can probably feel it because of his new aura powers, but she does not care.

And apparently, he does not, too, for his next words are for Irisa.

“Your Irath friends are totally intense,” he remarks almost absently, while curiously observing the merchandise, one kind or another, sold all around. “Especially that Rynn girl.”

“‘Intense’?” Irisa snorts, clearly amused. “That’s like saying saberwolves are cute, fluffy animals.”

The words intrigue Claudia, enough for her to forget Steve’s for now. She raises a brow in question, not because she doubts the assessment, but because she’s been thinking of something along those lines earlier, too. And she certainly didn’t expect Irisa to put it that way (which is better than anything she can think of right now). So she asks, “What, you two have some beef on each other?”

Irisa answers, “Let’s just say that Rynn and I are not exactly on the best of terms.” She smirks. “And let’s leave it at that.”

“Okay,” Claudia drawls as she exchanges a glance with Steve, but she complies and does not say anything else on the matter. Steve is right, anyways: Rynn is all kinds of intense. Even her eyes have that ferocious glow that Claudia always associates with wild cats, and the Votan certainly has the feral kind of grace to go along with it.

But the same can be said for Irisa, too. Maybe it’s an Irathient thing. You know, being all grace and wildness and that (dreadful) certainty that they can kill you if they just feel so inclined (or if you irritate them more that you should).

So, yeah, Claudia leaves it at that, because she doesn’t want to take chances. At least not now.

They continue to walk on, with Claudia and Steve asking about the weird products in the marketplace (‘What meat is that?’; ‘Those are freaky-looking gears.’ ‘Are those meteorites?’), and Irisa answering them and offering comments of her own (‘Otter meat.’; ‘For the hailers.’; ‘They are from razor rain debris.’; ‘Some of those are worth a couple hundred thousand scrip.’). The two agents learn more than a few interesting new facts, and as the afternoon wears on to evening, they gain a fresher perspective on how this town works. They can name at least 20 of the market vendors, and have even managed to coerce a few of them into giving them free samples of their goods (which is really more of Irisa’s fault, with that weirdly persuasive glare, but Claudia’s certainly not complaining – she could definitely use her newly acquired razor rain stuff in some future project yet to be brainstormed).

There is really no destination in mind, but before they know it they are in the precinct, and a blanket of stars has appeared in the sky. Realizing that the precinct is closed, and coming to the conclusion that the others must have clocked out earlier than expected (to be frank, Claudia wants to ask if they even actually do any work), they decide to pick the lock.

Or more accurately, Irisa decides to pick the lock. This is after they (okay, Claudia) decide that they (Steve) want to return to the Warehouse in time for dinner.

So, yeah, that’s how they find themselves (Irisa) breaking into the precinct.

Which, really, should not be considered a criminal act, since Irisa is a deputy Lawkeeper. And Claudia and Steve are, as far as the people of Defiance are concerned, technically lawkeepers too.

After successfully opening the door, Irisa looks at the two. “Go on inside,” she says, gesturing with an arm.

Steve does, but before Claudia could do the same, she asks the Irath, “What, you won’t come with us to the Warehouse?”

Irisa shakes her head.

“Why not?” Claudia frowns.

“Something tells me you’re not going to need me tonight,” is the cryptic answer. She pushes Claudia that one last inch into the threshold, and without another word shuts the door.

Claudia is left to blink at the closed door. From behind her Steve asks, “What does that mean?”

She turns to look at him, brows still furrowed in confusion. “Beats me.” Shrugging she says, “Let’s figure that out later. Come on.”

They walk down the secret passage to the Warehouse (down, because, well, it is underground – a fact that never fails to make Claudia beam with pride because they dug this), momentarily forgetting Irisa’s parting words in favor of engaging in playful banter.

Once they enter the Umbilicus (now streamlined with laser beams instead of bombs – H.G.’s idea, unsurprisingly), Steve comments, “You know, I’m really thankful you did not change the color here.”

Claudia’s brows shoot up. “You like this white? This is too stark.”

“It’s better than your plan to make it purple.”

“Oh, please,” Claudia says as she punches the code into the machine when they reach the door in a blur of fingers. She enters the room first. “Purple is so-”

That sentence will not see the light of day, because the scene before her stops Claudia in her tracks, mouth hanging open in an ‘o’ of incredulity.

She hardly even registers Steve bumping into her when she abruptly stops.

Well, hardly anything registers into her brain, at all, in that moment.

Except one.

“Frakk.”

Artie thinks he’s hallucinating.

There is just no way.

Is there?

Or wait… maybe there is… This is the Warehouse after all…

But no. Even his visions of James were never this clear.

His visions of James were never this vibrant or lively or simply… alive.

His eyes can’t be deceiving him; despite any evidence to the contrary, he’s not that old. And he can still make out details and match them to those from his memory, and the smile he’s seeing right now in front of him certainly matches the one he remembers from 37 years ago.

Which means, yes, this is real.

(And he really should have reached that conclusion much earlier, what with the presence of Pete and Myka to verify it, but he cannot be faulted for making sure, right?)

So, with all the facts piling up, yes, he has reached a conclusion.

“Joshua?”

The man, almost as old as himself (not that he’s old… well, he is, but not old-old… ugh, now’s not the time to be fixated with age), gives a little wave, and it so very like Claudia’s, that really, any doubt in Artie’s heart is erased.

This man is Claudia’s brother.

He’s still not sure how this came to be, but well.

He’s here.

The kid will be thrilled.

Myka waits for the reaction.

She, Pete, and Joshua have just finished recounting the details to Artie, who miraculously just sat and listened patiently and did not offer even a single sardonic remark.

Well, until now.

“So, H.G. saved you, you became president, and now you’d reset the Arkfall’s damage with Claudia’s help,” Artie deadpans, head tilted down in a posture of exasperated disbelief, eyes trained on this future version of Joshua Donovan.

Still, it’s a new record (30 minutes free of sarcasm!), and Myka’s actually proud of him for it. Honestly, she hadn’t been sure if they can make it through the explanations without Artie exploding into a gazillion furious, curious pieces. But facing someone like Joshua become so close to his own age must have sobered him up a bit. Well, no matter the reason, she’s thankful of it.

But there can only be too many miracles in one day.

Apparently realizing the same, Joshua – Nelson Miles – grimaces, and he rubs at the back of his neck bashfully. “I admit it sounds kinda stupid when you say it like that.”

“Yes, it does.”

Myka says, “But it’s the truth.”

“Did Steve verify that?”

“He doesn’t have to.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Myka merely raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘Really?’

Artie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off an oncoming headache. Myka can tell that it doesn’t help much.

He gruffly asks, “Where are they, anyway? They’re supposed to be here hours ago.”

“Maybe they just lost track of time. That’s usual with Claude,” Pete answers. “They’re possibly on their way here now.”

“Uh-huh. And how do you suppose we explain to them – to her – all this?” He stares at Joshua again, who seems ready to crawl out of his skin.

Myka takes pity on the man. “How about we tell her the truth?” she says. “Lying never goes anywhere with Claude, except to her bad side, which none of us would want to encounter. So I say we tell her what we just told you.”

“But we barely can even make sense of all these puzzle pieces. And now we’re bringing in the youngsters to this?”

Myka thinks Artie’s being overly dramatic, because they all know that Claudia is not someone who can be treated as a youngster, not really. And she knows that Artie thinks it too.

This is more of a misplaced parental concern thing than anything else. So Myka tells him, “Helena, who orchestrated all of this in the first place, trusted her with many of her inventions. That means she could also be trusted with this. And don’t we trust Claudia with our own lives already? She’s the Warehouse Caretaker, for goodness’ sake. She can handle this.

“And I wouldn’t worry too much about not being able to make sense of it, because if there is one thing I know, it’s that we eventually will solve this puzzle. That’s what we do.”

The four of them are so intent on their conversation that they do not immediately notice that the two agents they are waiting for have already joined them.

And one in particular is having a very hard time processing the scene.

Claudia never believed in ghosts.

Even when she was a child, and thus supposedly more susceptible to believing supernatural occurrences, she never did believe that dead people could manifest themselves to the living. Nor did she believe that vampires exist, or that BBC could go a month without breaking anyone’s heart (okay, totally not connected, but she’s not exactly thinking straight right now).

She may have lived in a Warehouse full of complicated science (‘magic,’ for Pete) and unexplainable, endless wonder, but she never believed in ghosts.

So when she realizes who is sitting on her chair as she walks into Artie’s office, when she meets those warm, hazel eyes, when she sees that pair of lips curl up in a familiar smirk… well.

She supposes what she experienced is what a cardiac arrest would be like. It’s like her heart skipped about a thousand beats, like her lungs expelled all the oxygen they contain, like her blood boiled to a ridiculous degree while it ran wildly all through her veins.

“No way. No, no, no,” she says with a ragged breath. Her eyes are wide as saucers while she shakes her head.

She’s seeing a ghost. Apparition, phantom, vision. Whatever the occult call it.

But hey. This has got to be the best ghost ever.

This ghost, surrounded by the other agents as it sits there, staring right at her the second she opens the door, happens to look like her brother. It has an angular jaw, prominent nose, sharp eyes, brown hair (though it has a sprinkling of white now).

Huh.

Make that a lot like her brother.

“Hey, Claude,” it says.

Oh. And apparently it sounds a lot like him, too. With that deep resonating timbre that reminds her of childhood and physics and inter-dimensional space.

The other agents turn to look at her when they hear its greeting. They all look tense and ready to spring into action, as if afraid she’d bolt out and run and escape.

And Claudia can certainly agree with that. Because she does have the inexplicable want to escape.

But the ghost’s eyes, glinting in a painfully familiar way, pin her into place and she cannot get away.

So she just stands there, stiff as a board.

Silence reigns for what seems like forever, as she takes in the fact that an old man who appears to be an aged version of her believed-to-be-dead brother is sitting right there in Artie’s office.

She takes in the fact that the other agents seem to be aware of this ghost too, and so she assumes it is real and she’s not having a schizophrenic moment (not that she has schizophrenia).

And really, she should stop calling it a ghost. Or referring to it as ‘it,’ for that matter.

But how should she address it, anyway?

The other agents furrow their brows at her, and she realizes she said that last part out loud.

The ghost laughs.

“You always called me Josh, so I guess that works. Or maybe Joshua,” it says, grinning at her.

Claudia gulps. She’s frowning now, concentrating.

“He is telling the truth, if it helps,” Steve murmurs beside her, and she nearly jumps up. She forgot he’s there.

She meets Steve’s blue eyes, and she feels a wave of calm settle over her for the moment. Steve is like her personal benzodiazepine. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing. It’s actually a good thing, because she seems to always find herself in situations that would give her heart attacks. Having someone to sedate her (at least mildly) really comes in handy.

Okay, she’s getting off-track here.

Taking a deep breath, she looks at the ghost again.

She clears her throat, and even then her voice is raspy as she says, “You’re Joshua?”

It – he – shrugs.

And darn that shrug is so familiar, too.

“How?”

His grin widens, and she listens with rapt attention as he tells her his tale.

*

“H.G. Wells is one sneaky woman,” she hears Steve say.

Claudia looks up from her staring-into-space moment. It has been a minute (or more) since Joshua, Pete, and Myka finished telling them more pieces of this Defiant Puzzle (yup, that’s how she’s calling it). And really, her brain’s spinning like a top.

It’s not the best feeling ever.

But well, all of this means that the ghost really is her brother, and so, yeah, the headache’s worth it.

She swallows once, twice, thrice, before managing a, “She is.”

She catches her brother – ha! Nelson Miles – looking at her worriedly. She gives him a small smile.

She sighs. “So now we know that the Arch is somehow instrumental in reversing the effects of the Arkfall.”

Joshua nods. “Yes. I think the radio waves from the Arch could react to the leftover electromagnetic field present in the atmosphere, and can begin a chain reaction with the Ark debris still floating in space. I don’t know how that is, but that’s what’s implied in H.G.’s notes.”

“But to do that…”

“We need to reset the radio frequency to 598M gigahertz.” He runs a hand through his hair, and Claudia remembers it as a gesture of agitation. “It’s for something in the Arch, something that’s got to be activated. I just… I don’t know what.”

“We’ll figure this out,” she says, closing her eyes. “We’ll figure this out,” she repeats, and it’s not clear for whose benefit she does, not clear if she’s reassuring him or what.

Because maybe she needs the reassurance, too.

She remembers Irisa’s puzzling words.

Something tells me you’re not going to need me tonight.

She stands up abruptly, and her sudden movement startles the others. She says, “I just need to go out for a bit. Don’t wait up.”

With that she turns and goes out the Umbilicus.

When the Umbilicus door closed with a loud bam, Joshua immediately stands up, fully intending on following his sister.

Before he can take that first step, however, a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Leave her be for now,” Steve says, and his eyes are so kind that Joshua cannot find it in himself to lash out despite the frustration that threatens to overwhelm him.

Pete smiles at him from his perch on the floor (when did that happen?). “She just needs to cool off.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “It’s been a long day.”

Seizing the opening for a segue, Myka says, “What did you end up doing anyway?”

Realizing what she’s doing, Steve perks up. “Oh, we met Irisa’s friends, the Spirit Riders.”

That seems to take Joshua off his cloud of gloom. “You befriended Spirit Riders?” he asks, incredulous.

“Uh, yeah.”

“What are Spirit Riders?” Pete asks, head tilted, interested. “That sounds like villains straight from Marvel.”

“They are Irathient raders,” Joshua explains, still looking at Steve. “And you say you met them?”

“Yes. Irisa, our Irath friend, introduced them to us. And they were pretty cool.”

“They are, aren’t they,” Joshua says, but it’s clear that he is not convinced.

But Steve is grinning more widely. “They really are. They even gave Claude a motorbike.”

“What?” exclaims Pete, standing up immediately, much like he always done when someone says ‘cookie’ (or any other food variety, for that matter). “What is it? Where is it?”

Steve smirks at him. “I’m not versed in the motorbike world, but Claudia said it’s a Radical Ducati Vendetta, whatever that means.”

Pete lets out a wolf-whistle. “Darn! That’s one sweet ride!”

“She certainly thinks so herself.”

“Where is it?”

“Left it at the Riders’ mines for safekeeping.”

“Oh, man. I was kinda hoping to take it out for a spin!” Disappointment is apparent in Pete’s face.

“Oh, good luck with that,” Joshua says at last, shaking his head. “Even if it were here right now, Claudia would safeguard that with her life.” He smiles, that special smile reserved for her sister. “That thing has been in her wish list since 2011. So I don’t think she’ll be inclined to share it with anyone anytime soon.”

“Bummer,” Pete mutters. He glares at Steve, as if that’s his fault. “Why do you guys keep getting the good stuff?” he complains. “I mean, you get the day-off today but you still manage to score a frakking Vendetta!”

Steve sighs, closing his eyes to compose himself from exasperation. “I really don’t know what it is with you guys and monstrous machines. But whatever,” he begins walking backwards to the direction of his quarters, “It’s not like I’m stopping you from sharing the same S&M tendencies that Claudia has.” With that he completely turns around and leaves the four of them there.

“Did he just say…” Myka begins, but she cannot finish the sentence.

She does not need to anyway.

Pete gapes at the space Steve disappeared into. “He did.”

Joshua groans. “I did not need to hear that. In the same sentence as my sister’s name, no less.”

“What are you three talking about?” Artie grumbles.

Myka winces and she answers, in chorus with Joshua and Pete, “You would not want to know.”

After Claudia went out and Steve retired to his room, Myka, Pete, Artie, and Joshua ate a modest dinner (there were leftovers from this morning that could still be delicious when heated) and engaged in small talk. (It figured – Myka cannot engage in anything bigger than small talk at this time.) It had been a fun sight, seeing student and teacher (Joshua and Artie, respectively) catch up, and they have 37-year source of material to cover.

And it’s pretty hilarious, seeing Artie struggle with his own age while Joshua seemed to revel in his.

Joshua told them stories from the war and from the initial diplomatic missions, how New York still survives today, the train system, how crops grow (and what crops grow), and even stuff from when he’s in the bunker H.G. left him. He recounted how he managed to be part of the troops in the first place, and how he slowly but surely made his way up. And it was a pretty fantastic story – Myka and Artie enjoyed the historical and political aspects, while Pete particularly liked the tactical and military ones (no surprise there).

It was already nearing 10 o’clock when they started to feel drowsy, and they decided to take to bed.

Myka insisted that Joshua stay in the Warehouse – possibly use Claudia’s room for now – instead of going out and finding another place (because that just won’t make sense). He agreed in the end.

“Sleep tight, old ones,” Pete said.

That earned him two solid hits, while Myka just stood there, smirking and shaking her head at him.

*

Myka lies wide awake on her bed, carefully sifting through the day’s events. It certainly has been revealing, and informative, and shocking, and she marvels at the sheer variety of emotions she had displayed in less than 24 hours. It’s actually kind of tiring, and she figures this is how Pete always feels – that emotionally adept human being – and she has never been so thankful that she is not like him. (It sounds bad when she says it like that, but it is not. It’s actually a fond way of thinking about her partner, because it is in these realizations that she sees just why they work so well together.)

Strange dreams.

These strange dreams are visiting her again.

And she may not remember, not exactly, what they are, but she knows that every time she wakes up from them, a longing deep in her heart rises to new heights and only one name ever seems to satisfy it.

Myka.

And it does not take a genius to find out why.

No matter that it has only ever been days since they met, Stahma Tarr knows that she is hopelessly, undoubtedly, in love with Myka Bering.

*

“You know, you can tell her the truth,” a voice says, and it is exasperated and amused at the same time.

Helena rolls her eyes. “I know. You’ve told me that more times than I care to count.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Telling her all of it in a dream seems like a very inconsiderate way of handling the situation.”

“That’s a cold way of calling it, ‘handling the situation,’ that is.”

“Seeing that you can’t actually feel anything, you don’t get to tell me what’s cold and not.” Helena scoffs, as she lies down on the ground and fixes her gaze on the starry skies.

The voice gives out a chuckle. “Point taken.”

Helena sighs. “I just wish…” she trails off.

“Wish what?”

Helena shakes her head, and smiles, but it is an empty smile. “Nothing.”

“I’d wager it’s something.”

“Maybe it is.”

“So, what is it?” the voice insists.

“I just wish that…” Helena begins again. She closes her eyes, and this time her smile is real, if but more than a little melancholic. She continues, and her voice is barely above a whisper, “That I can see Myka again.”

“You saw her earlier already. And you even kissed,” the voice is confused. “But you can call to her, and let her in again. Her connection to you is very strong; even I am impressed.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Helena says, frustration evident. “Her being here is different, you know that.”

“Oh,” understanding seems to seep in through the voice after a moment of silence, “you mean you want to see her again in that world.”

“That world is my world,” Helena mutters, displeased at the voice’s seemingly callous regard for it. But then her own voice softens as she adds, “She is my world.”

The voice turns sympathetic, “The time will come, Helena. Don’t worry too much. You’ll be home again.”

“I just hope it’ll be soon.”

“It will be. The pieces are all set. We just have to wait for the execution.”

“That’s the hardest part.”

“All that’s left is the book. Once they get that… once she gets that…”

“Sooner. Please let it be sooner.”

There is a hint of teasing as the voice answers, “Well, if they turn out to be later than we expected, at least you still have me to keep you company.”

“Oh, dear, I hope not,” Helena smirks.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re getting tired of me.”

“Maybe I am. Your company is getting somewhat old.”

“Huh. Have I ever told you that you are one mean human being?” If voices can pout, this one does.

“You have. So many times, actually, that it has rather lost its edge.”

“So that’s why I can’t seem to go through you now.”

“I suppose.”

The voice chuckles again and Helena feels a gust of wind pat her head, threading her hair in invisible fingers. “Take a breather, Helena. You and Myka have the strongest bond I have ever seen in millennia and it is highly unlikely that something as trivial as time and space would break that bond.”

Helena smiles, shaking her head but it is more of indulgent exasperation than denial. “Only you would ever call time and space ‘trivial’.”

“Of course,” the voice says, haughty, and Helena laughs. “I invented it.”

*

Stahma Tarr again finds herself in front of the precinct. It is already closed, dark inside, and she is not really surprised.

What surprises her is the fact that she is standing here again.

The last thing she remembers is settling down in her bed after that last visit, The Time Machine on her lap as she reads it, Helena’s work, and the next moment… well.

Curious.

And even more curious is the realization that she is holding a book.

Not Myka’s book, but a thicker volume that she remembers unearthing when they were first setting up residence on Earth. She had found it amongst her other belongings from Casti, but for the life of her she did not know what that thing was. It was only later did she learn that it was called a book.

She traces the title, embossed on the cover, and she struggles to remember what she’s doing here with this in the first place. Before she can, however, a voice interrupts her concentration.

“Hey. Do ya need something?”

She turns to the now-open door and sees one of those agents, Myka’s colleague. Claudia Donovan, she recalls the name. She is young, younger even than Alak, but her posture speaks not of youth but of experience. She holds herself coolly, as if she owns the world, and Stahma cannot help but admire her for it.

Claudia is standing a few feet away from her, right there in the doorway, and it is not a leap to assume that the red-head (Stahma hopes she is not a half-Irath) is about to lock up. Her hands are dug deep into her pants’ (denim jeans – Alak is fond of them, too) pockets and Stahma thinks that she is the picture of confidence, with those quirked brows and glinting eyes.

Stahma smiles at her. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry, I’m actually looking for Agent Bering, but I see that you’re just about to go home,” she says, gesturing to the agent’s general direction. “I assume she has gone already?”

“She has,” Claudia nods. She pauses, seeing Stahma’s expression. “May I get a message?”

Stahma hesitates, but the words still tumble from her mouth without conscious thought and her body moves without her volition. “Just this,” she says, handing out the book she’s holding. “She gave me a book and I wish to return the favor.”

Where did that come from?

The agent shuts the door behind her with a definitive click, walks closer to Stahma, until they are separated by but an arm’s length. The Castithan carefully places the book on the younger woman’s hands.

Stahma nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and she cannot resist saying, “Your friend is very special. I have not before encountered anyone who could give so freely and kindly, without asking for a price of some kind.”

Claudia chuckles lightly, and Stahma sees that she has a soft smile, and it is more befitting of a girl her age than the serious expression she has earlier. “Yeah, she’s like that.”

“You seem to think highly of her,” Stahma observes, “and I’d say rightfully so.”

Claudia nods again, and she says, “She’s a strong, independent, selfless woman. I’d gladly put my life in her hands anytime.”

“I see,” Stahma says, and she does not know why but she’s pleased by this exchange. She does not want it to end yet, but it’s late and it seems that Claudia has something to do. So she smiles again and tells her, “It’s a pleasure to talk to you, Agent Donovan. I have to take my leave now, but I hope we may see each other again soon.” Stahma thinks she sees Claudia blush, but she cannot be sure, what with the poor lighting in this area.

The agent clears her throat and raises a hand in a meek wave. “Yeah, me too. See you around.” She taps the book clutched in her arm. “Myka will get this, have no doubt.”

“Thank you. And have a good night, agent.”

Claudia gives one last curt nod, and walks briskly away.

Claudia planned to find Irisa. She needed to talk to the Irath, to ask if her brother was the reason she left with a cryptic answer earlier. Something tells me you’re not going to need me tonight.

Claudia can’t help thinking that the Irath knows more than she’s letting on.

Did she see Joshua in one of her famous visions?

Did she see anything else?

Does she know how to do the whole resetting thing?

Claudia was intent on finding the answers. It didn’t even matter that she had absolutely no clue on where Irisa and her father are staying for the night – she’d just go to the precinct first to collect her thoughts and then head to Rafe’s the normal way (so as to avoid suspicion and stuff – because even if she’s a bit disconcerted right now she can still think well for the good of the Warehouse).

She took her time underground, collecting her thoughts as she leisurely walked. It seemed like hours passed by, but she didn’t really pay any heed.

And when Claudia finally opened the door of the precinct and saw who was standing there outside, seemingly waiting for someone, all thoughts of what she intended to do left her in one fell swoop.

She so did not prepare for meeting this person one-on-one.

White-H.G.

*

As she walks away, holding the thick book that was passed to her so that she can give it to Myka, she feels her throat constrict and her heart race.

She traces the title, embossed on the cover, and the designs remind her of Victorian-era first editions Myka always seem to have.

The Stargate Manifesto.

Stargate.

Is this..?

Claudia’s face begin to light up with a large grin.

To hell with other explanations.

She clutches the book close to her chest with one arm, mind heavy with anticipation, and breaks into a run.

She needs to go back to the Warehouse immediately.

Chapter Text

Someone is calling her name.

“Myka! Myka!” Knock. Knock. Knock. “Myka!”

Myka opens her eyes and blearily sits up. She holds out a hand and grasps blindly on her bedside table, feeling for her eyeglasses. (She does not wear them that often during the day, choosing to use contacts instead, but nighttime is a different matter altogether.) Successfully snatching it and perching it on, she squints at the clock.

It’s just almost midnight. She hasn’t been sleeping for even an hour.

She groans, but before she can contemplate going back to sleep, another series of knocks resound, accompanied by loud calls.

“Myka? Wake up!”

Belatedly she realizes that the voice is Claudia’s.

Rubbing drowsiness off her face, she stands up and walks to the door and opens it just as Claudia’s about to knock hard again.

Myka eyes the techie’s raised hand. “What is it, Claude?” she says, voice still gruff with sleep.

“I have to tell you something!”

Myka winces at the enthusiasm in Claudia’s voice, not because she doesn’t like it, but because she doesn’t like it this late at night. The redhead’s loudness leaves a dizzying buzz in Myka’s head that seems to bounce around her skull.

“Ugh. I figured as much, Claude, but can’t it wait till morning?” She knows she sounds this close to a whine.

Claudia shakes her head so fast and the sight gives Myka vertigo. “It really can’t.”

And by the way she’s bouncing on her heels like a puppy Myka knows she’s defeated. She sighs, giving in. There is simply no reasoning with Claude when she gets like this. “All right, all right, what is it?”

Instead of answering, Claudia grabs Myka’s hand and drags her away.

“Hey!”

“Pete and Steve and Artie and my bro are in the office already. I’ll tell you there.”

Sure enough, she sees the four men when she and Claude enter the office, and they are each nursing their own mug of cocoa. And they all have serious expressions.

Already feeling an oncoming headache, Myka resigns herself to a long night.

*

After settling down on her favorite couch with a mug of steaming cocoa (with marshmallows, thank you very much) cradled in her hands, she stares expectantly at Claudia, who is flitting among them like a frenzied hummingbird.

“Well?” she asks, then sips her drink though her eyes never leave the redhead.

Claudia stops fidgeting. She meets Myka’s gaze and takes a deep breath. Then she grabs something from a nearby table.

“Look at what I found,” Claudia says, holding up a thick volume with both of her hands. Her smile is almost manic, and her eyes are shining with uninhibited excitement.

Myka frowns. “That’s a book,” she says, carefully, because she cannot see what the big deal is. (Well, books are always a big deal to her, yes, but in the current context she really has no idea what Claudia expects her to do with it.)

“Yes, duh.” Claudia just rolls her eyes.

More puzzled than ever, the brunette steals a glance at the other agents. Pete is looking at her with an eyebrow quirked up expectantly, as if waiting for her to figure this out, while Artie, Steve, and Joshua are regarding her with expressions that seems to say ‘go on’.

“Here,” Claudia says, handing her the book.

Myka takes it as she puts down her mug.

“The Stargate Manifesto,” she reads. It is a hardbound volume, an unexpectedly light one at that, with a raised part at the front, which acts as a clasp for the lock. The lock-strap is made of leather, and the book’s surface contains designs that seem oddly familiar – gears and symbols that seem to constitute a diagram that does not make that much sense. Or at least not yet – maybe it will if she looked at it again after a good night’s rest.

(And though still positively sluggish, Myka still notes that the book seems to emit a certain kind of warmth that leaves a tingling sensation on the tips of her fingers as she runs them over the spine, over the title, over the clasp.

She’s not so sure if that’s just her sleep-deprived brain talking or what.

But the warmth stays.)

She tugs at the strap, trying to open the volume, but to no avail. “It’s locked,” she says, stupidly, because apparently when her brain is fogged with slumber it tends to point out the obvious.

“Yes, it is,” Claudia says, simply.

She waits for some other follow-up for that, but sensing that she’s not going to get any, Myka blows her hair off her face (she’s managed to tame her tresses in a loose ponytail but some strands do tend to escape – it is a fact that she cannot change) as she gives the young genius a tired look. “So…” she prods.

Now it is Claudia’s turn to frown at her. “So open it.”

She blinks owlishly. “Uhm, Claude, I just said it’s locked. Which means I cannot open it.”

Claudia raises an eyebrow. “You cannot open it?”

What is wrong with – ugh. Whatever. “Yeah.” Myka is beginning to sound irritated, and she sends a questioning look to Pete, but all she gets in return is a shrug. Giving up, she says, “I really don’t know what deal with this book is, Claude. I just wanna sleep so if there’s something else that I got to do just tell me already.” Because seriously, she is tired and she wants to return to bed.

Then without warning Claudia tells her, “It’s from White-H.G.”

And just like that all thoughts of sleep and pillows and beds leave Myka’s mind. Her head snapped up so fast she almost got whiplash. “What?”

Claudia lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “When I left earlier, I used the tunnel to the precinct, and White-H.G.’s standing outside, and she said she’s looking for you. So I asked her if I could take a message and she said to give you that. And that you’re special and she never met anyone like you before.”

Myka feels her cheeks heating up at that last part, but she dutifully ignores it. Instead she clears her throat and studies the book with a new point-of-view.

This book came from Stahma Tarr.

Stahma Tarr is Helena.

This book is from Helena.

Myka swallows, hoping to chase away the dryness in her throat.

She looks back up at Claudia, and the younger agent says, gently, “I told you: H.G.’s reaching out.”

And Myka cannot refute that, not when a very tangible proof is currently nestled on her lap.

(And so that’s why she felt warmth.

Even subconsciously she reacts to things related – in any way whatsoever – to Helena Wells.

Her soul smiles at that, a silent validation.)

“So what do we do with it?” she finally asks.

“Well,” Joshua says, and Claudia swivels around to regard her brother, “we were kind of hoping you could tell us that.”

Myka chews on her lower lip (an unconscious action), brows furrowed in concentration. She tenderly passes her hand over the book (still feeling the warmth), and her eyes carefully sweep over its every inch.

She turns it over, and that’s when she sees it.

A panel, much like the one she found hidden in Pete’s Farnsworth.

“The panels open,” she murmurs, wonderingly, and she lifts her gaze up to see her family looking at her with anticipation. “The panels open,” she repeats, and her voice is stronger now, more confident.

And doing as she did in the Farnsworth, she pressed lightly on the miniscule circle, and the panel slides off.

She flips it, and sees an inscription underneath.

M,

To the other half of my soul,

A part of me is always with you.

Across time and space, forever yours,

H

She clamps her jaws so tightly as she fights off the tears that threaten to fall that she can feel the muscles jumping.

No. Emotions cannot overwhelm her now.

She has to focus.

Taking as deep a breath as she can, she stares down at the thin hollow space revealed by the panel to look for the key.

She sees nothing there.

Frowning, she checks if something fell down the floor without her noticing.

Still nothing.

She tells the others, “There’s no key or anything here.”

She inspects the book and is re-checking the clasp when she sees it.

“Oh,” she breathes, realization dawning.

“What?” Pete asks.

“There’s a slot on the clasp’s side,” she explains. She blinks up at them. “I think the panel is the key.”

They look at her, breaths bated, and Artie urges, “Go on, then.”

She swallows (again) thickly and nods.

She places the panel in position, inserts it into the slot, and it slides smoothly.

Then there is a final click.

She tugs the strap again, and this time it pulls free.

She looks back up at them and she sees their expressions.

She asks, “What now?”

Claudia grins at her, and answers, “Now we read.”

It is not a simple task.

Pete has never found reading a simple task, because it requires attention and precision and understanding, but now, undoubtedly, his belief is reinforced.

Reading should be left to people like Myka.

Geez. Just staring at the page makes him dizzy.

And when Myka announces “I don’t understand a thing in here,” he becomes even dizzier.

Because when someone like Myka starts announcing stuff like that, he knows things are becoming pretty darn serious.

(He just really wants to sleep right now.)

“Why is that even called The Stargate Manifesto?” he asks, eyes half-open. “It’s not like H.G. even knows the franchise.”

“She does,” Claudia says.

That makes him open his eyes a bit more. “Huh?”

“She knows Stargate. Basic stuff, at least. She watched the first film.”

This is new information. “When did that happen?”

“When you and Myka spent three-days tracking down another Stradivarius in Milan.”

“Oh.” That hadn’t been a pleasant trip, not because Milan’s not beautiful (it totally is), but because the entire time Myka was her grumpy self. She always got like that when separated from H.G. for more than 12 hours. Which is simultaneously cute and annoying. So imagine the hell Pete went through for the next 60 hours.

“She and I spent the weekend watching some sci-fi films that you hadn’t forced her into watching yet. Stargate’s the first one.”

“Well, that’s not my fault. You can’t expect me to make her watch that and not follow up with the entire thing, and that would take up too much time.”

“Yeah, I told her that, too.”

“So how did she find it?”

“She was fascinated. Especially with the Stargate itself. I think she was analyzing the physical possibilities of that wormhole the entire time.”

“So I guess that’s why she chose it for the title, huh.”

“Possibly.”

Myka’s lower lip is bruised from all her chewing, and her forehead feels sore from all her scowling, and her head aches from all the thinking. Even her eyes are beginning to water, with all her squinting, and her back is starting to protest from being stooped for so long.

When she opened the book earlier she expected some kind of novel or short story and maybe some illustrations – some kind of an all-access pass to solving the conundrum Helena had left them.

But of course, since it is Helena she’ dealing with, it isn’t that simple.

Nothing ever is, when it comes to them. It shouldn’t really be surprising anymore.

And so instead Myka found page upon page upon page of haphazard sketches, diagrams, symbols, and scribbles that made her want to tear her hair out.

Some were even written in Kastithanu, and that frustrates Myka even more.

Sure, Joshua’s here to help her with the language and with her memory and mental capacity it wasn’t hard to keep up, but still.

The fact that it is Castithan again makes her skin itch.

But whatever. She continued poring over the pages, even if halfway through Artie and Steve and Pete began to drift off.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep, Claude?” she asks the techie, when she notices that her eyes are beginning to be rimmed with red.

“I’m good,” Claudia replies, though the way her eyelids droop suggests otherwise.

“You can take a nap, you know.”

Claudia shakes her head.

“No, really.”

“Myka,” Claudia drawls, “it is fine. I can’t just doze off on you when it’s me who woke you up in the middle of the night in the first place.” She gives a sideway glance at her brother, who smiles at her. “And it’s sort of a bro-time, too, I guess.”

Joshua laughs. “Yeah. Donovan siblings, unite.”

Claudia playfully screws up her nose at that. “Eww, dude, that’s so last century.”

“I suppose it is.”

Myka chuckles softly, every now and then, as she reads and the Donovans talk/bicker in the background.

She loses track of time, and only when the first slivers of the sun shines (through a complicated system Claudia installed – she’s hazy on the details) on the pages she’s perusing does she see it.

She had been looking for something that makes sense, not really sure what that something is.

But then she sees the sentence, and she reads it three times before letting a content smile settle on her face.

“I found it.”

Joshua, who was going over some (many) notes Myka made earlier as she read on, and Claudia, who had just slumped on the table, both straighten and look at her, on high alert.

She pushes the book to them, and taps a finger on a particular spot.

It simply reads:

Just a kiss from that form shall bring back that which was lost.

Chapter Text

Every fairytale ends with the prince and princess sharing true love’s kiss. Except for that one where a kind-of-frozen girl saves the life of her older sister who had, like, super intense icy powers, but – to be fair – that in itself is an act of true love, so. Whatever. The point is any curse (e.g. eternal slumber; being a hideous beast; poisoned apple) can be broken by something that’s got to do with true love.

It’s that simple.

At least in the movies.

Especially Disney ones.

And it kind of irks her, how misleading those movies are.

Because in real life?

Myka’s not so sure simple is even a choice.

*

Just a kiss from that form shall bring back that which was lost.

The words, written in H.G.’s unmistakable scrawl, keep on bouncing around in Myka’s head like overenthusiastic tennis balls. She has read and reread them, willing them to plainly state whatever they mean, or at least give her a useful image or something. But no such luck.

Though, if she were to be honest, they really could only mean one thing.

But is it really that simple?

Dare she hope that it is?

*

“Yeah, no can do,” Myka says, and her voice is firm and her eyes are glinting with a determined edge.

“Come on, Mykes! You were the one who found the darn thing and said that this is it!” Pete reasons (since when did he reason with anyone, let alone her – of all people?) and he is doing that puppy-eye thing.

And yes, she’ll give him that. She did find the words and tapped them and knew they have some sort of significance.

But that does not mean it is the solution. Not in itself, no.

“Myka,” her partner continues, and it is clear that he finds her stubborn right now (oh, how the tables have turned), “You have to kiss White-H.G. It’s the only explanation!”

There it is.

It seems so plain, so simple, so easy, when stated like that.

But Myka knows that it is not.

She says so.

“And why is that?” he huffs, petulantly.

She sighs, runs a hand nervously through her curly hair. “Those words could mean anything, Pete.”

“Their meaning is pretty transparent to me.”

“Meanings are in people. Words are arbitrary. They could say a thousand different things and-”

“And you said you found it,” he cuts her off, eyebrows raised in challenge. He looks at Claudia and Joshua (seated side-by-side at the round table) for confirmation, and they give it with their nods. Pete looks at her again, expression triumphant.

“I did.” Myka sighs again. She is visibly agitated now, and it can be seen in the way she’s waving her hands through the air. “But that’s because it’s the only sentence not remotely connected to astronomy or physics or astrophysics! Those words are the only ones that do not compute or describe anything related to stars or space or time, so of course I thought they’re something important!” She wraps her arms around her, takes a deep breath – as if it came from the bottom of some spiritual ocean – and continued in a softer voice, “And even if it’s true, and that’s all I have to do, it’s still not that easily done.” She scoffs, “I can’t very well just march up to Lady Tarr and kiss her.”

Pete rolls his eyes. “She is into you. Anyone with eyes can see that. So how difficult could it really be to convince her to kiss you?”

“That’s not my point, Pete!”

“Then what is?!”

“Okay!” Claudia stands up, holding both her hands up, stopping the two older agents from further arguing. “We are tired, and sleepy – Myka, don’t shake your head at me, you know it’s true – so why don’t we all have a break, take a nap, and later when we are not cranky and irritable we can all discuss this like adults – and Pete, no, don’t give me that look, just grow up some, okay? – What do you say?”

Myka and Pete just look at each other, scowl on their faces, and walked away – to opposite directions.

“I guess that’s a ‘yes,’ then,” Claudia mumbles, rubbing a hand tiredly over her face.

“They are both obstinate adults,” her brother remarks.

She looks at him and finds him smiling, seemingly amused.

“They never change.”

“One of the best things about them, I think,” he replies, his tone turning wistful and somber. Claudia can see the sadness that creeps in her brother’s eyes, and she recognizes it for what it is – regret for lost time – something they all know they can never take back.

A heavy silence descends then, for Claudia cannot find the words to comfort him – and even if she could, would she even be able to say them out loud, past the dryness suddenly parching her throat? No, she could not.

Before the air could get any more uncomfortable, a voice low with sleep cuts through it, and she is thankful. “Hey,” says Steve, standing up from his perch on Claudia’s chair, “I’ll check on the Spiral and maybe find something to cook after. It’s highly unlikely that those two would stay away for long, and I bet they’re gonna look for food soon. Wanna come with?”

Claudia smiles at him, grateful. Of course. Steve’s got his mood-reader thing, and it is possible that he felt hers and is now offering her an out.

Which she gladly accepts.

She nods, and he begins to walk off.

She shoots her brother a look, hoping to transmit her message with just her eyes.

He seems to understand, for he offers him a smile of his own.

She turns to follow Steve.

Kiss her.

Those two words are taunting Myka, relentless on their assault, and she can’t do anything to fight them. She can’t, because they are in her head.

And if she ever learnt anything during her stay in the Warehouse, it’s that the worst enemies are those residing in one’s head.

Kiss her.

She admits that Pete is right. It is simple. Or at least it was, once upon a time.

A time when the world is not filled with aliens. (Vulcan. Votans. Whatever they are called. Who cares.)

A time when the earth is not crawling with mutated species.

A time when Helena is by her side.

But, well, one does not need her deduction skills to see that things are different now.

And the first emotion she feels for that fact is not sadness.

She feels anger.

Because, really, the universe seems intent on making sure that she does not get her happy ending.

And okay, she might not be the fairytale-kind of girl, but seriously, is she so undeserving of happiness that all sorts of problems – psychological, emotional, and now, intergalactic – find their way into her life, driving the space between her and the one she loves so impossibly wide?

Is it wrong to wish for some semblance of simplicity in her life?

Is she asking for too much?

She sighs, and her gaze falls on her hands.

The ring on her finger glints brightly.

This time, when she finds herself in the strange dimension, she is not surprised.

Her eyes do not spare a single second to glance around and instead automatically zero in on the lithe figure sprawled on the ground, a few meters away.

It seems that her presence has not yet been detected, and so she decides to take the chance to study her beloved – the silken strands fanned out like a dark halo, outstretched limbs that she wants to tangle with, skin that she wants to kiss with all the love in the world.

“Helena,” she says after a while, for she is helpless against that name, and she smiles softly as the figure quickly sits up and turns to her.

“Myka,” Helena breathes, surprise in her voice and on her face.

Myka calmly strolls to where the inventor is sitting and plops down beside her. She threads her fingers through raven-black hair and urges those soft, pink lips she so desires to come and meet hers. Helena’s arms thoughtlessly go around Myka’s torso, and she could not believe that it is happening.

Minutes tick by as they kiss languidly, and when they separate, both are flushed with want, lips bruised from their seemingly-eternal dance.

“Not expecting to see me?” Myka asks, her voice a breathless whisper.

It takes a few moments for Helena to answer, for she is still processing that Myka is here, with her, again.

She clears her throat, realizing that she’s zoning out a little, and her breath caught when she sees Myka regarding her with soft, warm eyes.

“I was not,” Helena says at last. She presses a chaste kiss on Myka’s cheek, and admits, “But I was hoping that I’d see you again.”

She receives a playful grin. “Well, I am here now.”

“I can see that,” she smirks. Her brows furrow in thought, and she adds, “But I don’t know why.”

In response Myka tips Helena’s chin up with a hand to look her in the eyes. “I suppose my soul called out for you.” She drops her hand. “I was thinking about us, and the next thing I knew, I’m here.” And she dipped her head, obscuring her face, but Helena knows that silently she’s gauging her reaction, waiting for her to tell her off. Because is it even a valid explanation?

Helena knows that Myka is struggling to be logical, and that the agent needs some kind of confirmation to ease her mind. So she says, “That’s a plausible explanation, darling,” and she smiles at the relief that slinks in forest-green eyes. “Even I am not entirely sure how this dimension works, but yes, I suppose the mutual wish to see each other is enough to make this meeting happen.”

Myka burrows deeper into Helena’s side, and in turn, the inventor tightens her arms around the agent.

“I found it, you know,” Myka says after several beats of silence.

“Found what?” Helena asks distractedly as she twirls Myka’s hair in a finger.

Green eyes stare unerringly into black ones. “The Stargate Manifesto.”

Helena smiles at her. “Oh.”

Frowning, Myka says, “Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

Helena just shrugs and so Myka withdraws to put some space between them.

“It makes no sense, Helena.”

“If I correctly remember what I have written there – and believe me, I do – then those words should make perfect sense.”

Myka huffs disbelievingly. “So, what? I just walk right to your Castithan form – and I am really starting to unfairly resent that race because of you – grab her/you – and I don’t even know how to refer to that – and kiss her senseless?”

To her intense aggravation, Helena just blinks at her slowly – and the British lady even had the audacity to look amused.

It takes exactly three seconds for Myka to catch on the meaning behind the look.

She gapes, incredulous. “You’re kidding!”

Another shrug.

“But it can’t be that simple!” Myka’s confused and bewildered expression is so adorable that Helena has to restrain herself so as to not ravish her then and there, and she hides it with a chuckle.

She smirks (ugh, that sexy smirk again) when Myka glares at her. “Darling, can you not look the gift horse in the mouth? There really is no need to complicate matters – they are complicated as they are.”

“Which is why I am dubious of the effectiveness of this simplistic approach.”

Helena just chuckles again. “All right, all right,” she says, “You win.”

Myka’s eyes widen. “So there is something else!”

Helena shakes her head fondly at the exultant tone and steals another peck on Myka’s cheek. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, the inventor replies, “On the exact time that you and my other form meet in that kiss, the Arch’s waves should be adjusted.”

She presses a kiss on Myka’s lips to punctuate her point.

And then, as always, the world turns black.

Stumbling hastily out of bed, Myka mutters not-a-few curses as she questions the world on just how difficult it would be to give her a straight answer for once.

*

She enters Artie’s office just in time for the meal (she’s not quite sure whether this is breakfast or lunch or brunch).

The four agents, plus Joshua, are sitting around the round table, and she hesitates for only a second before taking the only empty seat – which happens to be next to Pete.

They haven’t made up yet, because they are both a bit too proud right now, but she pushes on.

No one says anything as they eat the food most likely prepared by Steve and Claudia (judging by the perfect crispiness of the bacon and the irregular shapes of the pancakes). The silence is almost suffocating.

Only when they are about to clean up does she speak up. “I talked to Helena.”

Even Pete, who is half-sitting-half-standing, stops and plops back down. “What?” he asks. (There. The no-speaking-to-each-other thing is officially terminated.)

She braces her elbows on the table, hands clasped together, and she couldn’t quite make herself look up and meet their gazes. “I… I dreamt about her again.”

No one speaks for several seconds, waiting for her to continue. When it looks like she isn’t going to, Claudia prompts her, “And?”

Myka gulps, her eyes almost boring a hole on the wooden furniture. “I really do have to kiss her. Stahma, I mean.”

She steals a side-glance at Pete, and she exhales a relieved breath when he does not say anything like I told you so, because she can’t handle that yet.

Joshua says, “What do you mean you dreamt of her?” She finally lifts her head at the sound of his voice and looks at him. “Is that your subconscious manifesting itself, or-”

“H.G. appears in her dreams. The real H.G., but in another dimension,” Pete cuts him off. He is staring at her, understanding in his eyes, and she really feels so grateful that he is her partner. “That’s all there is to it.”

Joshua seems to get it, for he nods and lets the subject drop.

“So what else did she say?” Steve asks. Myka meets his calm blue eyes, and he explains. “There seems to be something else. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so troubled.”

Sometimes she forgets how perceptive Steve can be.

She says, “It’s a bit less simple than just kissing her. I have to do that on the exact moment the Arch’s frequency is adjusted.”

Claudia and Joshua both straighten. “The two are connected?” Claudia asks.

“Apparently.”

“What exactly did she say?”

Myka knows her cheeks are colored in a furious blush, but she answers, “On the exact time that you and my other form meet in that kiss, the Arch’s waves should be adjusted.”

Claudia shakes her head, exasperated. “Geez, can’t she just say that in a plainer term?”

Artie mutters, “She is a Victorian author. Of course she’s verbose.” But there is a hint of respect in his tone. And maybe a bit of relief.

“What will happen if the two events do not happen at the same time?” Joshua questions.

Myka averts her gaze, and her voice is low. “I don’t know.”

Another heavy blanket of silence descends.

Finally Claudia clears her throat. “This will require planning.” She is looking at Pete.

Pete just scratches his chin contemplatively. “I might have something.”

He is not really sure if this would work, but they have no other choice.

It’s now or never.

*

The plan goes like this:

Step One (aka The Part Myka Hates the Most): Pete and Steve will kidnap White-H.G. Okay, not ‘kidnap.’ They’ll borrow her. Or something. Point is, they need to take the woman to the Warehouse without her being aware of it, which means she has to be unconscious – just in case something does not work out (which he sincerely hopes would not be the case). For this they will use the valerian artifact, but instead of spiking her drink with it (which is a lot trickier because then they’d have to go to the NeedWant), they will drop the essence mixed with magnolia (another sleep-inducing artifact) in a handkerchief and knock her out by making her inhale it, secret-agent style.

This would probably happen in some dark alley, when White-H.G. would be on her way to Anywhere In Defiance.

(They had to argue long and hard for this phase. Or more precisely, Myka pointed out the cons while Pete pointed out the pros. Just like old times.

In the end, Artie stated that the two artifacts are completely safe. Only then did Myka concede. With a murderous glare and threat of death should anything bad happen to White-H.G.)

Step Two-Point-One (aka The Part Myka Worries About the Most): When (not if, because they will succeed) they successfully smuggle White-H.G. in the Warehouse, they will wake her up with a whiff of Chinese Dragon Herb (he did not ask where it came from, but Pete bets it’s from China, and as long as it’s safe he won’t question it, so). And when she’s awake, Myka will talk to her.

And when the talk takes a turn to the right direction, they will end it with a kiss.

(They also argued over this. Pete wants them to just kiss as soon as White-H.G. wakes up, but of course Myka wants to talk and prolong her own agony. Something about respect and honor. Seriously, who does she think she is, Mulan? Pete tells her she is just being masochistic. Myka tells him that she will never kiss anyone who does not want to be kissed.

Pete thinks it’s a moot point, though. It’s clear that White-H.G.’s dying to kiss Myka. Anyone with eyes and a basic understanding of human emotions can attest to that. But of course Myka will also choose to deny that fact.

Sometimes it’s really hard to understand his partner.)

Step Two-Point-Two (aka The Part Myka Wants to Participate in Instead): While stuff is happening in the Warehouse, Claudia and Joshua will sneak to the Arch and do their techie thing. And at the exact time Myka and White-H.G. kiss, they will pull the lever.

(Pete did not ask the Donovans to elaborate what they’re gonna do exactly, nor did he ask about what lever they’re talking about, because he’s pretty sure he won’t understand what they’d say. He just made them promise that they know what they’re doing, and they did with completely certain expressions. So that’s that.

And, yeah. Pete and Myka argued over this, too. Mainly because Myka wants to do this with the siblings. Pete rolled his eyes at her and told her to not hope for any escape from what’s to come and just suck it up.

Needless to say he received a glare and a punch in response.)

Step Three (aka The Part Myka Says is Unnecessary but According to Steve She’s Lying About It): When White-H.G. becomes H.G. (not sure how that will happen but it will), they will all take turns on punching her.

(Pete insisted that this part is needed, after all the stress H.G. caused them. Myka answered by saying that they won’t be alive to be stressed at all if H.G. didn’t do what she did. Then Pete challenged her by asking whether or not she feels even just a small bit of irritation in the way H.G. refused to tell her about the plan or the fact that White-H.G. married someone else.

Myka promptly shut up. Pete won.)

Additional Notes (aka The Part Myka Insisted Be Done with Utmost Precision): With Artie’s approval (though it wasn’t necessary), Claudia will install surveillance equipment in the Bronze sector. (It was decided beforehand that this is the best place to do the kiss-thing.) This would be to track what’s happening with Myka and White-H.G., so that Claude and Joshua would know when exactly to pull the lever.

Synchronization is the key.

*

“Are we really doing this?” Steve asks, his voice a hesitant whisper.

Pete looks at the guy, eyebrows raised. It is about lunchtime, and they are hidden in a narrow alley (as expected), about two blocks away from the NeedWant, and they are waiting for White-H.G. to pass by, on her way to the brothel.

(They even checked earlier with Nolan, asking about the Castithan’s routine, since they know that the Chief Lawkeeper has been keeping tabs on the woman. So they are sure that any minute now she will arrive, will use this path – which is fortunately dim despite the midday sun, to their utter advantage.)

“You’re having second thoughts now?”

“Not really,” Steve answers. “It just feels weird kidnapping someone who looks a whole lot like H.G., especially when I remember how deadly H.G. herself could be.”

Pete smirks. He understands the point. “Well, yeah. But hey, this could be the only time you get to knock that lady unconscious.”

“I’m not really the combative type, Pete.”

“Which is why we’re not combating her.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Pete readies for a retort, but he is silenced by a hand over his mouth.

“Ssh.” Steve is looking out the street intently.

Pete follows his gaze, and he sees White-H.G., walking down the street, in that air of superiority that tells the world that she owns it.

(He thinks it’s surreal, the way this Castithan walks, as if she’s a ghost. Pete can’t even call it a walk. It’s like she glides on the air.

And it’s definitely a quality H.G. Wells possessed in her human form.)

“It’s time,” Pete says, and like ninjas (yeah!) they slink behind the unsuspecting lady.

Steve quickly and nimbly clamped the handkerchief over White-H.G.’s nose and mouth, and she barely has time to struggle before her body slumps down. Pete is there to catch her, and together, him and Steve half-carry, half-drag the body away (using a pre-determined path, leading to the back of the precinct, so as to avoid prying eyes and unwanted attention).

As they are making their way (slowly but surely, since Myka would blow them up if there was even a dent on this lady’s skin) down underground, Steve remarks, “That was kind of anti-climactic.”

Pete grins. “I guess it was. But this is ammunition to last a century.” At Steve’s quirked brow, he explains, “I’ll never let H.G. forget we knocked her out. She’s bound to be so mad.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, maybe just take all the credit?”

Pete gasps. “What?! Are you serious?!”

“Yup. I actually care for my throat, you know. I won’t ever take a chance against her.”

“Oh, geez, you have to live a little.”

“If living a little leads to my dying sooner than I intend to, then no. I have enough on my plate already.”

They continue their exchange, and before they know it they are in front of Artie’s office.

A hand on the security pad, Pete says, “Okay, here goes the next part.”

And they open the door.

“Hey, Claudia, are you there?” Myka asks, and she’s trying to keep her voice from trembling.

“Geez, Myka, chill, okay? We got this,” Claudia’s voice crackles through the earpiece. “Calm down. Everything will be alright.”

“Yeah, okay. It’s just…” Myka trails off. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

She hears the redhead sigh. “You can. Trust yourself.” Then she hears some clattering and beeping. “Look, we’re finishing up here. Then a quick install of the screen so we’ll see what’s happening down there. I’ll send the signal when everything’s ready. Just wait and calm down, or calm down and wait – whichever works. Okay?”

Myka takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“How’s she holding up?” Joshua asks from his position on the deck’s floor, an assortment of tools spread out as he disassembles the control panel.

They are in the Arch’s observation deck, under the pretense of equipment checking sanctioned by the Mayor. That way it is ensured that they will not be interrupted (especially by the DJ, but that’s just Claudia’s personal grudge talking).

Claudia stands up from her perch in front of her laptop, connecting wires to the panels, and typing out some final command. There is some flickering on the screen, and then it clears into a view of the Bronze Sector.

Myka is sitting by the platform, Artie beside her. She is visibly worked up, if her hand gestures are to hint at something.

“Nervous, as you can imagine.” She stoops down next to her brother. “I don’t know if I can watch anything that will happen without turning into goo. I expect some drama and fluff later.”

“Yeah. I get the feeling,” Joshua chuckles.

Claudia’s heart flutters, because she missed her brother very much and this is the first time in a long while that they get to do techie stuff together.

“This sure feels like old times,” she remarks.

Joshua nods, and she sees his smile as he wrenches a bolt free.

She opens her Farnsworth, and turns a knob twice. A whirring sound is emitted, followed by a beep.

“Sent the signal?”

“Yup. Now they know they’re being watched.”

Sure enough, Myka-on-the-laptop-screen looks up at the camera and gives a timid wave.

Then Myka turns to the left as sounds of footsteps echo, and Claude has to bite her cheeks to keep from laughing as Pete, Steve, and a slumped figure that’s got to be White-H.G. appear on the screen.

Artie pulls a chair and lets the two boys to prop the lady up, and then he puts a cup of green stuff directly in front of her face.

Immediately White-H.G. begins to wake up.

“It’s done,” Claudia hears Joshua say, and she turns to look at him, patting a controller by the panel.

A lever, connected to the panel circuitry, which is in turn connected to another laptop, especially encoded by a command to reset the waves to 598M frequency (thank Farnsworth for the abundance of radio wave tech blueprints in the Warehouse that she studied and altered for this very mission).

Just their stuff.

“Good,” she says, returning her gaze to the screen. “They’re about to begin.”

Darkness.

That is the last thought Stahma becomes conscious of before succumbing to slumber.

*

She wakes up and hears voices.

“Gosh, Pete! Are you sure you did not give her too much? She looks so pale!” Frantic. Warm. Familiar.

And it is Myka Bering’s voice, her mind supplies.

“Mykes, she’s Castithan! They’re not pale, they’re white! Chill off, will yah?”

“Did you do anything unnecessary, or hit her, or – hey is that a scratch on her arm-”

“Myka,” someone else cuts her off, “please. She’s fine. We did not do anything other than what was planned.”

“You really should stop being like a mother hen,” Pete (?) mutters.

“I am not like a mother hen!”

“You are!”

“Children!” a gruff voice booms. “She’s coming to. Be quiet. Fight later, when it’s over.”

Over?

Are they going to kill me?

Stahma slowly opens her eyes, and the first thing – person – she sees is Myka Bering.

Is she going to kill me?

Myka must have seen some panic in her expression, for the agent raises her hands in a placating gesture. “Hello, Lady Tarr.” She offers a nervous smile, “You are safe here.”

That is probably a lie, but she cannot help but believe this woman who ensnared her heart with nary a glance, and so she nods.

She looks around, and sees that the other agents (except for the redhead girl from last night) are standing by, as if waiting for her to do something.

She scrunches her brows together.

To do what?

How am I here in the first place?

Myka answers her unspoken question. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her eyes are full of embarrassment. “I wanted – needed – to talk to you.” She shrugs. “This is the only place I could get to do that uninterrupted.”

Stahma raises her eyebrows at the last part, silently asking about the way they are surrounded by other agents.

Myka clears her throat. “Yeah, they’ll be gone in a bit.” Her intense green eyes shoot a look at the three, and they scurry off after a bit.

Stahma is a bit impressed.

Myka is looking at her apprehensively, and she realizes that the human is waiting for her to say something.

So she asks the first logical thing to ask.

“What is this place, exactly?” She sees a platform, on which Myka is sitting, and a cocoon-like hollow space (with a bar and clamps) behind her. There are statues around, made of bronze (she thinks), and somehow the display incites a feeling of dread within her.

“It’s a special place,” Myka answers. “And it’s hidden from the rest of the world.”

Stahma smiles at her. “Monopolizing me, are you?”

To her immense delight, a furious blush creeps its way to Myka’s cheeks, down her lovely neck. “I – that is not – I don’t – you –”

Stahma laughs and it is the first time she has done it so freely.

Somehow the fact that it is Myka who made her do so is fitting.

“It’s not just about monopolizing you,” she hears Myka mumble.

She looks at the agent with an interested (more than interested, honestly) expression. “Not just?”

Myka rolls her eyes, and if it were any other Stahma would have been insulted, but as she learned from the beginning of their acquaintanceship, Myka Bering is the exception to every rule she has ever followed.

“I told you, I needed to talk to you.”

“And what is it that you want to talk about that was so important we had to do it in a secret place?”

(And somehow it doesn’t really bother her that this location is unknown.

Myka is here.

That is enough.)

Myka clears her throat, obviously uncomfortable, and Stahma revels in the sight of Myka gathering her courage to say whatever it is she wants to say.

“I need to talk to you about this strange attraction between us.”

Oh.

Oh.

“And I need to know just how far you are willing to explore said attraction.” Myka frowns, but it is more to herself. “That sounded much better in my head.”

Stahma blinks at her, trying to understand what she just heard.

“Way better.”

She notices Myka looking at her abashedly, nervously, anxiously.

She has to say something.

But her mind is still stuck in the fact that Myka acknowledges that there is something between them.

Now what do you say?

Say something!

“Right.” What? “You made it sound a bit like a business arrangement.” She winces when Myka recoils at her words, and she hurries to clarify. “But I would like to talk about it, and I’m willing to exert effort for this endeavor to work.” Idiot. Now you sounded like a litigator. “If you are so inclined, I mean.” Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Where are her words when she needs them?

But to her relief Myka seems to relax, and she understands it for what it is.

Myka is comforted to not be the only bumbling fool in this affair.

They affect each other in the same way.

And yes, that is something Stahma appreciates as well.

More than she cares to admit.

And with that realization she carries on. “Myka Bering, you’ve filled my heart with emotions I never thought I’d ever be capable of feeling, and you managed to do it in so little time.” She swallows nervously, and it is something really new – she has never been this way with anyone else before.

Everything with Myka Bering is new and exciting and lovely.

“You are the most beautiful thing in any world, and I am so fortunate to even have the opportunity to talk to you like this, and have you look at me with those eyes.” She meets said eyes with her own, and speaks her next words with care and precision. “I know it is wrong, given our current situation – me being married to a dangerous man, you being in love with someone who’s not here but is still ever-present, but I…” she takes a deep breath, “I hope you’d grant me the honor of taking a chance with you.”

Myka is staring at her intently, and she cannot read the expression on her face, and she’s suddenly scared (she, Stahma Tarr, is scared!) that she said too much and would now be forever forbidden in Myka’s presence.

But then Myka is jumping to her arms, nearly toppling them both over on the chair, and she hears her say, in a voice alight with all things beautiful in the universe, “Come back.”

And then those heavenly lips are pressed on hers, and the world exploded in a splash of colors and galaxies and stars.

Claudia is gripping Joshua’s hand.

This is too much for anyone’s heart. Jeez. White-H.G. You can be frakking eloquent, too. Darn.

Argh.

“I hope you’d grant me the honor of taking a chance with you.”

Joshua winces when Claudia lets out a really high-pitched, fangirl-worthy scream. And his eyes widen when he sees what’s happening on the screen.

 “Claudia! They’re going to kiss!”

Claudia almost stumbles on her feet as she rushes to reach the lever in time.

“Come back.”

And with all the force she can muster, Claudia pulls down the lever.

The world fills with light.

Electricity.

Myka hears electricity cackling.

She’s on the floor, and she struggles to get up. Her green eyes widen in shock at what she sees.

There, on the space where she was a while ago, is a Stargate.

What the actual frakk?!

In the center, from where the sound of electricity is coming, is a wormhole.

And from it walks out a painfully familiar figure.

Lithe, graceful form.

Pale human skin.

Ebony-dark tresses.

Onyx-black eyes.

Inviting pink lips upturned in the sexiest of smirks.

A voice, rich and lovely, like chocolate, lilting with an accent divine to her ears.

“Myka, darling.”

She stands up, and her legs are barely able to support her. She can feel her body trembling, and she cannot control it.

Her knees buckle, but strong, warm, and beloved arms are around her in an instant.

She cannot keep the choked sob from escaping her.

“Helena.”

Chapter Text

A Stargate.

A frakkin’ Stargate.

There is an actual frakkin’ Stargate right there in the Bronze Sector.

Claudia is so not expecting that.

(Granted, it’s on the title of H.G.’s book/manifesto, but still.)

One minute it’s like the world combusted, and the next thing she knows her laptop screen is projecting a Stargate.

There. In the Bronze Sector (it bears repeating). Just underneath this frakkin’ tower. In real time. Like, right now.

This is a sci-fi geek’s dream-come-true.

She is so fixated on the sight (oh, the marvelous, marvelous sight) that she almost does not notice the figure stepping out from the wormhole on its center.

But then the hair, the skin, and the smirk all match an image in her mind, and then it registers.

When her brain catches up, all she can mutter is a breathless ‘frakk.’

(Yeah. That word’s the only one that can describe this world. She really cannot think of anything else – and she’s not sure she’s capable of any actual thinking right now – there is a Stargate in the Bronze Sector – so don’t judge.)

She looks at her brother, to see if he’s seeing what she’s seeing – because this is too surreal, even in Warehouse standards – and he’s looking at her as well. And she does not need a mirror to see that the look of astonishment on his face is echoed on hers.

She gulps, because she’s suddenly nervous and excited and anxious. “I-”

But her brother merely nods, understanding what she intends to say but can’t, grabs her hand, and leads her as quickly as he can to where he knows she wants to be.

They head back down, because they need to see her.

H.G. Wells is back.

“It is time, Helena.”

Helena, who is lying on the ground while remembering her and Myka’s latest encounter (in this dimension, of course) opens her eyes and looks at the brilliant sky. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I told you the pieces are set, and soon – in a few moments, actually – they will be connected.” Helena hears a sigh. “Though I am as happy as I can be that you will soon get your wish, I am still rather confused with the way you just threw out that last clue. You claim telling her in a dream is inconsiderate, and yet that last time was a give-away.” A thoughtful pause. “It seems that you really can’t resist the girl.”

She grins impishly, but her voice is serious when she says, “She’s not a girl. She’s a woman, in every sense of the word.” And in a quiet whisper, “My woman.”

A huff of mock exasperation. “You are so smitten.”

She chuckles, amused. “I am in love,” she corrects. “And I always will be, with Myka.”

A teasing snort. “And for someone who has waited for your reunion for a long while, you seem a bit lethargic.”

“Not lethargic,” she defends, and her voice softens as she adds abashedly, “Just… nervous.”

“You?” Now the voice is incredulous and strangely delighted. “Scared? The great H.G. Wells is nervous?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, and she finally stands up. “Sometimes I think complete solitude is better than having you speak to me.”

“You are hurting my feelings.”

“Stop the non-sense. I told you that you have no feelings.”

“If not for the way you love your Myka, I’d say the same to you.” A hearty laugh. “What are you afraid of, anyway – you, who have cheated death again and again?”

Helena sighs deeply. She does not want to answer, but she knows she cannot escape the question. And so she says, “I am nervous about the way things would play out.”

“What do you mean? You’ll be reunited, you’ll embrace and kiss and the puzzle will be solved.”

She grins wryly. “You really have no clue about human emotions, do you?”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s just… this reunion may or may not work out the way I want it to.”

“Why is that?”

“I am just scared of how badly Myka would react, is all.”